“Every Little Word” (Curation Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
Back in the mid ‘70s, when Punk Rock became the musical lingua franca in major cities like London, New York City and Los Angeles, Minneapolis took notice. As the nascent scene began to coalesce, an early guitar hero emerged. His name was Slim Dunlap.
Born in 1951, in Plainview, Minnesota, Robert “Slim” Dunlap came from a family of newspaper men and lawyers. He was expected to follow suit. A Word War II veteran, his dad Robert was a layer. He was also elected to the senate five times. An amateur piano, he was an admirer of Hoagy Carmichael.
Slim was the third of five kids, his nickname began as a school yard taunt, but it stuck with him the rest of his life. A highly intelligent kid, he picked up his sister’s guitar at age 10. By the time he was a teenager, his dad bought him his first six-string. He practiced every day, long hours that stretched into the night.
An indifferent student, he often skipped class. Enamored of both Woody Guthrie and his acolyte, Bob Dylan, he often hitchhiked. Apparently, his dad pulled some strings to secure his high school diploma. He attended in the University of
Minnesota. It was then that Slim, heavily influenced by the Soulful, high voltage sound of The Small Faces, formed his first band, Mrs. Frubb. It was also around this time that he met his future wife, Christine.
Fast-forward five years and he had joined up with Curt Almsted (a.k.a. Curtiss A.) to form Thumbs Up. Their sound was sharp synthesis of British Invasion Rock & Roll and soulful R&B. By the time they had changed their name to The Spooks their primitive cool exhibited a Punkier edge. Rather quickly, they signed with a local indie label, Twin/Tone.
At this point, the Minneapolis music scene boasted bands like The Suburbs, Husker Du, The Replacements, Soul Asylum, and of course, Prince. Record stores like Oar Folkjokeopus and venues like First Avenue championed this homegrown music. Slim went on to play in a local supergroup of sorts, Jumbo Shrimp, which included members of The Replacements and The Suburbs. He later wound up fronting The Sentimentals.
In 1987, he was approached by Replacements front-man, Paul Westerberg, who asked him to take over guitar duties for the departing Bob Stinson. Initially, Slim turned down the offer, and then reconsidered, and accepted.
Not unlike original Rolling Stones guitarist, Brian Jones, Bob Stinson was an intuitive and preternaturally talented musician whose substance issues got the best of him. Slim’s approach hewed more closely to the Stones’ rhythm guitarist Keith Richard. He displayed a laid-back swagger that immediately ingratiated him with finicky ‘Mats fans.
He was on hand during The Replacements’ most commercial period, starting with 1987’s Pleased To Meet Me, and continuing with 1989’s Don’t Tell A Soul and their 1990 swansong, All Shook Down. When the rambunctious trouble boys called it quits the following year, Slim finally embarked on a solo career.
Signed to the Twin/Tone off-shoot, Medium Cool Records, his debut, Old New Me arrived in 1993 to ecstatic reviews, three years later, he returned with the quirkier Times Like These. He continued to play and tour until 2012, when he suffered a massive stroke.
Paralyzed and bedridden, his wife, Chrissie became his primary care-giver. Following his stroke, a non-profit project, Songs For Slim was founded to raise money for his care. Myriad artists covered his songs, beginning with his former Replacement mates’ EP, Songs For Slim. The five-song set featured a couple of Slim originals and deep cuts from Gordon Lightfoot, Leon Payne and (improbably) “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” from the Stephen Sondheim smash hit, Gypsy.
In 2020, a live effort, Thank You Dancers, was released. It featured a 2002 show recorded at the Turf Club. Sadly, Slim ascended to another astral plane in late 2024. He was honored with a star on the mural outside Minneapolis’ most famous venue, The First Avenue. The mural recognizes musicians that have played sold-out shows, or otherwise demonstrated a major contribution to the storied club.
Slim’s solo albums have been long out of print, luckily, the cool kids at Curation Records have reissued both records on Every Little Word, a two-disc set that presents each album in full, as well as a plethora of demos, live tracks and outtakes.
The first disc presents all of 1993’s Old New Me. The opening cut, “Rockin’ Here Tonight,” begins tentatively, as slow-cured guitar riffs unfurl like whispy puffs of smoke. Anticipation is thick as the riffs fuse with slashing power chords, wily bass lines and a kerplunky beat. Slim’s snarling drawl is raspy and weathered, as he dismisses the practice of a cover charge: “If you’re asking for a cover charge, I just wanna charge in, tell me who’s jokin’ who, no, I’m not checkin’ I’m askin you is it back-beatin,’ slinky butt-bumpin, maybe coverin’ the Crue, you’re actin’ so cranky, I hope your band is too.” The song is equal parts caustic and nonchalant, even the peacock-y solo that crowds the break is suitably low-key.
The vibe here is laid-back and understated, as Slim deftly displays his versatility as a player and a songwriter. On a perfect FM playlist, “Take It On The Chin” would sandwich nicely between Bruce Springteen’s “Darkness On The Edge Of Town” and Tom Waits’ “The Piano Has Been Drinking. The sad-sack shuffle tethers High lonesome harmonica, loping guitar licks, thrumming bass, tumbleweed keys and wayward strings to a cantering gait. His twisty verbiage is dense, yet lethal: “An ex-circus miscreant has found your jaw tonight, rogue gallery watchin,’ hopin’ he’s pullin’ his knife….you call this a hellhole, cause you can’t call this a life, the only forgiveness you’ll find here, is at the end of a knife, it’s taken on the chin, taken on the chin, taken on the chin.”
Then there’s “The King And Queen.” Bluesy guitar collides with craggy bass lines and a knockabout beat. Lyrics offer a brief character sketch of a couple of hipsters working their particular magic: “Well, she’s the pretty one, dancing on the empty dance floor, she’s lost in her world to the jukebox roar, and he’s the jet-black greaser mopping up the back, they’re the king and queen, as a matter of fact, well, she’s there every night, he’s there right behind, and when the band gets rockin’ you will see them most every time, they be swingin’ and swayin’ most every time. A swivel-hipped guitar solo cuts a swath across the break.
Slim shifts gears once again with the Countrified stomp of “From The Git Go.” Honky-Tonk piano notes embroider an arrangement that includes bramble-thick guitars, boomerang bass and a bruiser beat. Improbably, lyrics offer up some unsolicited dating advice, insisting a reluctant Romeo should just get off his ass: “Well, you could meet her anywhere, she’d be walking by, looking so fine, you gotta meet her, try to greet her, tell her we should go out sometime…for every man there’s a woman just a-waitin’ somewhere to be found, but how you ever gonna meet her if you don’t kick a little dust around?” A boogie-woogie piano solo cuts loose on the break, amping up the urgency.
Finally, “Ain’t Exactly Good” is a first-rate dis of a world-class fad. Fuzz-crusted guitars are wed to rumbling bass lines and a rat-a-tat beat. Wise-ass lyrics redefine the term backhanded compliment: “I’m finally sober and you’re getting famous, the word in the can is we’re both a little lame-ass, there’s nothing like a song when it hits you like a- you’re getting better like a knew you would, and you ain’t half bad, but you ain’t exactly good.” Muscular guitars elbow their way through the break ahead of the final sing-song chorus.
The best songs here pinwheel across the record, beginning “Just For The Hell Of It. Honking saxophone, smoky harmonica and shards of guitar ride roughshod over a choogling beat. Rough and rowdy lyrics advocate for anarchy: “One more time, make it a double, see if we can’t stir up a little trouble, ain’t nobody here worth a bother, you take one, I got the other,” and the instrumentation obliges. Prowling guitars are matched by growling harmonica on the break, as the arrangement nearly careens off the rails.
Switching it up again, “Isn’t It” is a blasé rocker. On the extended intro, stinging guitars, spooky keys and sticky bass connect to slanted beat. Slim’s disaffected vocals land somewhere between Bob Dylan’s ‘60s sneer and Lou Reed’s ‘70s snarl. Lyrics unfurl, tongue, firmly planted in cheek, like a cranky Haiku: “Isn’t it a fact, man, it gets confusing, to some it’s a tragedy, to others it’s amusing/Isn’t it a fact, man, it makes you worry, it’s a whole world ruled by a guy named Murray.” Snappy Surf guitar riffs Hang 10 on the instrumental coda.
With “Partners In Crime,” shimmery guitars echo and sway across flinty bass lines and a ramshackle beat. Slim unspools a familiar story of a pair of strivers trying to make ends meet: “She gets the front door and I’ll get the back, hey, we’ll blow this joint in two seconds flat, we ain’t got money and we’re feeling funny, and it don’t get no funnier than that/Our secret code word is ‘who gives a shit?’ The funny thing is you don’t know the half of it, we’re on a fast cruise, headed to the bottom, but we’re having a hell of a time.” Sweetly sturdy guitar riffs dart between the verses, mirroring the song’s understated savoir faire.
Meanwhile, the locomotive rush of “Busted Up” splits the difference between a twangy two-step and the no-frills thrill of Pub Rock, echoing Joe Strummer’s pre-Clash band, The 101ers. Buzzy harmonica notes yip and moan across scraggly guitars, loose-limbed bass lines and a rickety shuffle-rhythm. Slim’s sly rasp wraps around a cryptic account of a bar fight, the end result is he got “busted up, busted up.”
Finally, on “Ballad Of The Opening Band,” flinty harmonica lattices sun-dappled guitars, plangent bass and a rock-ribbed beat. Slim’s nuanced narrative will feel familiar to any up-and-coming band inching up the ladder of success: “Well, it’s after nine, bar time, Any Bar USA, the bartender yells for the band to get up and play, a little bit out of tune, they slowly fall in, as the chords ring out, the nighttime roars to life, if only in a dream, it’s just an empty bar, that’s right, but you’re the opening band tonight.” Limning the same territory as Tom Petty’s “Into The Great Wide Open” (also written in the early ‘90s), it’s less cinematic and more sardonic. Cascading arpeggios take the sting out of Slim’s gimlet-eyed denouement: “Well, the night is finally over, the place is sure a mess, you grab your guitar and get kicked out with the rest, the headliner’s bus rolls by, they honk and wave, as you’re walking across the street, some guy you meet says he caught your set and you guys was kind of neat. Say, could you open for his band sometime?”
The record closes with “Love Lost.” Breezy guitars are bookended by fluid bass lines and a rippling back-beat. This lithe instrumental veers into Exotica territory. It’s a surprising finish to a great debut.
Times Like These from 1996 is presented in full on the second disc. The record springs to life with the stompy Rockabilly Rave-Up of “Not Yet/Ain’t No Fair (In A Rock N’ Roll Love Affair),” Blustery harmonica is matched by skittery guitar roiling bass and a chunky beat. There’s an extemporaneous feel to lyrics that riff on intra-band dynamics, when suddenly the arrangement and melody turn on a dime, locking into a slow-rolling, Country-flavored groove that is equally shambolic.
Both Bruce Springsteen and Steve Earle have sung this record’s praises, and it’s easy to see why. Slim truly followed his muse, writing songs that were at times unconventional and offbeat. Take “Jungle Out There,” which is held together by spit and baling wire. Serpentine guitars coil around angular bass and a junky, percussive beat, as Slim repeats the title like a warning, or a mantra. “Chrome Lipstick” takes a page from The Kinks playbook as scattershot guitars, zig-zag harmonica and a stop-start beat frame a “Lola”-esque tale of mistaken identity.
“Nowhere Near” is something of a companion piece to “Ballad Of An Opening Band,” from the first record. Diffident acoustic chords pick out a sweet melody and Slim offers up a time-worn tale: “Well, we formed this little band, I hoped we’d be noticed, you wonder if it’s near, after 20 fuckin’ years, we practice in my basement every Tuesday, we’re trying to write a hit, but they always sound like this.” Meanwhile, playful, splayed guitars, yowling vocals and a walloping beat can’t disguise the bitterness of “Radio Hook Word Hit.” Happily, lyrics like “Well, you wanna hear your song on the radio, you’ve been writing your whole life long, you need a radio hook, a little radio hook, are juxtaposed by a series of licks and hooks reminder us of Slim’s prodigious and protean talent.
Slim pledges his allegiance to The Rolling Stones and The Replacements on back-to-back tracks, “Cozy” and “Cooler Than.” On the former, Keef-tastic riffs are bolstered by flirty organ runs, thrumming bass and a Charlie Watts’ beat so tight you could bounce a quarter off it. Slim’s lanky vocals parallel laid-back lyrics that are just looking for an easy hang: “We’ll throw a party and only we’ll attend, we’ll spend the night like it may never end, a little place on a lane, it’s quite remote, you’ll have a garden and I will dig us a moat.”
On the latter, downstroke guitar, sludgy bass lines and a hulking backbeat coalesce around Slim’s tender croon. Part tribute and part pep-talk, the lyrics address a reclusive friend: “You were a teenage terror, once upon a time, but you haven’t scared anyone, in a very long time…you turned a flip to a fumble all in a song, everybody was wondering, thought you could do no wrong/While you were waiting for the big one, you’ve gotten hard to find, out of sight, out of mind, maybe if you hadn’t wallowed, oh if you were now what you were back then, cause you were cooler than.”
The stand-out tracks here include “Girlfiend,” which is anchored by squirrely guitars, fluttery organ notes, spidery bass and a rock-steady beat. Landing somewhere between Todd Rundgren’s “We Gotta Get You A Woman” and Joe Jackson’s “Is She Really Going Out With Him,” the song attempts some clumsy matchmaking: “It’s Saturday night, it’s nearly midnight and you’re still solo, we gotta see if we can, ahhh, find you a girl,” but nearly throws in the towel: “I’m not saying you’re stupid, I’m not trying to be cupid, but when you tell me you’re not lonely, it’s just you and you only, Come On!”
Quickly changing course, “Hate This Town” is a cowpoke-y charmer. Wheezy harmonica, sugar-rush guitars, and sinewy bass lines are harnessed to a lickety-split beat. Dreamscape lyrics conjure a parallel universe where a talented musician sidelines artistic ambition to honor family commitment: “Well, it seems in my dream, I’d taken my dad up on his offer, and took over the hardware store, and in my dream that old store was looking better than it ever had before, I dreamt of a life lived in no rush, I dreamed of a quiet gentle hush/Tell you, I used to hate this town, oh yeah, when I lived there, in my dreams I don’t hate this town, I’m thinking I’m lucky I live here.”
Finally, “Little Shiva’s Song” is lean and economical. Stripped-down guitars fall in line with whiz-bang bass and a jackrabbit beat. Just-the-facts-ma’am lyrics offer a pithy account of a band on the run: “Shiva was a drummer in a tiny little Rock band…Shiva kept a good beat, kept it kinda lean and spare, singer, songwritin’ well, there were a couple holes in there, oh, when they hit the chorus, Shiva went out alone, Shiva made the whole song.” The arrangement drifts a bit, before collapsing in on itself. Still, pretty wonderful.
The record closes with the title-track. Jangly guitars glide across shivery bass and a brawny beat. Slim’s warmhearted vocals wrap around lyrics that spin a yarn about a couple in a tight spot: “Well, we found ourselves in some trouble, trouble seems to follow you when it’s most unjust. Things got a little hairy, we thought we’d lost it all, but now we know our fortune is what we still got.” The chorus offers an epiphany of sorts: “And we know we can lose it all, but if we still have each other, then girl, that’s all there is, you can blow the rest a kiss, it’s times like this, it’s times like this, it’s times like this.” A sweetly tart finish to a fine album.
Originally, both efforts each featured 11-song sets, but between Slim’s widow Chrissie, his daughter Emily (Bee) and longtime compadre (Twin/Tone-Medium Cool owner and Replacements manager, Peter Jesperson, they have un-earthed an additional 23 tracks. They include demos, outtakes, alternative versions and live recordings. Among the long-buried treasure is “Before She’s Gone,” a tender ballad that goes all the way back to his Spooks days (three different versions are included here, somehow, he was never completely satisfied). The collection takes it’s title from the unreleased “Every Little Word,” an insistent cri de Coeur powered by liquid arpeggios. Conversely, “Calling You Out” is a tensile Rocker. There’s an alternate version of “Nowhere Near” that sports some sea shanty-tinged piano from Paul Westerberg. Live, Slim acquits himself splendidly on his favorite Bob Dylan cut, “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight.” Another unreleased track, “Two By Two” is a graceful meditation on aging. It all wraps up with a home demo of “Times Like These.”
Slim made his mark on Replacements songs, from the explosive guitar salvo of “Alex Chilton,” the fluid fretwork of “Asking Me Lies,” and the confluence of dazzling downstroke riff-age and honeyed licks on “Merry Go Round,” (to name, but just a few). Still, he poured his heart and soul into his solo music. The good news is you don’t have to search very far to find it. Curation Records has already done the hard part. Every Little Word is here for the asking.
