Replacements, "Kiss Me On the Bus" (1985)

(listen)

For someone who spent a lot of time projecting a world-weary and wizened cynicism, the Replacements' Paul Westerberg was actually, and not so secretly, a puppy dog running circles at one's feet, begging for a treat (or a drink, if you don't want to pound the metaphor too hard). The breakthrough album Let it Be was full of such gestures, and so was the follow-up, 1985's Tim (produced by Tommy Ramone), which neatly consolidated all the advances of their first five years. Bob Stinson was still on hand, and in fact this is one of the best periods for the band. A show I saw in Seattle in late 1985 was absolutely transporting, one of the best by them I ever saw, and I'm pretty sure this larky little love song was part of that long set, as I was waiting for it and nothing about that night disappointed me. One of the best features of "Kiss Me on the Bus" is that it works loud and raw and also at softer, gentler volumes, where the playfulness of the whole scene emerges. It seems to be the kind of idle fantasy one indulges when packed with strangers, as on public transit. Or maybe, less likely, he's riding with a girlfriend and wallowing in the pure pleasure of being with her, playing his part in the obnoxious "shmoopy shmoopy" beeswax of those freshly in love. Whatever it is, it's also a perfectly lovely moment, innocent and carefree, in both conception and execution. Stinson's solo at the break is one of his best—nimble, lyrical, frothy with pub-rock, and done so quickly that it almost invisibly propels the momentum more intensely. "Smooth move, Ex-Lax." At just about three minutes even, this one is very hard to beat.