Alright. At some point here I will review the new album, Make Believe. But I want to apologize first of all to the band for sleeping on their past few records.
See, I absolutely adored the Blue Album. I still consider it one of the best discs in my collection. The problem is, I’m a Weezer snob, and cannot move past it. I compare every subsequent album release with their original 1994 debut. This, my friends, has led me to be a very bitter and disgruntled Weezer fan. And here today, I’ve come to repent.
No arguments, I never re-bought Pinkerton when it was stolen from me in 1999. I never bought The Green Album or Maladroit. Hell, I never so much as listened to the last two, other than what made it to the radio. I refused to believe that a band that proved so promising, so exciting and new in 1994 could suck so bad afterwards (or so was my assumption of Pinkerton after giving it one listen).
Well fast forward to last week. On a whim I gave the new album a listen to. Whoa. Not what I expected. Did someone forget to turn the Suck Dial up on the recording? Where was the cacophany of guitars, the wandering and rambling melodies of their sophomore album? Where was the whiney “oh poor me” attitude of the lead singer? Instead I have presented to me a tight, happy collection of pop/rock songs written by noneother than Rivers Cuomo himself. Mr. Buddy Holly. Huh.
In all seriousness though, Make Believe has received some dismal reviews from many a music jerk like myself, who undoubtedly is still searching for the past (except they hold Pinkerton’s introspective and smothering sound to be the Holy Grail of Weezer). Nothing, and I mean nothing, is meant to be repeated twice on record. So why am I still searching for it all these years later?
Here is what I’ve learned from Weezer’s ironic catalogue. Though millions of fans despise their “new” sound, feverishly yearning for the style of years past, in front of them is the same basic formula and presentation that made the band famous in the first place. Now having listened to Pinkerton, Weezer (green), and Maladroit again, I see it so clearly. Rivers is still the same awkward, maladjusted fool he was in 1994…still simaltaneously embracing and loathing his rock-icon status. He still writes beautiful pop songs, knowing just when to wrap up an album so as not to drag it out. So we should all just get over it.
The new album is filled with gems. Long gone are the days of El Scorcho and Tired of Sex, where Rivers’ self-loathing bleeds onto the record. Instead, for the first time in a decade, the kid is looking up. His lyrics are more optimistic then they have ever been. Though they may border on a self-help manual (undoubtedly influenced by his immersion into Eastern meditation), it still rocks. His quirkiness and awkward honesty are still there. It’s just instead of saying “maybe you’re not good enough for me,” he’s making ammends for those that he’s hurt in the past.
All in all, this is a great album. There are a few 6/10 tracks, but there are also some really stunning pieces. The trick here is to stop looking for a duplicate album, a repeat performance. Instead, I throw my hand in the air, triumphantly making the metal sign, and bob my head to well-crafted pop rock songs, with crunching guitars and soaring melodies.
Rivers is one messed up dude. His band is completely dysfunctional. But in my newly reformed opinion, he still knows how to write catchy-ass, head-nodding pop/rock songs. And you know what, that’s what matters.
Never be ashamed of your music. Music is art and entertainment, and if it entertains you…then rock out to it like there is no tomorrow. Don’t apologize to anyone for what you listen to, unless of course the volume is too loud. In that case, apologize and turn it up just a little more.
