For a band that made imperfection an art form and never seemed satisfied in its heyday, the Replacements sure did not live up to the past Saturday night at Midway Stadium. Thank god.
The legendarily unsung '80s band surrounded itself with surprisingly perfect circumstances for its long-awaited, hugely hyped hometown reunion concert, the first local Replacements show in 23 years.
Everything felt so right Saturday night, in fact, the big question of whether or not the notoriously erratic band was going to blow it or blow 'em away almost seemed beside the point. There was no question which way things fell, though.
Even before the reborn 'Mats showed their smirking faces, the sold-out crowd of 14,000 seemed electrified and elated. There was something idyllic and poetic about the location: a low-rent, no-frills minor-league ballpark that's about to be put out to pasture, one that lies squarely between the blue-collar, fun-loving downtown to its east and the flashier, more full-of-itself city to the west. Sounds about right for the Replacements.
What's more, the weather turned out crisp, golden and tailor-made for stadium tailgating in flannel shirts, and the opening bands proved wisely chosen and visibly excited to be involved. Lucero kicked off the music at 7 p.m. with a rich set of horns-infused Memphis alt-twangy boogie rock, highlighted by the crescendoing "Tears Don't Matter Much."
The Hold Steady cut to the chase with opening favorite "Little Hoodrat Friend" and crammed in 11 more songs in 45 minutes, all replete with 'Mats influence and shout-outs to the local haunts of Edina-reared frontman Craig Finn's youth. There simply was no better local band to open this one — never mind that this one band is based in New York (where the Hold Steady will resume its 'Mats opening duties again next weekend).
There was a Minnesotanness to the entire proceedings. Wearing matching plaid suits that harked back to their goofy attire of old, the band walked out to the giddy sounds of the Trashmen's "Surfin' Bird" coming out of the speakers. They brought out another Minneapolis music legend of the '60s, harmonica ace Tony Glover — "a real musician," as frontman Paul Westerberg introduced him — for a surprisingly taut blues jam through Jimmy Reed's "Going to New York."
Best and most Minne-centric of all, they dug in and went to work. Instead of the messy, black-eyed, get-a-noseful shows of old, this one was more nose-to-the-grindstone. The oddest thing about Saturday's 1¾-hour set might have been how little oddball behavior there was.