An Open Letter to Paul Westerberg

Dear Paul,

Listen, we need to taIk. It was great to hear from you again. That new EP you released last week is phenomenal—and totally unexpected. Seems like you’re having a fantastic time in your basement home studio or whatever. I mean, you might’ve come up with a catchier title then “PW & The Ghost Gloves Cat Wing Joy Boys,” but this whole business of releasing your first takes straight to digital without any heads-up is a surprisingly savvy move for a 49-year-old living in the Minnesota suburbs without a MySpace page.

Still, it does seem a little cruel, don’t you think—releasing all this music and not touring, as if we wouldn’t care. We have needs too. We need you back out on the road, back on stage with your cigars, tinted sunglasses, and North Korean People’s Army cap. It’s been way, way too long. What was the last time you toured—2005? That’s like four years, a full college degree. I certainly don’t mean to begrudge a man his privacy; I know you’ve got a wife and a kid. And believe me, I know you’re not the sprightly young hellion you used to be. But that’s part of your charm. You remind us of the things we used to do—the drinking, the drugging—things we still do on occasion, but like you, have largely left behind. You’re not what you used to be, sure, but then neither is rock ’n’ roll.

So, here’s the deal: You pick five cities and five venues—that’s it, no more no less. I can recommend some clubs if you want, but I’m sure you have some favorites. You don’t have to crisscross the country, you don’t have play any Replacements tunes, you don’t have to bring Tommy with you—we’re not asking for a reunion tour. It wouldn’t be proper either, not with Bob gone and Chris retired. You know this. We’re only asking for a small, modest tour. I can’t promise you’ll make the big bucks. I can’t promise you won’t leave with a sore back and sore throat. But I can promise you’ll sell the place out. There are more Westernerds than you know. And they all want you back.

I know you’re a busy man. I’m not expecting a phone call or a letter. A quick e-mail would suffice, but I know it’s a long shot. You get back to me when you can, whatever way you can. Release a new tune on Amazon, call it “I Plan to Tour Next Spring”—whatever. I’m not asking for much. Just get out there with your guitar and sing. We’ll take care of the rest.

Best,
John