The Replacements had already cut three records of spit and vinegar by the time Let It Be dropped in 1984, but this was the moment they vaulted out of the Minneapolis dive bars and into the bloodstream of American rock.
Those early blasts — Sorry Ma Forgot to Take Out the Trash, Stink, and Hootenanny — wore their influences proudly: the bratty derision of The Kinks, the sneering rebellion of The Clash, the raw nerve of The Stooges. That cocktail of British wit, punk urgency, and Midwestern recklessness gave them a sound equal parts homage and demolition.
With Let It Be, they finally figured out how to fuse all that chaos with clarity. This was the record where they stopped hiding behind noise and jokes, where Paul Westerberg let his bruised voice carry songs that felt too intimate to be s