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Feeling Single: The Wobbly Weezer
By Sean Daly
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, May 11, 2005; C01
One of rock-and-roll's great social misfits, Weezer frontman Rivers Cuomo is, among other things, a recluse, a masochist, a nerd, a narc and, on the band's 1996 album "Pinkerton," a bit of a perv. His latest oddball behavior involves strict celibacy and intense vipassana meditation, a regimen that makes a monk's life look like spring break in Daytona. No wonder his band mates reportedly treat the guy like a punch line.
At the same time, the singer-songwriter-guitarist is one of our great practitioners of power pop, a man responsible for such catchy slices of sun as "Buddy Holly," "Hash Pipe" and "Beverly Hills," the last of which kicks off the SoCal quartet's just-released fifth album, "Make Believe." Credit Cuomo and only Cuomo for the band's remarkable 11-year run: Weezer -- unlike, say, power-poppers Fountains of Wayne -- has stayed huge during surges from rap-metal goons, Brit-pop dandies and hip-hop thugs. The other guys in Weezer (drummer Pat Wilson, guitarist Brian Bell and bassist Scott Shriner) may mock their bespectacled leader, but they shouldn't get too nasty. For all his mania, Cuomo remains the rare sure-thing meal ticket.
Of course the problem with musical eccentrics is their unpredictability. The Beach Boys' Brian Wilson did some beautiful things on the road to Bonkersville. But Cuomo, as he's spiraled deeper and deeper into his own dark places, has become less and less interested in making cohesively great albums. The band's self-titled 1994 debut (aka "The Blue Album") was filled with hook-rich promises that Weezer would one day make a classic album. It never happened. Follow-up disc "Pinkerton" was captivating, yes, but mainly because Cuomo was more interested in writing about his fetish for young Asian women than writing hits. The two albums that followed were uneven at best, but a smattering of tunes on each were so darn good that 2001's self-titled disc (aka "The Green Album") and 2002's "Maladroit" sold well anyway.
The trend continues on the new "Make Believe," the band's first batch of brand-new stuff since "Maladroit." Super-producer Rick Rubin has been hired to work the sound board, but there's no mistaking who's really in charge here. Cuomo sprinkles the album with some wickedly fun stuff (heavier than "Pinkerton," not as heavy as "Maladroit"), but eventually loses steam, focus and interest -- as if he'd much rather be cross-legged in a cave pondering the meaning of life. "Make Believe" is further proof that if there is a great Weezer album lurking in the future, it will no doubt be a greatest-hits collection. The best we can hope for now is that Cuomo remains a fine singles artist and fills up our iPods.
As always, the radio-ready keepers on "Make Believe" deal with Cuomo's disastrous romantic track record. "What's the deal with my brain? Why am I so obviously insane?" he asks on the sublime "Perfect Situation," a guitar-washed mid-tempo lament about a weird wallflower ("I'm a hero . . . I'm a zero") who can't hold on to the girl. The sad chorus of "oh oh oh" contrasts nicely with the song's edgy framework. On the sock-hop throwback "Hold Me," Cuomo admits, "I am terrified of all things," first and foremost the gal who just dumped his sorry self.
Another telling lyric is found on the stomp-and-shout first single, "Beverly Hills," a shameless party cut with a big beat reminiscent of "We Will Rock You" and a guitar solo inspired by too many rotations of Peter Frampton's "Comes Alive." In waxing on about Zsa Zsa Gabor's stomping grounds, Cuomo speak-sings, "Look at all those movie stars, they're all so beautiful and clean." Clean? Oh, he must feel sooo dirty. It's a wonder he hasn't scrubbed off all his skin by now.
Cuomo is incapable of making a boring album, but listenable doesn't necessarily mean likable. "We Are All on Drugs" flat-out cooks -- and the "Give it to me!" bridge is one of those power-pop details that Weezer does best -- but listen more closely ("The best of your days will all vanish in the haze") and you realize it's a treacly "just say no" song, Cuomo's awkward penance for whatever bad things he once ingested. "I want to confiscate your drugs," he warns.
"The Other Way," "Peace" and "Freak Me Out" are blah, go-nowhere fillers -- not only can Cuomo write these tunes in his sleep, he probably did. "My Best Friend" has a perky beat but is mired by an earnest up-with-people sentiment, a Hallmarkian bit of joy joy joy that is just as creepy as anything on "Pinkerton." And then there's the album closer, "Haunt You Every Day." Awash in fuzz and guitars and depression, it sounds like the musings of a man who may be lost for good. "I am just insane / Walking on my own." Oh boy. Something tells me not even eight hours in the lotus position is going to solve that problem.
