Nice review from Paste Magazine :
"Tommy Stinson, Ken Will Morton
Smith's Olde Bar, Atlanta, Ga., 2/7/05
The beautiful thing about rock 'n' roll is that whenever your faith
waivers or you become the least bit jaded, along comes someone
unexpected to restore balance. Tonight in Atlanta, at candle-lit
venue Smith's Olde Bar, it's Tommy Stinson.
After rocking out in various acoustic, electric and pedal-steel duo
incarnations, the former Replacements bassist declares, "I'm getting
a drink. You can come with me if you want." And sonofabitch if he's
not dead serious. Acoustic guitar in hand, Stinson steps off the
stage into the crowd, saunters over to the bartender and orders
himself a stiff drink. He takes a long slug, hops up, plants himself
on the bar and starts strumming a few chords. "I'm a lot more
comfortable up here," he says. Then, unexpectedly, he breaks into
Loudon Wainwright's "One Man Guy." The few people chatting it up
across the room are instantly silent, and the crowd draws closer,
forming a semicircle around the impromptu troubador. When the chorus
comes around, the club becomes a drunken, late-night living room
singalong. Stinson plays another unplugged tune, just sitting there
on the bar amidst old Atlanta friends, fans and recent converts. It's
music in its purest form?for a lucid moment, stripped of all
pretension.
Suddenly, a ghostly sound emerges. Opener Ken Will Morton?who proved
a hell of a songsmith himself, spilling inspiring, whip-smart ballads
full of social commentary, heartbreak and beauty?materializes from
the crowd blowing sweet, lonesome harp. Stinson welcomes him to the
bar and they jam a bit before finishing the song. Finally, Stinson
returns to the stage, fully amplified to close the show.
Earlier, he'd played a heartfelt cover of his beloved Big Star and
now he finishes with an encore from his days fronting Bash & Pop.
Inevitably, someone calls for a Replacements tune, totally missing
the point and all Stinson has to offer on this mild winter night in
Atlanta. "Paul's still around to play those songs," Stinson says of
his former bandmate, Paul Westerberg. "There's no point in us both
doing it."
Before going out solo in a hazy blast of dim blue light, Stinson
pours his soul onto the stage in front of a room of people happy to
share a moment of transcendence?isn't this why we listen to music in
the first place?
After the show?though I almost never do this?with a cheap beer buzz
surging through my veins, I wait in line with the other fans for an
autograph. I tell Tommy I enjoyed the show, that I write for Paste,
and that we did a story on him last year when his solo debut Village
Gorilla Head came out. I tell him I wasn't planning on writing about
the show tonight but that I was so moved I felt I had to. With a sly
grin, Tommy extends a hearty handshake and signs the back of the
napkin on which I'd scribbled my thoughts about his performnance. I
say goodbye and stagger toward the staircase, pulling the memento
from my pocket as soon as I'm out of sight. With anticipation, I
unfold the note and start reading:
All Lies. Tommy.
Rat bastard. Well, what did I expect? Punk rock to the core."
http://www.pastemagazine.com/action/article?article_id=1476
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