Music Friday: "Bastards of Young"

I'm in the mood for one of the finest bands in the history of the world, The Replacements.

This footage comes from a show in 1989, the year I graduated high school, and the song comes from their album Tim. Click HERE to watch the performance that has sketchy video and sound quality, but hey it was the late 80s, people. C'mon.

If I remember right, The Replacements were the first band I ever saw in concert at some old theater in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. A good time was had, especially by the band that was known for its partying ways. In fact, I read a blog post a while back by Patterson Hood about how when The Replacements opened for Tom Petty when he saw them during high school (DBT was opening for Petty this summer, so that's why Hood was talking about the memory), Petty kicked them off the tour because the band members, known for all manner of shenanigans, raided Petty's area and stole a some of his wife's dresses that they then wore on stage that night. So I think The Replacements knew something about self-destructive zones, and they seemed to enjoy them.

A band out right now that reminds of Paul Westerberg and the boys is Deer Tick. After reading a post about Deer Tick on No Depression recently, I think there are some striking similarities. Click HERE for Dana Blaisdell's post about them if you're interested.

And here are the lyrics of "Bastards of Young":

God, what a mess, on the ladder of success

Where you take one step and miss the whole first rung.
Dreams unfulfilled, graduate unskilled.
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten.

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young.
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young.
The daughters and the sons...

Clean your baby womb, trash that baby boom.
Elvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonight.
Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function.
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten.

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young.
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young.
The daughters and the sons...

Unwillingness to claim us, ya got no war to name us

The ones who love us best are the ones we'll lay to rest
And visit their graves on holidays at best.
The ones who love us least are the ones we'll die to please.
If it's any consolation, I don't begin to understand them.

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young.
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young.
The daughters and the sons...