WEEZER
Oh Weezer. Where do I even begin at this point? It feels as if an absolute epoch has passed since the days your charming nervosa, unassuming image, and hook-laden songs carved out their very own little sub-genre of indie-rock. For someone that once considered your first two full-length releases in the light of trusted friends — musical confidants to help weather the dog days of adolescence — you have fallen so far from grace that there is just no way this conversation can’t be a little awkward.
So let’s put it on the table.
Your last few albums have been borderline insulting to the fan base that helped you to your glory days of rubbing elbows with Muppets and into the warm embrace of major labels. And while I don’t subscribe to the belief that an artist owes its fans anything as far as the art it creates is concerned, perhaps you owe us all the courtesy of an explanation.
What the hell changed? Was it the money? Was it the lukewarm industry reception for the could-have-been magnum opus that was Pinkerton? Must one need to be struggling, hungry, and miserable to make the kind of records that sent a generation of disenfranchised pre-hipsters out on the hunt for thick rimmed specs and cardigans? How, exactly, do you explain or excuse Hurley? Raditude? Is it all just a great big troll? I could get behind that — some thankless expenditure of record industry funds and time. Still, even that explanation doesn’t quite add up beyond the notion that I am simply too out-of-touch or beneath the comprehension of Rivers Cuomo’s Harvard-educated sense of humor and/or artistic motivations, and that it has all sailed over my head. Still, Butch Walker has a production credit! Rick Rubin was involved! I don’t get it.
Despite all of this, I’ll still go see you when you come to my town (June 8 at Hard Rock Live), if only to revel in the nostalgia of the cult hits you’re expected to play. And while I’ll be cringing through the oddball falsettos and trite choruses of “Beverly Hills,” know that you are the musical equivalent of an ex-lover that has let themselves go, but not quite hard enough to completely outshine the golden memories, and that I still love you (almost) unconditionally, and while that unconditional love may feel a little tough at the moment, know it’s because I know what you’re capable of, and I believe in a future with the Weezer comeback the fans really want — not just the Weezer comeback the accountants want.
~ Von Bader
