So I thought it might be kind of cool to do a series of posts on some of our all time fave front men (and women—but mostly men). The list is long (Malkmus, Doug Martsch, and Frank Black come immediately to mind), but to most on it might be applied that choice Berman-ism (there’s another one), “All my favorite singers couldn’t sing.” These aren’t guys with the best pipes in the world, nor even the most skillz on their instruments of choice (we’ll talk later, Doug)—they’re just the ones who bring that rare, ear-cocking combination of individuality, intelligence, and resonance to their respective bands. Speaking of which, despite being indelibly linked to said groups (Pavement, BtS, Pixies, etc.), these guys’ careers have also almost all wandered into solo / side project territory at one point or another—not all that surprising, I guess, given the uniqueness of talent they bring to the table—which makes retrospectives of their output all the more interesting. Anyhoo, what better start things off than with everybody’s favorite punch-drunk sensitive tough guy, Paul  Westerberg?

Of all the aforementioned artists’, Westerberg’s sound has perhaps changed the most over the course of his nearly 30 year career, at least in part because an oft-maligned (but completely understandable) belly fire for mainstream success. With each new release—really starting as far back as 1983’s Hootenanny—Westerberg has polished away a further layer of the loveable bedlam that epitomized the Replacement’s earliest recordings. Thankfully, still remaining is a cleaner, tighter, more controlled version of what was really always at the core of the ’Mats best material: that sort of Springsteen-esque heart meets sleeve desperation created by Westerberg’s ragged poignancy and raw delivery. And testament to Westerberg’s songwriting prowess, this never sounds out of place, whether he’s eulogizing a piss-drunk party in “Color Me Impressed” (“Givin’ out their word / ’cause that’s all that they won’t keep”) or lamenting a friend’s bad relationship in “Little Mascara” (“All you ever wanted was someone Ma’d be scared of”). Here’s those two tracks along with two more from Westerberg’s solo career, one from the soundtrack to Cameron Crowe’s 1992 film Singles (Paul’s first post-’Mats output), the other from 1999’s Suicaine Gratifaction.