Ed. note - This is the second in what (hopefully) will be an ongoing series of columns, reviews, interviews, and more regarding music-related books and literature. Any writer or publisher interested in having their work considered for inclusion should contact James Baumann directly at jamesbaumann@columbus.rr.com.

The Two Sides of Let It Be

The popular story goes that when The Replacements decided to name their fourth album Let It Be, much of the motivation was simply to taunt their Beatles-loving manager. Regardless, the hubris involved with a relatively unknown band invoking one of the most famous album titles in rock history is not to be undersold.

In many ways, though, the twin titles are appropriate in the way they bookend a period of music. When The Beatles released their Let It Be it officially marked the end of the most famous musical career any rock band will likely ever enjoy. The Replacements' Let It Be, however, arguably marked the beginning acceptance of the "independent" (or "alternative" or "college") music scene. Sure, the world had already experienced punk and there were a number of other bands in a similar position as The Replacements, but the record with four scruffy roof dwellers on the cover, released in 1984, was a major event.

I know that was the case was for me. It took me a while to discover them and escape from a childhood of classic and AOR rock, but The Replacements and, specifically, Let It Be was what alerted me to the fact that there was magical music out there not available through commercial radio and mall record stores. This record was my watershed (and the Waterloo for many other acts in my record collection) so it's my prerogative to proclaim its overall importance.

Such is the premise behind most of the books published in Continuum Publishing's 33 1/3 series. For these books the authors are chosen from a variety of backgrounds - academics, journalists, and fellow musicians of all stripes - and then given the opportunity to opine on the record of their choice, in the style of their choice. Joe Pernice, for example, turned his love of The Smith's Meat Is Murder into a novella while Andy Miller gives The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society a write-up that reads like a deluxe box set liner notes. The one thing all the books share is the passion of their authors toward the record in question.

When Colin Meloy (of The Decemberists) tackles The Replacements' Let It Be we end up learning a lot more about Meloy and not much more about the album. He grew up in Montana with hippy parents, a devoted best friend named Mark, and a cultural savior in the form of his uncle Paul. As is often the case in stories like Meloy's, there is the obligatory older relative - usually a sibling or cousin - who has gone off to college and returned with a treasure chest disguised as a cassette case with hand-scrawled titles, peeling labels, and two sides of magnetic tape filled with acts like R.E.M., Big Star, The Jesus and Mary Chain, and, yes, The Replacements.

Meloy takes us through his entire childhood into being a young adult; from Star Wars figures and backyard plays through camping trips, convincing his mother to get MTV, and eventually his first time with a guitar in his hands, plucking out a two-note melody.

The detailed scenes and stories that Meloy offers up will be instantly recognizable to most music fans. Actually, they should be familiar to most anyone, even though they might have to substitute, say, pouring over baseball box scores or a pile of library books instead of a stack of vinyl records, to make their own personal story fit. It's the story of a person growing up and discovering their passion. What's refreshing is that Meloy's story isn't filled with hardship or some blind rebellion against authority, with a record providing his soundtrack. Meloy seems amazingly pleased with his upbringing and even though he at times hints at fighting back against boredom, he appears to be someone who was always able to create his own excitement.

Meloy admits early on that anyone who had heard his band's music might be surprised by the record he chose and there are few stylistic similarities. Instead, he says, it's the spirit of the band, the looseness of the music, and the fact that it spilled out from the frozen tundra of Minnesota (not far removed from his Montana) that gave him the motivation that music could be his life as well. That's the message that comes off these pages. Meloy doesn't attempt to emulate the way Paul Westerberg could turn a phrase, or how Bob Stinson could crunch guitar chords. He simply revels in the fact that they did it at all.

As the book ends, and Meloy's band makes its first stop in Minneapolis and the famed 400 Bar, he uses the occasion to sprinkle Replacements trivia and lore and dramatizes the photo shoot on the Sinson family roof. For someone who wants to learn the stories behind the songs, this is just a tease, though after some consideration it's hard to fault the lack of pure Replacements' info that is offered.

There's not much insight to be taken from the low-fi recording approach that finances and inclination forced upon the band. Asking band members to recall their time in the studio now would be like asking someone to describe details from a drunken college party more than 15 years after the fact. And maybe someday there will be a book that examines what sort of album can swerve from the brash punk of "Favorite Thing" to the pop of "I Will Dare" to the ragged poetry of "Unsatisfied" and "Androgynous" to the what-the-hellness of a Kiss cover and "Gary's Got A Boner" - but this book isn't it. Instead, this is a clearly written memoir slash love letter about how 11 simple songs - barely 30 minutes worth - can play such a large role in one person's life.

In sharp contrast is the approach that Steve Matteo uses as he covers The Beatles' Let It Be. Through interviews with ex-Apple Records staff and Let It Be filmmakers, as well as careful combing of other previously printed and recorded Beatles' histories, he faithfully recreates the scenes behind the recording of this album, sometimes on a day-by-day basis. For Beatles' junkies, getting a play-list of a particular day's jam session (January 6 - "Carry That Weight," "Octopus's Garden," "Dizzy Miss Lizzie," "Money," "Maureen," "Don't Let Me Down," "Two Of Us," "Hear Me Lord," "She Came In Through the Bathroom Window" and a snippet of "Across The Universe," among others) is like crack.

There are times, though, when the book dips into "forest for the trees" territory and tries to be all things to all readers. Along with daily schedule details Matteo also gives thorough run-downs of the equipment used, giving gear heads reason to drool. (Did you know it was standard procedure for Ringo to remove the head to his bass drum and cover the snare with a towel?)

Then there is the personal drama as the world's most famous band works though the world's most famous break-up (Sorry Brad and Jennifer). Let It Be has to be one of the most psychoanalyzed records ever. We are given glimpses of the disputes - Harrison announces he's leaving the band and within minutes Lennon is preparing to replace him with Eric Clapton; a suggestion is made to ask Billy Preston to become a permanent member of the band and it's vetoed by McCartney. We also hear testimonials from studio staffers that say, while the tension could be obvious, the band made it a point to keep it amongst themselves, not take it out on the board operators, and do their best to not let it affect their work.

A number of pages are dedicated to the famous rooftop concert, with details about the difficulties of getting all the equipment up the stairs, as well as Alan Parsons (yes, the Alan Parsons) dashing into a department store to buy stockings that were needed to cut down on wind-noise with the microphones. Matteo also explores the vast number of bootlegs from these sessions with enough different versions floating around to rival The Beach Boys' Smile.

One of the most interesting things I took from the book was the width and breadth of songs The Beatles would tackle, from old covers and forgotten songs like "One After 909" (originally written by Lennon in 1957) to the new ones that would end up on Let It Be or Abbey Road as well as the subsequent solo albums from Harrison, McCartney, and Lennon. I don't think that's something that happens as much in today's industry where a band can go three years between albums. Today, an act will write a batch of songs, choose a dozen for the record, and then wait until it's time for the next album to begin the process again. But with their full-lengths and singles, bands like The Beatles were continually writing songs. That just makes their mixture of quality and quantity for those years all the more amazing.

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