Viva Batista

In 1985, I thought Aimee Mann was a vapid puff of corporate-rock trash and Paul Westerberg was God.  Twenty years later, I think Mann’s one of the finest pop artists alive, and I don’t really know what to think of Westerberg, whose post-Replacements output is just barely good enough to keep me interested but never actually good enough to fully satisfy.  What the hell happened?

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so hard on ‘Til Tuesday, but everything from their name to their pouffy hair signified utter crap at the time.  And their one hit truly was shite, redeemed only by Gang Green‘s sarcastic cover.  When TT inevitably faded from the pop charts, Mann probably thought her 15 minutes of fame were over–but did she sulk about it?  Well, maybe–I have no idea what she was doing between the last TT album in ’88 and her first solo disc in ’93.  But in the mid-’90s she got her groove on and started cranking out these fantastically rich, resonant pop albums.  Paul Thomas Anderson was so impressed he based Magnolia on a suite of songs by Mann.  I can’t listen to her enough these days–she’s making some of the best, most thoughtful, mordantly moving music for grownups.

Westerberg, on the other hand… Well, the Replacements were the coolest kids in school (uh, out of school, actually) in the mid-’80s, rock legends in the making.  But all the critical raves and the undying love of indie music nerds like me weren’t enough.  They never actually made it big, sunk by their own bad habits, the agonized politics of pre-grunge indie music, and the bitch that is Fate.  God knows they went down fighting–their last album (really Westerberg’s first solo album), All Shook Down, is a lamentably unsung masterpiece.  But today I get the feeling that Westerberg never got over his missed shot at stardom, and that seems reflected in the unevenness of his solo output. 

Obviously, I’m drawing a parallel based on convenient circumstances–both Mann and Westerberg had their moments in the ’80s pop spotlight, migrated to Los Angeles, and built modestly successful solo careers focusing on themes of love and loss.  And in fairness to Westerberg, 1) It’s easier for Mann’s current work to look good in comparison with her earlier stuff–she doesn’t have a Let It Be on her resume, and 2) When he’s good, he’s still very, very good.  But if you would have told me in 1985 that someday I’d buy the new Aimee Mann album and leave Paul Westerberg’s on the shelf, I’d have clocked you.