Looking back at Paul Westerberg's solo debut

On the 30th anniversary of its release, I offer my college newspaper review from 1993, annotated, an exercise in 'woulda, coulda, shoulda' that mostly makes me feel old

With apologies to rock critic Steven Hyden, who did something similar on his own Substack, "Evil Speakers" (which I hope comes back some day), I wanted to celebrate the 30th anniversary of Paul Westerberg's solo debut, 14 Songs, by revisiting the review I wrote for my college newspaper, The Daily Iowan. I recall being quite proud of the piece, feeling my music criticism skills were beginning to coalesce into something worth sharing. 

Looking back, I can see that age and experience and context can add a great deal. While most of the individual points made by my 23-year-old self still stand up, the review offers a fairly tautological argument that, with a bit of critical distance, might have been crafted into something more insightful. Here I am in dialogue with my younger self, the original review in italics.

I love looking though the digitized Daily Iowan archive, and not always for self-serving reasons.

Westerberg confused on new LP

14 Songs is the former Replacements vocalist-guitarist's first solo LP. 

Most critics are making a big deal about Paul Westerberg's new adult career turn, taking care to mention the Replacements' checkered past as a contrast to Westerberg's new-found maturity.

Baloney. The Replacements, rough and ragged though they were, had better lyrics and more inventive melodies than most so called important bands, past or present, and shedding three bandmates didn't make Westerberg suddenly grow up. He started slipping ballads onto Replacements LPs as early as 1983's Hootenanny, and the 'Mats swan song, All Shook Down, was basically a solo showcase for his ever-developing series of quiet heartstring pullers. He left the loud guitars behind long ago. 

No quarrel so far. My introduction to the Replacements was 1985's Tim, a friend's LP taped onto a Maxell XLII, and I quickly worked my way backward from there. When 1986's Pleased to Meet Me arrived, I was caught up and primed for it. It was clear, even to someone younger than teenaged bassist Tommy Stinson, there was a push/pull in the group that found Westerberg alternating songs that meant something to him -- like "Here Comes a Regular" -- with band-pleasing fare like "Dose of Thunder."

Always a sheep in wolf's clothing, Westerberg has now shed the baggage of being in the Replacements, be that good or bad, and struck out on his own. The result of that transformation, 14 Songs, is a mixed bag. A better title was already used by Lou Reed - Growing Up in Public. Westerberg chose to confront his growing reputation as a great songwriter on record, leaving his work at the critics' feet, to be judged at face value. 

Just a note: I had never heard Reed's LP at that point, and probably haven't heard it more than once even now. In 1993, my knowledge began with the Velvets and ended with New York, but a critic has to show his bona fides, even where there is nothing genuine behind the reference. 

The problem inherent with being Paul Westerberg is that to please critics, he must branch out and display artistic growth. To please his fans, he has to release LP after LP of "Beer for Breakfast"-type raveups. In attempting to please both while finally making a record for himself, Westerberg is left with a cobbled-together album that might possibly please no one.

In some ways I could have stopped here. This is the point I wanted to make, and the point I’ll stand behind today. I spend the rest of the review supporting that thesis by making the same complaint as fans, unwilling to meet Westerberg where he is, to evaluate what he has done rather than what I wanted him to do.

Westerberg used to hide his introspective lyrics in clever wordplay, hiding them behind a wall of noise. But careful listening turned up startlingly good lyrics like "God what a mess, on the ladder of success / When you take the first step and miss the whole first rung," from Tim's "Bastards of Young." But songs about outsiders and losers sung by someone who is increasingly becoming an insider don't work, and he knows it. 

Boy, I'd love to get another crack at that first sentence. "Hide" and "hiding" isn't a good look, younger John.  And it's funny to look back three decades on at a version of myself that saw Westerberg as a burgeoning music industry insider. He took three decreasingly successful attempts at the big time, and then, in Neil Youngian fashion, headed straight for the ditch. 

The result is a lyrical skid of sorts, as Westerberg churns out drivel like "Do I love ya, do I hate ya, do I really wanna date ya," from the 'Singles' soundtrack 's "Dyslexic Heart." Singing about himself without anything to hide behind, it seems as if he doesn't really have much to say. 

OK, here I was too clever for my own good. The real lyric is, "Do I love, do I hate ya, do I got a dyslexic heart." Bad enough without my embellishment. I suppose my disappointment at his first post-Replacements effort built it up (or down, as may be the case) in my mind, and there was no handy Genius listing to double check. Of course, he wasn't singing about or for himself. He was singing for a movie studio paycheck. Older me, with two kids and a mortgage, applauds the effort.

Musically, the album follows the patterns established by All Shook Down - mostly quiet, mid-tempo tunes, with a few ballads and rockers thrown in for good measure. Most of the songs would not be out of place on the tepid Don't Tell A Soul. When he hits, it's like watching a pro at work - all the elements fall into place like they always did. When he misses, it's painful to hear. 

Wow, such disrespect for Don't Tell a Soul! I remember being disappointed in this follow-up to Pleased to Meet Me, still one of my favorite albums of all time, but "tepid"? 

From the get-go, 14 Songs sounds promising. "Knockin' On Mine- is a marginal rocker, the type Westerberg could write with a moment's notice. But compared with All Shook Down and his work on "Singles," it is an absolute scorcher. The lyrics, however, are further proof of his slipping skills. Pitting formal education vs. the school of hard knocks, Westerberg offers this bit of self-taught wisdom: "You get burned in the sun, you get wet in the rain." Kids, stay in school. 

From there, Westerberg mixes it up, calculatedly alternating between slower songs and rockers. Just as it seems time to turn off the stereo, he comes back with one more worthwhile track to buy some time. While no one expects "I Hate Music" or "Dope Smokin' Moron" anymore, a couple of tunes on par with "Alex Chilton" would be nice. Westerberg does prove that he still has a bit of fire in his belly, and while full-bore rockers like "Something is Me" and "Down Love" aren't particularly memorable, it's reassuring to hear him having fun while the guitars roar.

One of the better tracks, "Runaway Wind,” is reason enough to give Westerberg some slack when he veers off into artistically challenging directions. A slow-building track not terribly different than "Sixteen Blue,” the song makes good where similar attempts fall short.

It's interesting that I singled out "Runaway Wind." I seemed to lament that Westerberg's "Dope Smokin' Moron" days were behind him and then two paragraphs later praise what was probably his most mature offering to date. It’s a song I wish I had explored more in the review.

It was just now, listening to it while writing this, that I paid enough attention to the lyrics to realize he was writing about someone grappling with aging. It was just a song with a strong melody and a captivating arrangement to my young ears.

I was probably 15 when I first heard "Sixteen Blue," so it resonated. But eight years later, the 33-year-old Westerberg wanted to alternate three-chord Faces rips with sophisticated adult popcraft, and I wasn't ready to understand it, the decade between us like a widening gulf. I wasn't going to get "Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out" from a guy who was writing about someone grappling with advancing age lines like 

You trade your telescope for a keyhole
Make way for the gray that's in your brown
As dreams make way for plans
See ya watch life from the stands
Come on I'll help you burn 'em to the ground

Sometimes Westerberg tries too hard to please. "Silver Naked Ladies'' is the dumbest song he ever wrote not called "Shooting Dirty Pool." Attempting a Stonesy shuffle that everyone from Bash 'n' Pop to Izzy Stradlin has already perfected, he instead chums out a forced-sounding tune that is salvaged only by the barrelhouse piano playing of Ian McLagan.

It's clear Westerberg wasn't quite sure who he wanted to be; it's also clear I wasn't sure who I wanted him to be. I still agree with my younger self, as that's a song I'll skip every time, but when Westerberg seemingly gives me what I want, I reject it. You could argue I wanted a dumb rocker but with subversively clever lyrics, I suppose, but if anything, I'm proving that Westerberg was doomed from the start, creating a fan base that wants an almost impossible cocktail of growth and stasis, pinning his heart on his sleeve with one hand while chugging a beer with the other.

The moments that stand out in relief are those in which Westerberg sounds inspired. Unfortunately, that happens only twice, for a total of about four minutes. "Black Eyed Susan: recorded in Westerberg's kitchen, and the equally lo-fi "Even Here We Are" are both spare ballads that call up the same emotional power that "Here Comes A Regular" did eight years ago. Westerberg still knows the power of understatement, but he chooses to ignore it more often than not. 

Westerberg is the flavor of the month in the press, and with MTV saturation and generous reviews elsewhere, 14 Songs is well on the way to becoming his best-selling work to date. That's a shame, because in the long run, he would do better if it flopped - Westerberg makes a better underdog than a hero. 

I needn't have worried. Westerberg is the perpetual underdog. The gloss and shine bought by well-meaning record label executives always wears off. This album sold around 160,000 copies, and was surely his solo peak. He swung for the fences twice more: 1996's Eventually (which is the only album of his I no longer own and barely played when I did), and 1999's Suicaine Gratifaction (no, that's not a typo, that's a man sabotaging his most mature album from the start). After that, he retreated to his basement and made music for himself.

In closing, I’ll say there were missed opportunities here. I didn’t single out “Things,” a wonderful tune that is neither ballad nor rocker, an obvious sibling to “Nobody" from All Shook Down. I ignored the chance to note that Westerberg, a cranky old man at age 33 asking for "A Few Minutes of Silence" just eight years after requesting one more "Dose of Thunder.” I am glad I avoided the temptation — correct though I would have been — to say this would have been better as 10 or 12 Songs.

I still listen to 14 Songs now and again, but never choose it over a Replacements album if that's what I'm really after. When I do listen now, I’m more forgiving, liking different songs than I did as a twentysomething. Paul’s view has changed, too. Speaking to Rolling Stone in 1993, Westerberg said, “It's just me. It's the sound of a thirty-three-year-old guy who lives alone and enjoys it. I'm not a part of a group. I'm comfortable with where I'm at.” By 2016, his opinion had been right-sized: “Overly written songs with huge expectations.” 

Westerberg has essentially retired from music, issuing only a handful of tracks -- some on Bandcamp, some on Soundcloud, and some with Juliana Hatfield as the I Don’t Cares -- since the unexpected but strangely satisfying Replacements reunion tour of 2013-15. He has made a career of not giving people what they want, and it is the wise fan who takes what is offered when it comes. 

As he sang on "It's a Beautiful Lie," a track from the 14 Songs follow up, Eventually:  

So don't pin your hopes

Or pin your dreams

To misanthropes or guys like me