It's no secret that my favorite band of all time, by a long way, is the Replacements. The quintessential postpunk band, the Replacements mixed a sloppy garage d.i.y. ethos with some of the most achingly perfect music and lyrics ever recorded. Paul Westerberg was the genius frontman who poured his pain through the mic. Bob Stinson was the tragically drunk guitarist whose antics always overshadowed his casually brilliant skills. Tommy Stinson, Bob's brother, was the precocious bass player who joined the band at the age of 11. Chris Mars was the unspectacular but sound drummer. Together they helped define an 80s underground sound. But they barely survived the 80s and broke up during the latter half of the first Bush administration.
Paul has gone on to have a fine if underappreciated solo career. Chris and Tommy have been in bands that produced serviceable-to-good but ultimately disposable postpunk/pop. And Bob, as if fated, died in 1995 basically because his body gave out on him after years of abuse. This 1993 Charles Aaron story from Spin captured Bob when he was on his downward spiral. Mats fans will probably find that this one cuts a little too close.
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