Yes, but Soul Asylum was called Loud Fast Rules. They sucked (then and later).
But anyone who played in the twin cities in those days played with all those bands. There weren't a lot of us. Maybe a dozen bands at that time. By the time I left town, in 1984, there must have been a hundred "punk" bands. Or "new wave" or whatever they were calling it before someone in a marketing department came up with the "alternative" tag.
Speaking of playing with bands that became famous, we opened for REM in Madison Wisconsin, and they wouldn't let us in the dressing room. I'd never been kept out of a dressing room at a bar gig. Ha ha.They were star-tripping and they only had one single out, so I can't imagine they were much more fun when they got famous.
There was competition between bands, for sure, but really, there was more of a spirit of camaraderie in those days. It wouldn't occur to us - or anyone - to not let another band on the show use the dressing room. The Replacements didn't lock us out of the dressing room at Duffy's - Bob walked around in his underwear and shared his giant bag of McDonald's with us. We used the Stinson basement for rehearsals a few times. Other bands used our rehearsal space in the building across the parking lot from First Avenue.
No one was a star, we were all in the same boat. You'd be watching some punk band in the 7th St. Entry, and there would be 20 people there, but you'd turn around and Prince would be standing there. Or a writer from one of the half dozen weekly papers. It was really a small scene and no one acted like they owned it. Probably because there was no money (yet). There's no point in cutting the next guy's throat if there's nothing to gain from it.
But since REM set the tone for the day at that Madison show, we ended up just endlessly tormenting them. Well, Mort and I did. We sat at the bar during their sound check and yelled, "Well that one sucks!" after every song. The drummer approached us later - trying to be friendly, I guess - saying, "Who's got the pot?" But it was too late for that, and we found the question particularly preposterous (only hippies smoked pot), so we mocked him for the rest of the night. Every 20 minutes or so we'd look for him and go walk past him, saying in loud Cheech and Chong voices, "Who's got the pot, maaaaan?"
Childish, yes, but I didn't wind up in a punk band because I was well behaved and enjoyed following the rules. The rules and the uniforms and the death of it all came later, but by then I was long gone.
That's a long answer to a short question. That's what happens when you get old, I guess.
Oh oh, here comes grandpa with his war stories again - run away! Run away!