Drummer Josh Freese has the coolest career, playing with everyone from DEVO to Nine Inch Nails. Perhaps closest to both our hearts are the decades he’s spent with Paul Westerberg, solo, and in the brief reformation of The Replacements. In this love letter to our hero, Freese recounts an ill-fated MTV performance and the time he yelled “Burt Reynolds” on SNL.
There are artists that I grew up loving, like Paul Westerberg, that I would always daydream about meeting one day. Then I was suddenly in the studio working with him. In the early days, I really had to pretend like I wasn’t starstruck by him, even though it was probably painfully obvious that I was freaking out.
In early summer 1993, Westerberg had just made his first solo record, 14 Songs. We were in New York to play Irving Plaza, and we heard from the label that MTV wanted Paul to do a live performance with an interview for 120 Minutes. He did the interview fine, but then it came to the performance, which was only going to be a couple songs. Paul said that he wanted the full band involved, as he didn’t want to do it acoustic. Because our gear was across town being set up at Irving Plaza, MTV rented a really nice backline for us, with a really nice drum set for me.
It turned into this really elaborate production. Since it was no longer just a guy on a stool with one mic and acoustic guitar, they had to set up a stage in the studio. They had to bring in monitors, extra camera guys, and all this shit that MTV hadn’t anticipated, and had to assemble it in record time. It was a big, expensive deal. It was under the guise that Paul would perform, and they would take one or two of the songs to put into heavy rotation. The truth is, it was going to be a great thing for Paul, in terms of exposure.
We get to the studio, and there was all this buzz in the hallways. LA people from Warner Brothers had flown out. There were a ton of excited label people hanging out and people from MTV who had shown up to watch. We rehearsed and did a sound check, then had to do all the camera blocking shit. It was hectic—a lot of hurry up and wait. All of this, of course, is that absolute shit that Paul hates more than anything. Paul is the last guy to say, “Wow, look at all the label people. I can’t wait to be on TV, isn’t this great?”
Paul started grumbling, wondering what he had gotten himself into. They said to take fifteen minutes, as they were gonna send so-and-so back to makeup and do a million other things. Mind you, this was years before everyone had cell phones or the internet, so we’re just sitting around with nothing to do. They started calling us back to our places, as we were finally going to do it for real. We walk onstage, and all the camera guys are ready to go, but Paul wasn’t there. We knew he had to be around, so we checked the vending machines and the fire escape, because we figured he might have ducked out for a cigarette. We came up empty, and it seemed that Paul had completely vanished.
Meanwhile, I’m just chatting with the camera crew and the band. We’re all completely geared up to do this. Hell, I was only twenty at the time. This was huge! Fifteen minutes looking for Paul turned into thirty, at which point we’re all saying, “Where the fuck is he?” His tour manager and manager hadn’t seen him nor had any of the band. Everyone’s getting paid, waiting to shoot this thing, and I’ll never forget that Paul’s manager at the time, said, “I can’t believe I’m about to do this, but I’m going to call the hotel to see if he’s there.”
Gary comes back about three minutes later, looking like he’d seen a ghost. He said, “I called his room, and he answered.” Paul had walked back to the hotel. Apparently, he thought there was too much commotion and bullshit, and he couldn’t handle it. We’re all standing there, thinking Gary and Paul might have been playing some really weird joke. Nope. Everyone from MTV starts looking at us, asking, “Where’s your guy?” I stuttered, “Shit, he’s not my guy!” I was at a loss for words and completely paralyzed. I felt like a total asshole in front of all these powerful people, with no answers. Finally, Gary had to say that Paul left because he didn’t want to do it. At least he was honest about it.
We left, thinking, “Well, that’s one way to completely burn a bridge with MTV forever.” I was so bummed, but part of me was thinking, “Goddamn, what a punker.” Paul never does things to be an asshole. For better or worse, he’s taking care of himself and his principles. Even if it means letting a lot of people down, he was doing exactly what he felt like he needed to do. In the end, Paul didn’t get his song in rotation. They weren’t super keen on banging out his video that had just been released. The only thing that has survived from the whole fiasco is a clip of us playing “First Glimmer” that you can find online. It’s actually really good, and it’s because we didn’t hear “lights, camera, action.”
It’s no secret that The Replacements had a permanent Saturday Night Live ban after they did the show in 1986. The funny thing was that SNL then booked Paul in 1993. I remember Lorne Michaels not realizing that it was Paul Westerberg from The Replacements until right after the show was done and then he was furious. We came in the day before the show to do a big, long rehearsal with the horn section. We were there all day, and the word was, “Everybody, don’t talk too loud backstage about the fact that Paul was in The Replacements. Don’t mention the ‘R’ word.” Lorne still wanted his head on a stick. Basically, everyone backstage knew who Paul was, obviously, so it was really fun, with all of us playing dumb and mischievous for the day.
We got back the following day for another rehearsal, and there’s a full run-through of the show in front of an audience around 8:00 p.m. We’d been there for fucking two straight days at that point, and Paul was getting antsy. We did “Knockin’ On Mine” as our first song, which went fine. I think it was kinda nerve-wracking, even for Paul, because it’s live, obviously. But it’s also SNL. It’s not exactly the club down the street. “Can’t Hardly Wait” was our second song, and as we were walking to the stage, Paul whispered to me, “During one of the breaks, just yell something.” He didn’t tell me what to yell or why the drummer would be yelling some random thing on live TV. I think he just thought it would be funny or might piss off Lorne Michaels. Again, I’m a twenty-year-old kid, so no pressure, right?
I literally had no time to think up something that would be funny to yell, as we launched right into the song. It came to the first break in the song, and I choked. I didn’t yell anything. To put this in perspective, this was a couple years before Burt Reynolds had his big resurgence in Boogie Nights. He was basically off the grid in terms of popularity in 1993. It was coming to the second break, and I’m thinking about Burt Reynolds. I was also thinking about Taco Bell’s seven-layer-burrito, which had just come out around that time. I ended up yelling “Burt Reynolds!” at the top of my lungs. I wasn’t mic’d, so if you were in the room, you definitely heard it, because I yelled. But if you were watching TV that night, you would have needed to hit rewind, thinking, “What the fuck did somebody just yell that made Westerberg crack up?”
The other funny thing was that Charlton Heston was hosting that night, and during rehearsals he kept screwing up Paul’s last name. Poor Heston was so old and out of it at that time, and I have no idea what he would have been promoting in 1993. He was really struggling to remember Paul’s last name, and it wasn’t like he was being a jerk. He was just old, and we kinda felt bad for him. At the very end of the show, when everyone’s on stage and the host thanks everyone, Paul was standing next to Heston. The way I remember it, Heston forgot the name again and doesn’t even say, “Thanks to Paul Westerberg.” I remember Heston pausing to say something to Paul, but he blanks and just stares at Paul like, “There’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to remember your name again.” Then he waved to the crowd and sticks his hand out to Paul, who coughs into his own hand right before they shake. If you ask Darren Hill, Paul’s manager, he spit in his own hand before the shake, masking it with the cough.
That’s what I love about Paul. I remember he turned down a big-money gig once because it wasn’t about the money. He said, “Hey man, if I wanted to do it, I’d do it for free.” I love that he’s not filthy rich. Almost anybody else I know in his shoes would have jumped at the opportunity. If he doesn’t feel right about it, he won’t do it. I appreciate and admire that. I’ve also wanted to strangle him occasionally. I’ll get pissed, and then he’ll literally give me a big smooch, and we’re buddies again. Paul can be a fucking bastard, but I love him, and I’ll stick up for him until the end of time.