Mr.EPluribus - Back to the Future ... Part IV

For fear of sounding too "Get off my lawn!" or "In my day, we blah-blah-blah,"

today's generation of iPoders, people carrying their music wherever they go, hearing digital streams seamlessly -- and, frankly in too many cases, sterilely -- has little to no idea how big a part radio played in the years before them. Granted, the format did itself no favors segmenting into pre-programmed, soulless, research-group-dictated format lists, but the glory days of free-form radio brought a different experience every time you turned on the radio.

FM radio, with bass-heavy DJs in the Wolfman Jack mold eager to inject their anecdotal bits of knowledge, personalized their four-hour shifts and began to replace the AM-dominated format, one more skewed to pop singles, as well as the one that wasn't technologically advanced enough to handle the stereo option (eeek, mono in two channels!!!). Heck, even a halfway decent DJ mired in the wee hours of a Sunday morning had a personality and could entertain listeners with whatever odd combination of artists he wanted to play (as much as I'd like to admit I'm referencing my early-early-early shifts of post-college radio, I was confined to playing pre-recorded church LPs, so the oddest mix I ever had involved accidentally playing a Pittsburgh Pirates promo instead of the Saints Cyril and Methodius sermons).

Similarly, as more and more songs get thrown further and further into a disposable status, good for a few listens at best and ad nauseum in commercials at worst, it may be hard to remember or even know the meaning of  "the album experience." Yes, long ago, in a time when albums typically clocked in at around 40-45 minutes and the potential for quality tunes out-tilted the shoddy material, not to mention you didn't have society saying, "You're always in a hurry, you're always in a hurry," you actually had the inclination and/or desire to listen to an album in its entirety ... headphones optional. Yes, believe it or not, all these phenomena entertained the masses in the 1970s and a decent amount of the 80s, before MTV secured its foothold on the public consciousness. Not that the following are necessarily bad things, but no downloads, no Amazon, no need to see a video on YouTube.

As a lyrical sage far wiser than I once wrote, though, God, it's such a drag when you're living in the past. So, leave it to the man to whom I penned the not-as-blasphemous-as-you'd-think ode "P.W.I.G." to somehow meld the best of the old school ways of music listening with the new, vastly more digital world. Paul Westerberg, the wunderkind that far too few people even know (the Replacements ... who?), the genius behind some of the 80s most impressive and genuine anthems ("I Will Dare," "Bastards of Young," "Color Me Impressed"), the man who I probably mention in this space even more than I rag on John Mellencamp, peeked his groundhog-esque head and released 49:00, available only as a download through Amazon, apparently the only folks who would agree to his 49-cent price. Yup, less than a buck.

Following a format similar to his fellow Minneapolis genius Prince's Lovesexy, the ever-quirky (some would say difficult) Westerberg's 49:00 plays as a single, 43-minute track. Annoying? Perhaps, but I say here's where the genius emerges: 49:00 sounds like a 70s AM station, complete with some songs playing simultaneously on top of each other or songs rocking along with a rollicking swing before inexplicably stopping short or fading into another song altogether ... all not unlike driving down the road, forced to deal with two or more stations' overlapping bandwidths competing for attention, or sitting in your bedroom while a plane or thunderstorm wreaked havoc with your reception. The fact no song titles exist on 49:00 keeps up the motif, too. Again, annoying? Well, yes, especially upon realizing it's just like the nameless songs we heard for the first time, and we wanted to know who the band was before ultimately realizing the DJ was never going to announce it. It would drive my ever-music-curious mind nuts, but we occasionally had to live with IDing a song to our friends by singing or humming a few lines, at least until we were fortunate enough to tune in when a DJ who would give the back-announce. However, Westerberg ultimately rewards us for our patience at the close of 49:00, assembling snippets of him doing songs that made AM and FM radio great -- the Beatles, Stones, Steppenwolf, Alice Cooper, Elton John -- and an almost-complete cover that finds its way into many of Westerberg's shows, the Partridge Family's "I Think I Love You."

The best part of the 49:00 experience, though, is that Westerberg sounds like he's having some of the most reckless abandon fun of his post-Replacements career. Not that I haven't met a Westerberg solo album I haven't liked, mind you, some (Suicaine Gratifaction, Stereo, 14 Songs) obviously superior to others. However, with the exception of his Grandpaboy side-projects, he's been a victim to his "voice of a generation" reputation and/or awkward maturation into middle-age. As such, he's rarely been able to put out an entire album that didn't contain a few too many songs that either had him going through the motions of the fast-and-loud rocker, or trying just a little too hard to be the sensitive songwriter, both of which used to come so easily to him. In short, too little confidence to walk in either set of shoes, or throwing convention aside like the Westerberg of old and wear one shoe of each.

Listening to the 49:00 album through an AM radio prism, however, Westerberg works all of his strengths to near-perfection, even the ones that used to work against him (his penchant for being too clever for his own good, or being the imp who purposely put a thumb in the eye of the expectations laid upon him). It's not like the songs are all that different from the rest of his material over the last 16-some years, either: The gruff, whiskey- and cigarette-stained vocals offset by the sincere, nasal balladeer; jangly guitars alongside the heavily distorted ones; the melancholy, brash or fun-spirited lyrics. All still litter the landscape, but for once they all co-exist comfortably, as if the man behind them finally doesn't give a damn if his foot's in the door or the gutter. Rather, it's like he's kicked off the shoes, put his feet up on the table and rediscovered his muse.

That's right, Paul Westerberg is god (lower case "g" -- told ya it wasn't blasphemous).

AUTHOR'S ADDENDUM: Have learned that 49:00 has been removed from the Amazon .mp3 shop. Hypothesis as to why, as well as a list of the song titles within the giant track all available with a simple click ... right here.