The Replacements and the Myth of Legitimate Fandom
Or…finally putting an end to “You weren’t there”-ism
I used to live in the Edgewater neighborhood of Chicago and one day I happened to be walking near the Thorndale Red Line station when a gentleman I’d seen around, he was maybe homeless or maybe he just hung out around this particular corner a lot, approached me and said, “Nirvana?! They’re not punk!”
It took me a second to register that, “Ohhh right. I’m wearing my Nirvana shirt today.” I think I replied to him, “Um…I didn’t say they were.”
He went on to tell me that he was the drummer of a first wave Chicago punk band (I can’t be 100% on the name. I think I recognize it in this database, but I don’t want to say what it is since I’m sort of unclear) and we talked for awhile about what the scene was like and he clearly fostered some resentment that a band like Nirvana, who was heavily influenced by punk rock was able to breakout when “legitimate” punks never got their due.
But there would have been a painful irony had this guy’s band broke through because breaking through was so anti-punk that his band would have been rejected by the purists too.
I enjoyed our discussion and was thrilled to meet an OG of the scene, but it was also such an eye roll moment. Punks of a certain breed and certain era, for as anti-establishment rule breakers as they wanted to be, sure became authoritarian with their rules. It reminds me of the line from the Jawbreaker song, “Boxcar”:
“ One, two, three, four
Who’s punk? What's the score?”
I don’t know a lot. I really don’t. I should know more considering how much schooling I’ve had, but I do know one thing to be true: Punks aren’t supposed to be about rules. But those rules not only infiltrated the early scenes, they bled into the alternative era that bands like Nirvana helped usher in. Remember when being called a “poseur” was the worst thing you could be called? If you don’t then, “Pssh! You’ll never know what it was like to love real music, man!” Kidding.
It was dumb then and though it’s not as prevalent an attitude as it once was, when it does pop up and rear its ugly head, it’s dumb now. There never was a “legitimate” scene, or way to be a fan, or time to be a fan, or version of the band you love. It’s always been subjective and if you’re trying to say your version of the scene is better than others, then you may want to examine why it is you’re a music fan. People who want to be better than others or have secret, special information or references usually have some serious insecurities and/or fear of missing out, or fear of getting old and dying without having done something that legitimizes their existence.
See it really doesn’t bother me.
But seriously, the place you can still find a lot of people like this are on Replacements fan pages. Oh man, do they have opinions! The band was better when it was still Bob Stinson’s band. Their drunken antics were legitimately genius acts of performance art. Tommy Stinson apparently sucks now. There are so many opinions about Paul Westerberg’s mental state, desire to keep making music, level of sincerity, future plans, latest Walgreens purchases, etc. And of course there are those who feel sorry for you if you never REALLY saw them. Maybe you saw the reunion shows, but that was just a money grab, so it doesn’t count. Sorry (they say as smugly as possible, I assume).
The Replacements history is one that is enigmatic, frustrating, tragic, stunning, and filled with stories so crazy that it’s hard to believe they were true. But read Bob Mehr’s bio, “Trouble Boys” and you’ll realize, yes the stories are true, and likely more lurid and ridiculous than you initially thought. But man, they made some amazing music. They were idiots, but talented idiots nonetheless.
And one way of looking at it is that even after becoming more power pop than punk, their attitude was still punk. They did whatever they wanted, even at the expense of their own potential success. They literally flushed money down the toilet. They antagonized crowds they knew were going to be difficult. They weren’t impressed by sacred institutions or other famous people. They got so drunk on stage some nights that they could barely stand. Punk, right?
Don’t get me wrong, I love everything The ‘Mats put out from Sorry, Ma through Pleased to Meet Me. There are some great tracks on their later albums too, even though maybe on the whole they aren’t quite as cohesive. That said, I have a hard time glamorizing them. I have mixed feelings about the stories of their recklessness and blatant disregard for their careers. Maybe it was just their path and maybe they wouldn’t have been The Replacements without that lore.
But I don’t buy it. I think they could have been as great or greater without the things that many say made them “true punks”. But one can only speculate and that’s not really going to help anyone or change anything. My point is that anyone who claims to know the best version of a band, or the rules for being “legit” or “punk” or what have you, is likely full of shit and/or glamorizing things that are borderline dangerous, or at the very least misguided, to glamorize.
I often wonder why it isn’t enough for some people to just love what they love and let others love what they love, as opposed to saying their way is the right way. Are we still talking about music? I suppose blind adherence to dogma is nothing new, be it in music or otherwise. And I’m not saying I’ve never been guilty of it. When I was in broadcast school I had a radio show that I called, “The Music Snob Radio Hour”. But I’ve since seen the error of my music snobbery and have tried to gratefully remain open to many types of music, both cool and uncool. It’s cooler not to care what others think anyway, right? Like what you like! And maybe I won’t like it all, but someone else does like some of these things and there’s really no point in trashing someone else’s joy. In fact it’s a terrible thing to do and I’m sorry for the times I’ve done it.
Truth be told, I never saw Nirvana or The Replacements live in any incarnation. I didn’t see the first wave of punk rock and chances are I’d make a fool of myself trying to have a conversation about many of these bands. I just don’t know all of them. But it’s fine. It’s ok. My associations with music are still mine and I derive joy and a sense of wonder from it that no one can take away from me. The same goes for you. There are no poseurs and there are no true believers. There’s only music and people. The rest is up to you. I’m through seeking validation from the uber fans and arbitrary gate keepers. I hope you are too. If you want to be a fan of both The Replacements bootleg, “The Shit Hits the Fans” and Rebecca Black’s latest record, then so be it.
I am putting forth into the universe this meaningless decree: the days of “You weren’t there”-ism are over! Celebrate, citizens far and wide!
Thanks for a great read.
I'm a little bit older so i had some firsthand experience in the punk scene in the 80s, largely because of my sister who studied art in Bed-Stuyvesant. Living in Bed Sty in the 80s was a very punk statement in itself. I did a lot of skateboarding back then, often poorly, and it didn't take too many episodes of road rash to know Huey Lewis wasn't going to cut it. Rollins was on his own by then but his shows were jarringly psycho trips. His spoken word gigs felt like the prelude to a beatdown. Fishbone, Bad Brains, these were joyful riots with a soundtrack. Personally, nothing touched the Descendents for me. They seemed to have actual musical talent in addition to the no holds barred aesthetic that defined punk, that made these bands ours, and us together. Classic rock had grown bloated, too big for small clubs. Madison Square garden was just a train away, and was always an all-ages show. But whoever we saw there seemed like they were unreachable, on another planet. We could just see the song remains the same at the midnight movie and spend the train money on beers the liquor store knowingly sold to minors and then called the local cops to come collect from us. We'd spend the night running under the high tension towers with 6packs and a boombox knowing we'd been had again.
Hence, punk. The music was immediate. The attitude was collective and intense. The scene was ours. Maybe we felt superior with this discovery but honestly, i just wondered what was wrong with a society that affirmed Starship had built this city on rock n roll.
I guess i still wonder about that with the current earwormers.
Finally I went to London. Punks were a tourist attraction then. I felt the same as when my parents took us to Disneyworld and we saw the animontronic bear jug band, or that weird hall of presidents. London street punks were a hologram of something that had struck me as vital, life affirming. Wherever they had been, pubs where the sex pistols played or whatever, they were now has beens. Nowhere.
Punx not dead used to be spray painted everywhere. I wasn't going to rebel to end my life. I was rebelling to change the world to my vision.
I still am.
Everything noteworthy regarding punk for me as a viable aesthetic literally died the day i heard the news about Kurt Cobain. I was in a relationship, i was contemplating a suburban home of my own. My immediate reaction was he just had a baby. How could he kill himself? It seemed to me the most un-punk thing to do. Punk had always been about community, a collective energy, an inclusive equality. An absence of ego and selfishness.
I never saw the Mats but i knew their music. A few days after i graduated college i was back home and bought 2 albums. The rolling stones, love you live and the Mats Let it Be. Before i got in the house the guy across the street who was a year older than me and had become a state trooper came over and told me my best friend had just been killed in a car accident, in his VW beetle. We had just bumped into each other a few months earlier when i was back on spring break, at a bar called appropriately enough the Melody where you went to hear alternative stuff. We went back to his place and spun tunes until daybrreak, reaching a crescendo with Sweetleaf on repeat.
That summer i listened to Unsatisfied constantly while punching holes in my wall, throwing beer cans, generally just reacting to learning life isnt fair, but in its best moments its shared.
I still cant listen to that album without being in that moment and that's just it about music. When it hits it becomes a part of you. Its not a competition, its a realization. The music that meant something to you will always mean something to you.
Just catching up with some older Substack posts, and I wanted to just make a brief comment. I completely hear what you’re saying about not knowing the punk scene firsthand, Andy, and John, as always, your comments are a revelation. I’m older than either of you and punk seemed to have its heyday about 10 years before I was in any age group that would be susceptible to its siren song. So I came to the Replacements late. But I fell for them hard. It’s a big regret that I was unaware when the Replacements were active, and maybe that’s one reason I treasure the fact that Wilco is continuously growing and evolving, and why I consider us lucky to be aware of and appreciate such a great band.