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» Paul Westerberg Interview by Russell Hall «
This is the complete version of the interview Russell Hall did with Paul in May of 1996. An edited version appeared in Performing Songwriter, thanks to Russell for letting us read the full text.
Few artists have had as great an impact on modern music as Paul Westerberg. It's not at all farfetched to speculate that without Westerberg's deeply personal, angst-driven songs, the entire alternative rock explosion might never have occurred. As leader of the legendary Replacements, and as a solo musician, Westerberg's facility for soul-searching balladry and searing rock 'n' roll has earned him the respect of songwriters everywhere. Artists as diverse as the Gin Blossoms, Nirvana, and Tom Petty have borrowed from him and cited his influence. Westerberg began writing songs in 1979, inspired initially by punk pioneers such as the Sex Pistols and Johnny Thunders. Specializing in three-minute bursts of revved-up power pop, on the surface the Replacements' early songs were unexceptional, although Westerberg did slip in the occasional ballad, hinting at a mature aesthetic which would reach fruition within a few years. Between 1984 and 1987, the Replacements released a trilogy of inspired, reckless masterpieces which, along with REM's recordings during the same period, constitute touchstones for practically every modern rock 'n' roll band. Let It Be, Tim, and Pleased To Meet Me each mixed a Chaplinesque spirit with songs that zigzagged between blustery bravado and harrowing insecurity. Several classics from this period--including the ballads "Skyway," "Swingin' Party," and "Here Comes A Regular"--rank among the best pop-rock songs of the '80s. The Replacements' final two albums, Don't Tell A Soul and All Shook Down, heralded significant changes in songwriting for Westerberg. By the turn of the decade, he had begun focusing on the romantic disillusionment which had often lain at the heart of his best songs. Westerberg also began making serious changes in his lifestyle. Plagued since adolescence by an addiction to alcohol, he set about the task of conquering the problem, and by the time of the Replacements' final tour, he had stopped drinking entirely. Since 1991, Westerberg has been living in his hometown of Minneapolis, where he spends most of his time playing piano, writing songs, and collaborating with friends. In 1992, he wrote the score for Singles, a Generation X film which also featured two songs showcasing Westerberg's pop sensibilities. A year later, he released 14 Songs, an album which prompted Rolling Stone's critics to name Westerberg the year's best songwriter, the second time he had received that distinction. The spring of 1996 saw the release of Westerberg's second solo album, Eventually. The album features a set of songs tied loosely together by time-based themes, and evidences a poetic spirit susceptible to both empathy and enchantment. A great writer once said that art should "tell us things that we know but don't know that we know." Like all good artists, Westerberg seems to grasp this concept intuitively. Eventually paints a subtle portrait of a man becoming comfortable in his own skin, and in that sense it's an optimistic work. The album also proves that, at the age of thirty-six, Paul Westerberg is at the top of his craft.
Eventually sounds more relaxed, and more optimistic, than things you've done in the past. Does that reflect your state of mind these days? I think so. It's not like everything is smooth as silk now, but I guess the more I do this, the more I realize that whatever happens is going to happen, and I just do my best and put it out there. Do you feel any responsibility, musically speaking, to anyone other than yourself, whether it be fans or record company executives? I think my standards are high enough that, if I meet my own, then that takes care of the "man," and most of the fans, at least. I don't cater to anyone other than myself, I'm afraid. Most of the people I've spoken with who've heard Eventually--mostly journalists--have said that the album is growing on them. It didn't necessarily hit them immediately, but they're liking it more and more as they listen to it. Is that typical of the response you're getting? I've heard that. I've also heard other people say they loved it the moment they heard it. I would say it depends on what you listen for, and that's probably a fair estimation, coming from people with a literary background. The lyrics may pass you by initially, but as you listen more and more, you maybe hear a secondary meaning in all the songs. Whereas someone who concerns himself with melody . . . I mean, it's probably impossible for that type of person not to like "These Are The Days." It's got such an infectious melody. So if you listen on that level, then it's easy to like the songs right off the bat. The songs also seem to meet in the middle ground of the territory that was covered on 14 Songs, rather than veering back and forth between rockers and ballads. That's true. I purposely left off the songs on the outer fringes, on both ends. Like the homemade, quiet stuff, for instance. I had to leave on "Hide N Seekin'," because I just thought the feel of that song was great. But 14 Songs was more of a concept album than people realize. It was fourteen songs; it wasn't fourteen performances. And it wasn't necessarily [meant to be] a full, rounded record. Whereas the new album is much more of an album in which the songs fit together. I had good songs that I left off, and I've rarely done that before. I usually try to put the best songs on, and if they don't all fit next to each other, then so what? But this time, I really tried to make them flow together. Did you put a lot of thought into the song sequence? A bit. I knew long ago that "These Are The Days" would be the first song. And once I'd written "Good Day," I realized that was the closer. Then, after a while, I thought that perhaps that would leave the album on too much of a down note, for some people, although it's an optimistic tune. So I added the last song. But yeah, I was fairly picky about the order, this time. Speaking of "These Are The Days," I understand that one reason the Atlanta sessions didn't work out was because of a disagreement you had with [producer] Brendan O'Brien about the song. Yeah. Brendan really wanted to do it as a ballad. We tried it several times, and he was happy with the results we were getting, and I just heard a much different song in my head. I heard it much more as a celebration, and he heard the opposite. He heard it as kind of a melancholy thing. So yeah, that was one reason we didn't see eye to eye. But we got some good stuff: "Love Untold," "Angels Walk." Back to "Hide N Seekin'." Did that song go through many changes before it arrived at what it is on the album? No. I demoed it at home a little more elaborately. But it was recorded while everyone was having lunch. I was playing by myself, the engineer had just come back, and he hit the "record" button. We added some bass and keyboard later, but it was one of those very organic, natural little performances. I'm really glad there was someone there to turn on the machine. "Once Around The Weekend" sounds a little like a rewrite of "Merry Go Round," to me. Hmm . . . I don't hear that. It's probably the same tempo. It's not in the same key, but there's probably a similar melodic line. Tempo fools a lot of people. Someone told me yesterday he thought "First Glimmer" and "Love Untold" were one and the same. I was like, "Yeah, well, they're probably the same tempo." The bass pattern is the same, but . . . Are you putting your face on the cover, this time? It is, yeah. I tried desparately not to. It's just a simple photograph of me, and there'll be one on the back as well, I think. Originally, we had this cover that I really wanted done, and we spent a lot of time on it. We hired an artist who was about eighty years old, who used to do art-deco advertising, and I had him make this elaborate logo. He was supposed to draw an animated figure depicting me, and it ended up looking . . . a little kooky. (laughs) It ended up looking like a Buster Brown ad for shoes. So we killed it at the last moment, and just slapped a photograph on there. No lyric sheet, I presume. No. Never will be? Or never say never? No, I never want one. I did sign a co-publishing deal this year, so I think they'll probably make a little songbook, which is something I guess I used to get when I was a kid. But I don't see that there's much use for [a lyric sheet]. You can hear the words, can't you? Sure. But you realize, I suppose, that people have tried to decipher your old lyrics and put them on the internet. Have you seen that? No, I haven't. But I've had people come up to me for years and say things like, "What is this line? It sounds like you're saying this to me." And that's what makes it fun, for me, because I get new interpretations of these lines that are dead obvious to me. I guess my diction isn't as clear as I thought. Do you sometimes get improvements? Do you ever think, "Wow, I wish it had been that?" Oh, yeah. They figure I couldn't have said anything as dumb as I actually said. They'll come up with an elaborate rhyme that gives the line new meaning. I hear you've stopped smoking. I had to do that. I'd always said I'd quit when I had to, and it had sort of gotten to the point where it was advised that I not smoke. What will that do to your voice? Well, you can hear it on the record. It won't really change it. I quit one year ago, so every vocal was cut since I gave up cigarettes. But I've damaged my larynx to the point where my voice is going to sound like this, forever. Twice, Rolling Stone's critics have chosen you the year's best songwriter. Do you get anything for that? No. No award, no money. You get the jealousy of other songwriters, I suppose. I don't know that the readership ever chooses their favorite songwriter, but it's always interesting that the reader's choices and those of the critics are never one and the same. Whose comments do you tend to heed more, those of fans or those of critics? Well, it's hard to make a sweeping generalization in regard to the fans, because I've talked to some journalists who were indeed fans, and also to some fans who were really dumb. And I just think . . . someone who is a little more intelligent, I tend to listen to. There are certainly dumb people who write, who I don't give the time of day to. I can tell when somebody gets it. I don't know if that answers your question. Are you finding that a lot of fans from the early days have grown with you, or has there been a sort of turnover, where you've got new fans now and many of the old ones are gone? Umm . . . I don't have a ready answer for that. I suppose there's no way to know, for sure. Exactly. I would imagine that most people my age, or who started out watching me, are not going to come out again to see me, if they're in their mid to late '30s. I know I don't go out like I used to. So I think that's why I see younger audiences, when I perform. But who knows who's buying the records? I would imagine that I still have a good many fans who always liked the Mats. As time passed with the Replacements, you wrote less and less about the band. Now, it seems your lyrical perspective has broadened even further, and you're writing more about things outside yourself. Do you think that's an accurate thing to say? I think so. Has that happened naturally? Yes. None of this is ever a concerted effort to write about this or that. It's more a matter of whatever is important at the moment. When I was surrounded by the three other guys, they were my world, and I wrote about them. I don't have them anymore, so I write about my surroundings. I've been accused of writing material that's too personal. But to me, people who say that don't get it, because . . . you know, you can listen to my music in a group, if you like, but I think I make the kind of music you should listen to by yourself. And when you're by yourself, and I'm speaking in the first person, if you can relate to it I think that makes it all the more enjoyable. I find that when I listen to musicians, I like to hear them singing about their experiences in the first person. I don't like slogans, or "movement"-style songs, or rants or chants. That's not for me. Do you ever put something aside, or discard it, or just not let it see the light of day because it's too personal? As time goes on, I try more and more to do the opposite. I think whenever I feel like a song is too personal, or I'm afraid--and I'm afraid of a lot of my songs--I've found that those are generally the ones that people say they love, or that changed their lives, or that they took with them. So I feel like I have an obligation to continue to do those. Like "Good Day," or "MamaDaddyDid." Those are two that I wrote--and it felt good that they were written--but I didn't really want to put them on the album, because I was afraid. But that's what sort of separates the men from the boys. You gotta do what you don't wanna do, sometimes. Are you becoming more confident in your piano playing? You're instantly recognizable. Really? I don't know if that's good. (laughs) I'm an utter and total hack at the piano. But I play all the time; I sit at the piano every day. People ask what I've been doing, or why I've taken three years off, and I say that's total nonsense. I've been at the piano every day since the last day I was on tour. I play the guitar when I'm writing songs, or in the studio, but the piano has become sort of my outlet. I think that as time goes by I'll be writing more and more songs on it. The songs aren't always played on it; "Ain't Got Me," for instance, was written on the piano. But the songs that have a richer melody--I've found that it's easier to write those kinds of songs on piano. Do you have anyone who you can bounce ideas off of? No. I really don't, until it's too late. It's like, "What do you think of this? You don't like it? Well, tough, we're gonna do it anyway." (laughs) No, I don't have anyone like that, and that has it's obvious drawbacks. But on the positive side, it makes me edit myself as heavily, or maybe more heavily, than most people would. I don't just write a song and think, "Oh well, somebody's gonna tell me if it sucks." It's more of a situation where I have to look at it and find out if there's something in it that could be better. Now, as far as performance goes, Brendan and I might decide something together. And Lou Giordiano--I'd ask his opinion about things like which vocal take was best. But when writing the tunes, I really don't ask anybody's opinion any more. Which come easier for you, ballads or rockers? Actually, I think I know the answer to that. Do you? Which do you think? Well, I would assume that the rockers come easier. No. If the question is, "Which comes easier, great rock 'n' roll or a great ballad?", I think . . . (pauses) I think I can write a ballad pretty easily, but great rock 'n' roll, to me, is almost impossible to write, alone. With a band, it's a different story. And that's the whole gist of my career right now. I used to be able to write great rock 'n' roll easily, because I had a great rock 'n' roll band. Now I don't have one, so I would have to answer your question by saying that, yes, the ballads are easier because there's no one to bounce things off of. There's no one to throw a drumstick at me. Do you ever write lyrics without melodies, and then try to fit them in later? Yes. I wrote some stuff the night before last, for instance, when I couldn't sleep. I got up and wrote something, then turned out the light and laid down. Then I did that several more times. And I might carry that crumpled piece of paper around in my little cheap carry-on bag for a year and a half. Then I'll take one of those lines and use it somewhere in a song. Does a melody ever suggest or inspire a lyric? When I sit down to write, and sort of hum along, I always sing a dummy lyric. It's usually a generic "baby," or "come on come on come on," or "yeah yeah yeah," that kind of stuff. Then sometimes I'll try to fit, phonetically, the noises I'm making to the melody. That's a little more difficult, because sometimes there's a melody that your voice can only make if you go [sings "aaaayyyy"] as opposed to [sings "oohhhhhh"]. So you might want to write a real word for that part, one that sounds like that. Then you can fill in actual lyrics and story. But there's one or two key elements . . . it's called a hook, as you probably know. I do write hooks, first. Is songwriting becoming more a matter of craft than inspiration, to any extent? Crap? Can we put a "p" at the end of that? (laughs) It straddles the line between crap and craft. You can craft yourself a nice, fine, shiny piece of crap real easily. But sometimes it's just a jagged, bitter emotion--something that you sit down and just pound out--that is the essence of a great tune. It takes a while, then, to refine it a little for human consumption. But sometimes it's dangerous to work on something too long, I've found. A member of the Gin Blossoms recently said that if [the Replacements' 1987 album] Pleased To Meet Me came out in today's market, it would be monstrous. That's very interesting. The Gin Blossoms' producer [John Hampton] is the same guy who engineered Pleased To Meet Me. (laughing) He was probably the one who said it. But that's a nice thing to say. Who knows? I think it's safe to say that we were ahead our time. I don't think you'd get any argument about that, unless someone wanted to claim that we were ten years behind our time, which is probably also true. But yeah, I think if all that shit came out now, we would sell a lot more. "Unsatisfied" and "Answering Machine"--was there any acting going on in those songs? On "Unsatisified," there was. I hate to break anyone's heart, but yeah, there was acting there. Probably the real acting came from the fact that the drugs were wearing off, while I was singing the vocal. I think it was something as base, and as common, as that. I don't hold "Unsatisfied" in as high regard as a lot of people do. "Answering Machine," on the other hand, I do. I think "Answering Machine" is one of my best songs. "Unsatisfied" . . . I don't know. It was like an open wound, something almost akin to Yoko. When you say that "Answering Machine" is one of your best songs, are you speaking from a lyrical perspective, or the entire song? From the lyrics, to the spoons in the pots and pans, to the . . . I mean, at the time, it wasn't really daring, but . . . even I, I must admit, have an answering machine now. In fact, I have two of them. I always swore I would never own one. But I went through so much shit, so much inconvenience, I finally thought, "This is ridiculous. I've become a slave to this song I've written." I had to break down simply because it's easier than getting up at, like, four in the morning to talk with someone you don't know. But what can I say? I think ["Answering Machine"] was from the heart, and it hit the nail on the head. There was real passion, and there was a real person on the other end, and that made it all come to life. We can all relate to it, I think. Didn't you write "Sadly Beautiful" with Marianne Faithfull in mind? Umm . . . sort of. I wrote it thinking that she was going to sing it. Someone told me that Marianne Faithfull was looking for a song, and he asked if I would write her one. This came from some A+R person; Marianne had probably never heard of me. But I thought, "Oh, Marianne Faithfull wants me to write her a tune," so I wrote her this song. It was about someone I knew. And once again, had it been up to me to write a song about . . . let's call her "Jane," . . . I wouldn't have put it on my record. It was for someone else to sing, and when she didn't sing it, I realized it was too powerful to throw away. Whose idea was it for John Cale to play on the song? That was so . . . that was like falling off a log. We were in the studio, and I asked if we could get someone to play violin. And Scott Litt, the producer, said "Yeah, I think I know someone. I'll give John Cale a call." I thought he was joking. An hour and a half later Cale walks in. I nearly pissed in my pants. (laughs) We didn't have one of those little things he sticks under his chin, to play the viola, so we had to give him a rag we'd used to wipe up the beer from the previous night. I've been told that "Rock N Roll Ghost" was written for a friend who committed suicide. Yes. (pause) Can you add anything to that, how that became the impetus for the song? He was seventeen, and I was sixteen or seventeen, and . . . he was my hero. I think of him often, still. He was a musician. He played the blues. He lived a life like . . . The rest of us were listening to Boston, and Led Zeppelin, and all this rubbish, and he wore straight-legged pants and a plaid shirt and a rope for a belt. And he played the harmonica. He was just a throwback to another era, the coolest guy I had ever met. And then one night he killed himself. We never knew why. "Angels Walk"--that song sort of sounds like it's subject to me. Sort of ethereal and dreamy. Yeah, it is. I'm trying to think now . . . something inspired it, although I can't remember what it was. I think that's one where the music came first, the guitar licks. I had all the music done at home, and I was gazing out the window, putting the lyrics to it as the song went by over and over again. It has a ghostliness to it, I guess. "Here Comes A Regular" has some similarity to Dylan's "Knockin' On Heaven's Door." Yeah. You used to cover "Heaven's Door" live, didn't you? We took a wild stab at it. I love that song. Chordally, it's similar. I've heard that, but I've also heard it sounds like Bruce Springsteen. I've heard all kinds of stuff, and you're all probably right. I make no bones about having listened to Springsteen, Neil Young, Bob Dylan. It's evident in what I do. Did you ever play "Never Mind" live? Oh, sure. That was always a challenge. It's beyond my vocal range. It's in "B," and "B-flat" is probably the top of my range. But we struggled through it. Did you lift the phrase "never mind" from [Alex Chilton's] "September Gurls?" No. We stole it from Nirvana. (laughing) Right. No. Christ, we all say things like that, like "get out of here" or something. (smiling) Believe it or not, it's part of my vocabulary. Maybe I'm reading too much into this stuff. Perhaps. Do you keep up with what's going on currently on the music scene? I'm afraid I don't. And I'm afraid I'm in trouble in about an hour, when I have to go to MTV and talk about it. Tell me somebody to talk about. (laughs) It's like, I really don't know shit. Are there any particular novelists or fiction writers who have inspired you? Yes, but . . . I'm not quite as stuffy as that. I'm also inspired by people who dress well. I'm happy that my [sensibilities] come from being a teenage guy who liked rock 'n' roll. I liked flashy-looking guitar players, and I liked glam. So find me the best writer who wore spangly clothes and threw his guitar in the air. It's people like Pete Townshend who inspired me, who I wouldn't necessarily have gone for had I not been a fan of rock 'n' roll. Rock 'n' roll, in general, sort of formed what I like in a writer. I like people who are mysterious with their lives. I don't like a grandstander, or someone who's obvious, or who's very social. Speaking of that, do you think MTV has robbed rock 'n' roll of some of its mystique? I remember, as a kid, how exciting it would be to find out that Lou Reed, or Bowie, or someone, was going to be on television maybe once that year. Yeah. Someone who grew up in the '70s, and who came of age with MTV, doesn't know anything other than that. And it was probably the same way before radio. You'd only hear the band when they came through town. But yes, I remember that. You'd make a week of it. "Oh, man, I can't wait to see so-and-so." It was that Rock Concert show, or whatever it was. Have you heard the Replacements tribute album that several Athens bands put together [for the Humane Society]? No, I haven't. I was unhappy with the whole idea. My thoughts were, if you're going to do something for charity, then please give it to human beings. Not that I'm against animals--I love 'em. But it's like, if we're gonna make some money, then let's help a person. Do you think growing up Catholic affected your songwriting at all? I suppose it did, because it affected my life. It affects my way of thinking and everything. I mean, I'm still a religious person. I believe in God, although I never sit down to write "God" songs. I have my belief, and my faith, and I keep it private. But I try to live right and treat people fairly, so I suppose that comes through in the music. What was your family-life like, growing up. Was it happy? It was generally happy. I think back often to the times when I was five to ten. Those are years I look back to with sheer bliss. And I think that . . . my early teen years were very difficult. It got hard at about thirteen. Thirteen to thirty-two was pretty tough. (laughs) You caught some grief for "The Ledge," didn't you? Yeah. We made a video for it, and MTV didn't want to play it because they thought it promoted suicide. But that's not even listening to the song. You say people have come up to you and said a particular song helped them in some way. Has anyone told you that about "The Ledge?" Possibly. I don't really recall anyone ever saying what that one has given or done for them. Can we touch on the subject of drinking, just briefly? Sure. Everyone seems to have a theory about why writers drink. Do you have one? Well, I drank before I wrote, so I could almost be disqualified as a writer slash drinker. My reasons went deeper than that. It was to cure an anxiety that I'd felt ever since I was small. And drinking would do that, but when it wore off it would make the problem worse. I don't know. Perhaps writers think too much, and liquor makes it hard to think. There's a simple statement, probably true. At some point, with the Replacements, did you ever feel like that part of the band . . . that you were becoming an enabler for some people who were seeking a way to legitimize taking that approach? By that, I mean people who perhaps were very intelligent and had serious aspirations, but who wanted to set themselves up to be heroic failures. Yes. That was a foul smell that I caught toward the end, and even earlier on. People would come up to me with a lost, hopeless look in their eyes, looking to me for a pat on the back for throwing their lives away. It didn't cross my mind that I needed to stop drinking for them, to show them the right way. I needed to save myself from dying. But now that I'm kind of back on my feet, I'd like to hope that someone might look at me and say, "If he can do it, I can do it." I mean, I was as bad as anyone. It's not impossible to stop, and you don't have to do it the way someone else says you have to. You don't have to go to a hospital; you don't have to go to meetings. If that works for you, then do it. But I didn't do that; I just stopped. Is there anything that's changed drastically about your songwriting since you gave up [alcohol]? I know right away when it's crap. It doesn't take me until the next day to find out. So you wrote when you were under the influence? Well, I was always on my way to being under the influence, or else I was coming off it. There was never, like, two days of being totally straight. I was always kind of halfway in the bag. Especially in the studio, you'd think that you had something magnificent, and then you'd listen to it in the light of day and realize it wasn't quite so good. I'm a little more able to catch it quick, now. Where do you write? Everywhere. But usually it gets pounded out right there in the living room. Hotel rooms are the seed of where a lot of things come from, when I'm traveling. And many times, songs get finished in the studio. I like to record away from home, so I can go back to a hotel each night, and not go to my home. I do a lot of my writing and finishing there in the hotel room, wherever the studio is. Your lyrics are nearly always subject to multiple interpretations. They're kind of like a Robert Altman movie, where you might have several things going on at once and they all fit together. Yeah, people usually don't see the layers. A lot of people take the song for its initial value, and maybe it takes someone who thinks a little more deeply to see that the song has more than one meaning. A lot of people see only the obvious, and that's okay. In a way, I'm proud that I can write songs like that, because it gives an option to people who want to go beyond the first meaning. But a lot of people don't. Was there ever a point in your life where you knew this was what you were going to do? Or did that happen gradually? I think it was gradual. I can't think of one exact moment. Maybe [it was] the day I quit my job and never went back, but I didn't have any reason to think when I was nineteen, "Okay, I've got it made now." I knew it would be a long haul. I mean, I made up my mind back then that I was never again going to sweep under anyone's feet. I wouldn't have led a life of crime, but [without music] I might've become some sort of low-life gigolo or something. (laughs) Anything to get by without having to go back to manual labor. Do you feel like you're prepared, if this album were to really go through the roof? I think so. I've never been more prepared. That would be the honest statement. Are you hopeful that that will happen? Yes, I am. With each record . . . I think each one is good, and I think each one should do something fantastic. And when they don't, I always have to go back and regroup, and try not to think about it too much. Or think, "Where did I go wrong?" But I believe it's the right mix this time. There seems to be real commitment from the record company. I've always done my part, more or less. I've toured, and interviewed, and delivered "good" to "great" albums. And I think this one leans toward great. So yeah, I'm optimistic.
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