I Think About This a Lot: John Rzeznik in the Replacements Documentary

Gorman Bechard’s 2011 Replacements film, Color Me Obsessed, feels like a fans-only experience. It’s made for someone who cares enough to know where the title comes from (“Color Me Obsessed”, off 1983’s Hootenanny, a record underloved even by Replacements standards), which means a high percentage of the ‘Mats fanbase. If you like the Replacements, the lovable college rock losers famous for their ragtag music, appearance and performances, you’re probably a big enough fan for a two-hour oral history film about them. The band and their music never appear in the movie, but we get accounts from friends, fans and collaborators who've been touched in some way. If you care what people like Chicago's Sound Opinions critics Greg Kot and Jim DeRogatis think about the Replacements, you are going to love this movie.

But it’s not a moment from DeRogatis or Kot, or any of the film’s considerable cast—writers David Carr and Robert Christgau, actors Dave Foley and George Wendt, and producer Steve Albini among them—that I keep going back to. It’s the Goo Goo Dolls' John Rzneznik. The Goo Goo Dolls are one of many bands influenced by the Replacements (Rzeznik even co-wrote a Dolls song, 1993's “We Are the Normal”, with Replacements leader Paul Westerberg). But on the Color Me Obsessed web site they stand out among musician participants—“Hüsker Dü, Babes in Toyland, The Decemberists, The Hold Steady...and Goo Goo Dolls.” The Goo Goo Dolls are the only one of those bands with a platinum record or multiple Grammy nominations, plus the only one likely to get invited to perform at the Macy Day Parade, which the Dolls' Rzeznik and Robby Takac have apparently done three times. I don't know what the kids thought, but people who spent the 1990s in grade school seemed mostly startled by NBC anchors referring to “classic rock group” the Goo Goo Dolls, and/or Rzeznik's face, his heartthrob good looks now hardened by plastic surgery. They're the only band in Color Me Obsessed with a smash worldwide hit, 1998's “Iris” from the City of Angels soundtrack, plus a slew of radio hits, including “Slide”, “Black Balloon” and “Name”, more popular than the biggest songs by the Replacements or any other band in Color Me Obsessed.

But there they are in the movie, Rzeznik, Takac and drummer Mike Malinin, talking the Replacements. “The first time I heard Don’t Tell a Soul, I got a copy of it for my birthday," Rzeznik recalls. "We were sitting in our friend’s apartment...and I opened it up, tore it open, put it in the CD player...and I heard it, and I pushed the eject button, put it back in the case and threw it out the window. And I was like ‘No way! This is not the Replacements.’”

I imagine people who saw this in theaters laughing. Who invited Prom King here? Mr. Don’t Want the World to See Me thinks the Replacements sold out? Did the movie’s filmmakers invite him here to make fun of him? A friend I recounted this too sounded similarly disappointed by John Rzeznik's career moves (“Has he even heard Superstar Car Wash?”). But Rzeznik is serious. He loves the Replacements and felt betrayed by the overproduced, ballad-heavy record that sounded less like Let It Be and more like, well, the Goo Goo Dolls. 

Rzeznik’s moment is a touching realization that artists don’t think of themselves as the bad guy. Rzeznik doesn’t feel like the prom king. He feels like the kind of outsider who’d find solace in the Replacements’ songs about loners and coulda-beens. He's a capital A Artist who writes songs from the heart, just like Paul Westerberg, only Rzeznik’s connect on a much bigger scale. He didn’t write Dizzy Up the Girl to be a corporate rock poser. It’s just the record he was feeling at the time. Paul Westerberg wanted to write hits too, signing with a major label and filming music videos. We might view the Replacements differently if Don’t Tell a Soul was the hit Westerberg hoped it to be. Maybe their scrappy past would be overshadowed by the polished soft rock band behind hits like “Achin’ to Be” and “I’ll be You” (the opposite seems to have happened—2019's Dead Man's Pop box set attempted to rescue Don’t Tell a Soul’s songs from their 1989 gloss). Let It Be or Tim could have been their Superstar Car Wash.

In The Onion's brilliant Sting sendup "You Know, I Used to Be Kind of Cool Once," the author concludes "Then again, Eric Clapton, of 'Tears In Heaven' fame, really used to tear it up, too, come to think of it. Or, hell, just take Paul Westerberg. Now there’s one to ponder." If one of Paul's maudlin solo albums were a big hit, more Replacements fans might view him the way some Police fans view Sting's solo career, or Cream fans view Eric Clapton's. But since the Replacements’ attempts at major success failed, they get to be scrappy underdogs with devoted fans who line up to be in a movie like Color Me Obsessed. Maybe if “Iris” tanked we'd be watching a Goo Goo Dolls movie and laughing at an appearance from Train.

Jimi Hendrix, "Angel"

Naming "Angel" as your favorite Hendrix song is a little like saying that Paul McCartney is your favorite Beatle. It's not as popular as John or "Purple Haze," nor is it as cool as George or "1983... (A Merman I Should Turn to Be)." But judging on songcraft alone, it stands above the rest.



Why is that? There's nothing particularly flashy about it, which might be why Jimi never released it in his lifetime. But for an artist whose songs are pretty much universally loved, Hendrix never seems to get enough credit as a composer. Sure, everyone admirers the guitar playing, but he also had an impeccable sense of melody, knowing when to use a good, subtle progression and give it breathing room, the way that he does here. Jeff Beck would have probably gussied it up until it was lost in a nine-minute jam, and Clapton would need outside songwriting help to come up with anything like it. If I believed in angels, I'd thank them that Jimi gave this song the structure and lyrics that it deserves.

Something about this magic little song transcends arrangements and performances. I love the orchestrated version, performed here by Gil Evans' band in the 70s.



Fiona Apple's rendition on MTV Unplugged is as lovely as anything I can think of (starts around 10:43).



Even Rod Stewart and the Faces could stop being silly on Top of the Pops long enough to show some reverence.



Songs usually don't get covered this often unless a) Everyone likes them, and/or b) People assume they can sing it better than the original performer (see "Blowin' in the Wind" or "Hallelujah.") With "Angel," I wonder if it's a little of both--people like it, and most people think of Jimi as the Guitar God and leave it at that. But most likely, Hendrix just created a mood that everyone wants to be a part of. Fly on, my sweet angel.

Derek and the Dominos, "Layla"

Emma is a (literally, I fear) sleepless humanitarian. I won't hear from her for months, or even years at a time, but sometimes she'll call me when she's 15 minutes away from my home, stopping by New York for a quick UN Conference in between ecology work and community organizing in South America. She's one of the most accomplished people that I know, but she's never heard "Layla."



With the restless energy of a pixie, Emma was gushing to me about listening to Eric Clapton's Unplugged record on the way to New York, which includes a popular version of "Layla" more in tune with blue-eyed blues and and soft rock that Clapton is currently akin to. I grumbled something about the original being better, and her reaction was the musical equivalent of when someone finds out that a movie they cherish was originally a book.

Who dares talk about "Layla" anymore? Who talks about "Smells Like Teen Spirit" or "Satisfaction?" There's not much that I can say that hasn't been said better (I like Robert Christgau's 1970 review and Chuck Klosterman's "The Ninth Day" chapter in Killing Yourself to Live). But today I'll write that I love both how innovative and how traditional "Layla" is. It's a proto-metal song that's catchy enough for Beach Boys fans, a plugged-in, blues-based shuffle with Duane Allman on guitar and a sonata's worth of movements. When Martin Scorsese uses Jim Gordon's piano segment to emphasize a montage in Goodfellas, its closest companion is the use of Mascagni in Raging Bull.



That blend of classical and anti-establishment sensibilities has been distinguishing metal for decades. Years after he praised "Layla," Robert Christgau trashed Metallica's Master of Puppets in his Consumer Guide, writing that the band's "stock in trade is compositions not songs" and that he was "no more likely to invoke their strength of my own free will than I am The 1812 Overture's." Eric Clapton should be as proud as James Hetfield and Tchaikovsky.