You have to admit, if ever there was a band that embodied the spirit of manger-ness, it was The Replacements. No polish, a little desperate, rarely taken seriously, tons of heart, and hailing from… Minneapolis. A small flanneled light of garage rock righteousness coming into the hairsprayed 80s darkness, The Mats could wring moments of unexpected beauty out of total raucousness, as if by accident (and therefore all the more beautiful). As ramshackle as an ancient feeding trough, word has it they even smelled like animals: