Seven albums and an EP, that was all they gave us, ranging in quality from rough and loose protopunk comedia del art to outright rock-n-roll classics. Yet their audience never really increased the way so many of us expected (read: hoped) it would. Critically beloved until the end, commercially they were largely confined to the dustbin. And much of that was self inflcited, due to the band’s uncanny propensity to keep fucking up at the absolute worst time.
By 1991 they were in some ways a shell of themselves, but in another way finally seeming to be on the right track. Only two of the original members remained at the end—Paul Westerberg and Tommy Stinson, with Slim Dunlop replacing a sacked Bob Stinson on guitar in 1987, and Steve Foley randomly taking the drumming reins on the final 1991 tour when Chris Mars finally quit. But the legendarily drunken quartet had pretty much sobered up at that point, and their shows (I saw two of them and I believe Scott saw one or two) were much sharper than ever before. And when they landed a gig opening up for Elvis Costello that spring and early summer—just a magnificent pairing of master songwriters and iconoclastic revelry—the future seemed okay. It appeared maybe—MAYBE?—this newest incarnation of the Mats could make a go and keep it moving into a decent future?
Yeah, no. They broke up. And stayed broken up for more than 20 years. Alas.
Their final gasp as a band was All Shook Down, an album released in late 1990 and which therefore celebrates its 30th anniversary this year. Reviews of the album were actually pretty good, from the critics’ standpoint, while some of the hardcore fans continued to shake their heads at the band’s journey in an unambiguously tamer direction. But looking back 30 years later there is no denying the quality of many of the tracks on All Shook Down.
What was less certain is exactly who we were listening to when we played All Shook Down. The band’s name appears on the record exactly one time, on the cover above the two dogs looking off in opposite directions. There are no band photos, only one slight double-exposed shot of Paul snuck in on the inside. And there’s no mention of any "band" at all, just a list of about a dozen or so difference players who, in the chilly words of presumably Paul in the liner notes, “played on this recorded thing.” When you listened it sure as hell sounded like the Mats, albeit Late Model Mats...but was it really them? Hard to say.
What we know is 1990 was supposed to be the time for Paul’s first solo endeavor, but he shifted gears (perhaps at his manager’s urging or the record label's insistence) and brought the band back in. He also brought in recognizable faces like John Cale, Benmont Tench, Johnette Napolitano and Steve Berlin, and produced a final 13-song set that would serve as the Replacements’ swan song. And that is the story of them, at least until Paul and Tommy pulled it back together for a reunion tour a few years ago.
So now we arrive at the 30th anniversary of The Replacements’ final endeavor. And as two obsessed fans of the Mats (is there any other kind of Replacements fan?), Scott and I thought it fitting that we take a deep dive into All Shook Down, a track by track look back at the final “recorded thing” our lovable band of Minneapolis ne’er do wells left behind. So for the next couple weeks in this space, that is exactly what you’ll be seeing, one song at a time (and I suppose one wink at a time…see what I did there?).
The merry go round starts Wednesday. Hop on and enjoy the Mats final ride with us, will ya?
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