WESTERBERG!!

[jesmoore]

I have to say, friday night with Westerberg was one of the most entertaining musical evenings I've ever experienced causing me to dub Paul the Willy Wonka of Rock & Roll: an angry, self-effacing, chain-smoking recluse resplendent in referee stripes and tuxedo pants.  
 
 The set list was an amalgam of 'mats greats, a range of his solo career, as well as some fabulous covers including the Ramones classic "I wanna be your boyfriend" and Dylan's "Like a rollin' stone."
 
 For those who complain about Paul's brief departure and the five minutes of Andrew's rock & roll fantasy camp, let's remember that Westerberg performed for nearly three hours solo.  That's pretty impressive in this day and age of 1.5 hour synthesized and choreographed shows at $85 bucks a pop.  You just witnessed one of the great lyrical artists of our time...and he kicked things over and was crazy!!  Isn't that what Rock is all about?
 
 Westerberg for President.

[Random Citizen]

The show lasted approx 2.5 hours and that includes the Andrew antics, who was on stage for longer than 5 minutes considering he "sang" lead on "Alex Chilton" and "Left of the Dial."
 
 Also, I'm not sure who you're seeing at these "1.5 hour synthesized and choreographed shows at $85 bucks a pop," because there are plenty of bands/artists out there who peform for longer than 90 minutes and do a great job at it. And for much less than $85, to boot.
 
 I'd rather have a mind-blowing 90-minute set, than a 150-minute set that was filled with forgotten lyrics and fanboys.
 
 As I wrote in the other thread on the show, it was "meh" at best.

[Random Citizen]

Rules #1, #2 & #22:
 
   

1) Don't sing if you aren't one of the dudes on stage getting paid to do it. Nobody paid their hard-earned money to hear your dorky, untalented ass sing. We came to hear the dudes on stage sing. Paying 40 bucks to go see Tool, but instead of hearing Maynard, you get the dorkus malorkus with mad zits standing next to you singing "Sober" really loudly and out of key in your ear is enough to murder mother fuckers for.
 
 2) Also, if the singer on stage does decide to either: pass the mic around for the "sing along" song, or: motion to the audience to sing aloud at key moments, and you know beforehand that your singing ability is severely limited, you MUST waive your "sing along" rights. Leave the crowd participation parts to those that do not fall under the "musically retarded" category.
 
 22) Sometimes when your favorite band is playing their big hit as their last song, you think it's a good idea and really cool to jump up on the stage and dance with the band. You and about 50 other die-hard geeks. Wellâ?¦ we know you're real enthusiastic about the whole thing, but get your porky and dorky ass off the stage. The band doesn't want you up there that close to their equipment. Get off the stage fruitcake.

[jimmyrat]

The show rocked.  Being a Mats fan from back in the day and being a luke warm follower of Paul's solo career, I admittedly have stayed out of the loop of recent events.  It was great to hear the old Mats tunes, with solo work mixed in.  I agree that that Andrew dude sucked, but it was only for a little more than 2 songs in the middle of a 3 hour non-stop show.  I think the short inconvenience was worth putting up with.  Paul still has it.

[Frank Gallagher]

Originally posted by jesmoore:
   let's remember that Westerberg performed for nearly three hours solo.  

Did he really? Or did it just seem that long? I can't imagine standing through three hours of anybody to be honest. No, not even Beautiful South or a Smiths reunion.
 
 The human attention span is only so long, and I'm sure GGW will let us know just how long exactly.

[Bags]

http://washingtontimes.com/entertainment/20050501-091516-1450r.htm
 
 May 02, 2005 Washington Times
 Westerberg chaos is not surprising
 
 Anything involving the famously mercurial Paul Westerberg in a live situation is by definition unscripted and, therefore, unpredictable. But I'd wager no one anticipated a performance of "Paul Westerberg Idol" at the ex-Replacement's Friday night late show at the 9:30 Club.
 
     Yet there was our contender, introduced only as "Andrew," belting out Replacements faves "Alex Chilton" and "Left of the Dial" with rock-and-roll-fantasy-camp abandon. Five minutes earlier, Andrew had been hustled from the stage by club security staff. Mr. Westerberg's bassist, Jim Boquist, had other plans for the stage invader.
 
     After re-emerging for an encore, Mr. Westerberg (Judge Westerberg?) was in a Paula Abdul (as opposed to a Simon Cowell) kind of mood. He pronounced himself pleased with Andrew's performance, though in more colorful terms.
 
     Friday's 2½ hour odyssey through Mr. Westerberg's songbook -- he played Replacements must-do's such as "Can't Hardly Wait" and relatively obscure ones such as "Achin' to Be" as well as material spanning his 10-plus years as a solo artist -- had a shambolic, tossed-off quality that made it feel close to the edge. On one side of that edge is the sloppiness that's part and parcel of the spirit of great rock music. On the other side is just sloppiness.
 
     Mr. Westerberg took the stage to the sounds of Frank Sinatra, smoking a customary stogie and dressed in a black-and-white-striped jacket with a silly red ascot. He got ostensibly looser through the evening and hit more bum guitar notes than an amateur on open-mike night.
 
     His band (dubbed His Only Friends), especially drummer Michael Bland, kept the show, and Mr. Westerberg, from descending into chaos. (At one point, guitarist Kevin Bowe begged his boss not to play Southern rock covers after an interlude of the Allman Brothers Band's "Whipping Post" came from nowhere.)
 
     An unpredictable set list included segues into Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone," a cover of the Ramones' "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend," abandoned stabs at Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady" and stray quotes from Rolling Stones songs. Mr. Westerberg laughed through lines, forgot others and invented new ones on the spot. Mr. Boquist, a human teleprompter, occasionally filled in.
 
     Some numbers came off perfectly, as though (it's a possibility) they had been rehearsed. "Making Me Go" and "As Far As I Know" burst forth as if they had been trapped on the tour bus all day. "Knocking on Mine" hurtled like some forgotten Faces classic. "Love Untold" sounded like an arena-rock hit from the parallel universe where Mr. Westerberg actually became the star he was perpetually just around the corner from becoming.
 
     Like Mr. Westerberg's entire career, Friday was a half-empty, half-full kind of night: How great or how disastrous it was depended on how you feel about Paul Westerberg.
 
     And whether you knew Andrew.