Attitude

There have been bigger bands. There have been (sorry, boys, you know how desperately I love you but you also know it's true) better bands. But there has never been a band quite as contradictory as The Replacements.

Paul Westerberg himself once said something along the lines of there being other bands who could do the loud stuff as well as they did, and other bands who could do the quiet stuff as well as they did, but no one who could do both as well as the 'Mats. And pretending for the moment that the Beatles never existed, that seems obviously true to me.

For all their third record's "Color Me Impressed" and "Within Your Reach" were the songs which announced that the 'Mats were so very much not your typical punk band, for obvious reasons, in some ways it was actually "Treatment Bound" which announced their presence with authority. 

[They themselves later admitted that their early hardcore phase was a pose, and something at which they weren’t especially good. I think they’re mistaken about how not-good they were; they may not have actually loved hardcore, but they were damn good at playing it.]

To call "Treatment Bound" a lazy shuffle would be the most understated of understatements; that it falls apart in the middle is far less surprising than the fact that they're arsed to pick it back up and finish it. And yet, for all its lyrics seem to proudly display their beer-soaked loutishness, there's actually a hint that maybe, just maybe, they're whistling past the graveyard and know it's not the smartest way to conduct themselves but they either don't know a smarter way or they're too scared to try. And one of the reasons there's that subtext is even as he's singing about getting shitfaced before the gig, Westerberg is utilizing the kind of wordplay which none of his peers would ever think of attempting, much less be able to pull off. It's that dichotomy—singing about being drunken buffoons without a high school diploma and using the language with a deftness that Cole Porter would have admired while stumbling through a perfectly crafted pop song—that made the Replacements the 'Mats. 

They, of course, continued to record songs which were neither rockers nor ballads on subsequent albums: "Androgynous," "Answering Machine" and "Waitress in the Sky" becoming some of the most beloved and characteristically Replacements songs in the 'Mats oeuvre. 

"Attitude" is that kind of in-the-middle song at which the Replacements excelled. Famously the only song on the album which features all four members, it starts in classic fashion, with Westerberg beginning the count-in, pausing, laughing slightly, and then rushing the rest of the count. Naturally, the entire band falls in perfectly. 

It's a fine performance. Westerberg's acoustic is mixed most prominently, along with Chris Mars's drums, apparently played with brushes. Tommy Stinson's bass bumps along agreeably, while Slim Dunlap drops in sweet bits of electric guitar color throughout. It's not exactly impressive to say that it's far more polished than "Treatment Bound," but it's also considerably smoother than their classic if again not precisely Steely Dan-like "Waitress in the Sky" recording.  

Well when you open that bottle of wine 

You open a can of worms every time 

Now you don't stop, that ain't true 

Never said a word, I never had to 

It was my attitude that you thought was rude 

It was my attitude

Old habits are hard to break 

And I don't know how much I can take 

What I think is on the tip 

Of my tongue though I let it slip 

It was my attitude that you thought was rude—not me 

It was my attitude that you thought was rude 

Remember sitting back in school 

I held my tongue until it turned blue 

They said I had an attitude

You just failed my test 

'Cause I know you be the best 

So wipe me off as you conclude 

A POV is what I can't use 

I got an attitude  

Said I had an attitude 

The problem is that as enjoyable as "Attitude" is, it feels like "Treatment Bound" redux, a bunch of hooligans talking about how naughty they are. But the thing is, they're not kids anymore. They're all adults now—hell, Slim's kid was nearly an adult by this point—and it's just not that amusing anymore. Now it's mainly just sad. Especially because it feels like this time they're somehow maybe even less aware of what poor decisions their poor decisions are, or at least are pretending to be. And it's all compounded by the fact that the lyrics are often individually good but don't really build to anything— just the opposite, unfortunately, as while Westerberg's personification of his own personality flaw in order to enable himself to avoid taking any kind of responsibility for his own actions is clever, in the end, the opening couplet is the strongest of the entire song is by far. 

And there's one more thing which makes it a bit of an uncomfortable experience. It would be bittersweet to hear the last true Replacements recording, no matter what. But that it's this song, with its gentle musical lilt, softly sung in a professional manner by Westerberg—no hoarse shouting, no bum notes kept in, not this time 'round—featuring absolutely wonderful, tasteful drumming from Chris Mars of the exact feel and on the exact type of song Westerberg and Stinson would claim he was unable to handle—makes the entire thing a bit bizarre. 

That the final 'Mats recording is so professional and polite even as they're claiming they're rebels, is a dichotomy, but not the kind at which the 'Mats excelled and which made them so damn special. It's disquieting. That it shows that Mars had far more range than his bandmates could admit is oddly disappointing, or perhaps strangely vindicating. And you can't help but wonder if the closing line—"A POV is what I can't use"—is Westerberg admitting in song what he can't actually admit to himself, never mind his soon-to-be former bandmates.