Virgin Megastore in Boston on May 1, 2002.
I apologize for the lack of specific technical info, but it was recorded via MiniDisc, then transferred digitally to
a stereo-component CD recorder (not via analog cables to my PC). The CD was then ripped into FLAC (level compression
8, via dbPowerAmp). I hope this info is acceptable ... it's all I've got.
01 Intro
02 Waiting For Somebody
03 Lookin' Out Forever
04 Once Around The Weekend
05 Hootenanny
06 No Place For You
07 Eyes Like Sparks
08 Born For Me
09 Mr. Rabbit
10 High Time
11 Alex Chilton
12 Crackle and Drag
13 Skyway
14 Unsatisfied
15 Let The Bad Times Roll
16 Someone Take The Wheel
17 Psychopharmacology
*****************************************************************
The following is a portion of a blog entry I wrote about the show:
My goal has certainly never been to stalk or hunt down anyone with any level of fame simply for the sake of brushing up against celebrity (not since I've been an "adult", anyway). I try not to get too starstruck, but sometimes it's the nature of the beast, and if given the opportunity to shake a hand or get an autograph, I'll sacrifice the time and effort if even to just say hello and thanks.
As a kid, it was mostly baseball players at card shows. Some players were great (anyone remember Jody Reed?), others ... not so much. Roger Clemens was OK back then (I must have been 15 years old when I met him), but a certain Hall of Fame left-fielder for the Red Sox (whose name rhymes with "Schmed Frilliams", but I'm not going to name names) was someone slightly less than warm and friendly.
Around the time of my freshman year at BU, a college friend of mine (who will remain nameless, but she knows who she is) had a car ... long story short, the carfull of us driving around the eastern half of the state were KIDNAPPED and - I kid you not - driven to visit the homes of each of the New Kids On The Block. Not one of my prouder moments, but there's no denying it happened, though in fairness I had absolutely no say in the matter. Her devious plan was unrevealed until we got to the first house, and then there was no turning back ...
During my time in Boston, I was also able to take advantage of the many in-store appearances at what was then Tower Records. I got to meet Lou Reed (who had a surprisingly weak handshake), Rob Zombie (an incredibly nice guy), and Brian May (even nicer!) when he opened for Guns N' Roses at the old Boston Garden. Somewhere in my mom's basement is a cardboard longbox (remember those?) signed by Dinosaur Jr (J Mascis did not seem to want to be there, and signed all of his autographs "J".) I saw live performances by Belly, Velocity Girl, and many others.
Thanks to a snafu with their fan-club, I went backstage to meet the Black Crowes in Connecticut - a story worthy of its own post sometime soon.
Nothing can beat the story of the time I met Bruce Campbell in October 2001, of course - a couple of years later, I ended up marrying the woman I fatefully ended up standing next to in line. Running a distant second, I think, would be the time I met Paul Westerberg at an in-store appearance to promote his album "Stereo" at the Virgin Megastore on Newbury Street in Boston. No doubt, it was my favorite musician-moment.
I was working in Davis Square in Somerville at the time, and Paul was scheduled to perform that evening at about 7 p.m. and sign afterwards. I hopped on the Red Line immediately after leaving the office at 5 and arrived at the store to find a sizable crowd gathered on the first floor, winding through the aisles of new releases and books in front of the stage that had been set up. We were all there pretty early, and we knew we'd be waiting a while for Paul to arrive.
I found a couple of friends - members of the Boston-based band AM Stereo (you've never heard of them, which is a shame - they're one of my favorites) - toward the middle of the room and chatted with them for a while. They weren't the only musicians in the crowd, though. Looking around, it was a virtual who's who of the local indie scene. I didn't know everyone personally, but I'd been going to local shows at TTs, The Middle East, the Abbey Lounge, etc. enough to recognize faces. Some big names, too. I remember seeing Juliana Hatfield among others.
While everyone was waiting for the scheduled appearance, security flushed everyone outside to wait in a "proper" line (so as not to interfere with actual shoppers). Many who had been waiting even longer than me were disappointed and milled around for a while, to see if the staff was serious about moving all non-customers along, figuring that if they lingered, maybe security would just give up and they'd be allowed to just stay where they were. Being the unfun stickler for the rules that I am, I headed for the door and ended up about ten people deep in the newly formed queue. A good move - they were serious about moving people out, and soon the line stretched outside the building.
When we were finally let back into the building for the performance, the CD displays had been rearranged, and the aisles that had been our temporary homes minutes earlier had taken on a new snaking form. A handful of velvet ropes also guided people toward the stage. The AM Stereo guys and I had to make a decision once we got inside - which aisle to walk down. In a rare moment of pure, absolute, unqualified luck, I led us to the one that led directly in front of the stage - literally two feet from the microphone Paul would use, right in front of his monitors. Dead center.
I wasn't the first to arrive for the show, but now I was front row center. As much as I loved (and still love) The Replacements, I knew I couldn't possibly be the "biggest fan" there - they broke up while I was still in High School, and I'd never seen any of their legendary live performances. I'd gotten into the 'Mats thanks to the video for "I'll Be You" on MTV's "120 Minutes". I bought "Don't Tell A Soul" on cassette as soon as I could find a copy. I'm willing to bet I was the only member of my graduating high school class who owned that record when it came out. I still have an old 1989 tour t-shirt that I picked out of a bargain bin at Newbury Comics during one of my family's trips to Boston to see a Red Sox game during my high school years (we'd get into town early, and if we could convince my parents, we'd all walk over to Newbury Street so I could visit the shop).
I filled in the rest of the Replacements catelog in the years I left high school in Worcester and started my life as a student at BU. I didn't have a lot of money; though I had plenty of new friends, I certainly didn't have anything resembling a "social life". I never dated, never drank, never wanted to spend what little money I had on going to shitty clubs that played shitty music just for the sake of being "social". The money I spent was usually in Kenmore Square, at Nuggets or Planet Records. Cheap used CDs were less than ten bucks (usually only six), and I started my collection of must-have records there.
"Tim". "Let It Be". "All Shook Down". Paul's two excellent contributions to the "Singles" soundtrack. By that point, I understood why his music was considered "important". It was a big deal to so many people, and now me too.
Front row center.
I didn't deserve to be in that spot. I knew it then, and I know it now. But there I was ...
In an odd sort of way, I faced a dilemma - not only did I know I didn't deserve to be there, I also wanted to tape the show.
This performance occurred during a wonderful phase of my life in which I'd taken to recording shows on my minidisc player. I loved the sound of bootlegged live shows, but at that time they were difficult to track down, and expensive besides. Peer-to-peer file sharing was a different beast, at that point, primarily focusing on pirated CDs. I liked actually owning CDs, having the liner notes, the physical item to put on a shelf ... P2P files were lesser quality and didn't appeal to me nearly as much (plus, I had a dial-up modem with a crummy download speed, which didn't help matters). Bit torrent didn't exist yet. If you wanted a live recording, you had to buy an "import" CD from a local used record shop for a ridiculous price, or trade by searching for other collectors' lists on-line and sending stuff back and forth via snail-mail.
So I bought the minidisc player and the digital microphone and started my own collection (which turned out to be quite good, as far as I'm concerned).
And there I was, gear in hand, desperately wanting to record the show ... but what to do? Give up the spot? Forget about recording?
The hell with it. I'd just take my chances. The worst that could happen is that Paul or security or someone would tell me to put my stuff away. When Paul came through the door, wearing a spray-painted suit and smelling like stinky cigars, I took out the microphone, slid the "record" button over, and crossed my fingers.
I held the microphone with my sweaty-from-nerves right hand, pinned to my chest as if it would somehow not be noticable, knowing full well that it was clear as day. At that point, I was hoping that I'd only pick up the music, not my nervously pounding heartbeat.
Paul went on stage and grabbed his guitar, took a pick off the mic stand, and started playing.
Paul played sixteen songs that evening with no backing band. Just him and a guitar. Some solo, some stuff by the 'Mats. The audience would have listened to him read the phone book. He was mesmerizing, even when he mixed up the words to "Skyway".
And I was there, right in front of him. Undeservingly. Brazenly taking more than he was giving, not quite shoving my microphone in his face, but not exactly being subtle about it either.
Never once did he say anything about my recording his performance. Security never came up to me. The only downside to this point was that, as closest to the stage, I was the furthest from the start of the autograph line.
I got into yet another line after Paul left the stage and waited. And waited. And waited. I hadn't eaten anything since lunch and was tired and hungry, and it was pressing close to 10:30 by the time I got to Paul at his table. He still smelled of cigar, and he had a pile of spent Sharpies at his side. He'd had a long evening, too, but to his great credit he stayed to sign for everyone who wanted to wait.
The AM Stereo guys, still hanging out with me, gave him a copy of the CD single they'd recorded (entitled "Bob Stinson's Dead", about the Replacement's old guitar player). I don't know what I said, if anything (I knew I wouldn't be able to say anything he hadn't heard a million times before). As far as I'm concerned, for the sake of preserving what I perceive to have been a very fond memory, I simply said "thank you" and moved along.
And then Paul's "handler" approached me. Uh oh.
"I saw you up front. You recorded the show?"
Gulp. "Yep."
"I'm Paul's manager."
Double gulp.
"We're trying to collect as much stuff as we can from these in-store performances. Do you think you might be able to send me a copy?"
YES, YES, and YES! He didn't care that I'd taped it - in fact, he was happy that I had! He gave me his business card (I think I kept it - it's probably somewhere in the bottom of a box somewhere in my storage unit) and I sent it out within days (a land-speed record, by my standards).
I've never put this show into circulation until now - with the exception of Paul's manager, I don't think I've ever shared this with anyone. The sound is pretty good for a rinky dink set-up and an amateur taper, I think - funny how recording a performance from that distance helps, huh? That the recording is not perfect mirrors the charm of the performer himself. Rough around the edges, but still compelling.
Not only can you hear Paul's guitar through the monitors and amplifiers, you can at times hear the un-amplified acoustic guitar strings recorded directly through my microphone, bypassing all electronic assistance. Paul's "under-the-breath" commentary, perhaps lost to those in the back of the room, sounds clear as day in this recording.
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