Don't let go: 12 great Weezer songs after Pinkerton
Yes, that includes the one with the Muppets video ("Keep Fishin'")
Article Tools
There are two camps of Weezer fans: Those who passionately feel the Los Angeles quartet peaked in 1996 when its emo masterpiece Pinkerton hit shelves and blankly sniff at the band’s catchy but arguably vapid output since (like the majority of the recent Raditude); and the realists who accept the band for all its ups (catchy singles) and downs (most of Raditude). In the spirit of playing moderator between these two wounded schisms currently hashing it out over countless Internet forums, The A.V. Club dug out Weezer's entire catalog (including a few B-sides and demos) to highlight 12 post-Pinkerton songs that are undeniably great. Keep these in mind when shouting requests at Weezer's show Dec. 1 at the Aragon.
"Burndt Jamb"
The case against it: Frontman Rivers Cuomo engaged in several acts of—depending on your take—musical homage and/or petty theft in writing Maladroit. But while "December" lifts lyrics wholesale from The Who's "Love Reign O'er Me,""Burndt Jamb" commits the record's most egregious crime: Copping the main riff from George Benson's smooth-jazz standard "Breezin'."
Why it's wrong: Cuomo's strumming in the verses definitely sounds like it should be backing the Weather Channel's local forecast. But you know what wouldn't make for good background music for cartoon suns and clouds? The epic riffage that cleaves "Burndt Jamb" in half, making it a study in dynamic contrast reminiscent of the way "My Name Is Jonas" explodes out of its opening's acoustic picking.
"Glorious Day"
Why it's wrong: "Glorious Day" benefits somewhat from being graded on a generous curve against Weezer's other '00s work. It's not necessarily an essential song in the Weezer canon, but at least the lyrics aren't distractingly moronic or wincingly unfunny, and the music is brutally efficient in delivering a simple but undeniably catchy hook. Before the green album was released, most Weezer fans had left the band for dead, and the sunny, feel-good anthem "Glorious Day" was in keeping with the band's sunny, feel-good comeback story that you couldn't help but love—for a while at least.
"I Do"
The case against it: In contrast to the painfully personal Pinkerton, Cuomo bragged about the universal and more generic approach to lyrics on the green album, ultimately alienating less-forgiving fans unwilling to embrace change in the band.
Why it's wrong: The green album sessions produced "I Do," and it’s unlike anything that made the finished album. Starkly sad and notable for the lack of the full band on the recording, a whirlwind of feedback gives way to forlorn keyboards and Cuomo pining for the one who “told me that you’d always love me” in a song that would have offered some nice emotional depth to the record. Regardless, its catchy sadness shines just fine alone, and though it eventually became the B-side to lead single “Hash Pipe,” "I Do"'s inclusion on the album might have curbed some of Weezer’s detractors.
"Fall Together"
The case against it: After the green album's less-than-enthusiastic reception, Cuomo somewhat strangely engaged his fans head-on by posting demos for Maladroit online during the band's studio sessions—in many cases integrating their feedback into the finished versions. (Whether that's strange for a man who reportedly diagramed the structure of every Nirvana song is another discussion altogether.) Unsurprisingly, this air of self-consciousness led to Maladroit being one of the more underrated albums in Weezer's catalog.
Why it's wrong: With so much scrutiny on all fronts, it was inevitable that a simple, straightforward rock song would slip past the goalies. "Fall Together" might come near the end of Maladroit, but it exudes a kind of defiant confidence that the sessions leading up to it lacked. Complete with cock-rock solo, a cutting chorus, and a lumbering beat, it's hard for anyone who loves rock to argue with "Fall Together.
"Superstar"
The case against it: Little is known about "Superstar," so the biggest case against it is probably its obscurity. Among the demos for Make Believe, it's possible that Cuomo was less interested in recording a more familiarly raucous rock song in a period that found his band embracing a lot of firsts: Other members were encouraged to sing and present their own songs, while Cuomo's own songs became increasingly guilty of the very thing many fans deride in Weezer's music today: an emphasis on a story over his own feelings.
Why it's wrong: Weezer tore this song up many times live, and it's a shame it never got a more formal release. Like a more rocking version of The Presidents Of The United States Of America's cover of Ben Reiser's "We Are Not Going To Make It" on their self-titled 1995 debut, "Superstar" seems to simultaneously address Weezer's change of direction while also reminding the band's audience that they aren't big rock stars: "There used to be a better kind of rock-'n'-rolling superstar" it starts, before Cuomo laments his inability to "summon things from hell." It's goofy and hard-rocking, which is a combination that can never miss.
Why it's wrong: Well, it's P-fork and Baby P-fork, so take everything they write with a grain of salt. Stylus would go on to revise his claims, but Chakroff is right in one respect: This is one of Cuomo's least wordy songs, and its impact (that emotional heft that Mitchum didn't hear) comes more from the songwriter's vocal performance and the haze of disappointment and resign that engulfs every instrument on the album version. In its level of atmosphere and slow-burn structure, "Death And Destruction" has more in common with the dreamier quadrants of post-rock than diary-ripping favorites like "Falling For You" or "Across The Sea." In fact, it came into this world as an instrumental, and the band returned to that original vision in 2005. The song proves that Cuomo might do well to keep his mouth closed more often.
The case against it: Years before he openly courted mockery by jamming with Kenny G and donning cowboy hats and stupid mustaches on album covers, Cuomo actually had coolness points to lose, thanks to the posthumous praise given Pinkerton. But Cuomo never cared about (or was good at) being cool, so he released "Island In The Sun"—perhaps Weezer most overtly "romantic" ballad—as a single in 2000.
Why it's wrong: At a time when Cuomo seems incapable of sincerity, it's nice to remember that he once could write a song as sweet and innocently hopeful as "Island In The Sun." It's also a reminder that Cuomo really does deserve Brian Wilson comparisons for reasons beyond being a hermetic weirdo with a solid grasp of pop songcraft.
"Perfect Situation"
The case against it: It's on 2005's truly awful Make Believe, so it can't be good.
Why it's wrong: "Perfect Situation" is the one salvageable song on Make Believe, a fact made clearer by its placement on the record's tracklist: Clowns to the left of it (the dumb-as-rocks first single "Beverly Hills"), jokers to the right ("This Is Such A Pity"'s ill-advised detour into then-hip synth-pop revivalism). There's no ironic materialism, no product placements, just that classic Weezer crunch, a dash of Maladroit's guitar heroics, and a longing, wordless chorus. Like "Death And Destruction," that chorus reveals a dirty little secret few Weezer fans are fond of divulging: Cuomo's always been a somewhat terrible lyricist, and it's really his melodic gifts that keep the diehards coming back.
"Photograph"
The case against it: According to John D. Luerssen's unauthorized biography Rivers' Edge: The Weezer Story, the band members didn't believe "Photograph" was a strong enough song to continue the momentum of previous green album singles "Hash Pipe" and "Island In The Sun." Its release saw little fanfare, exemplified by its video, which was cobbled together by "fifth Weezer" Karl Koch from tour and rehearsal footage.
Why it's wrong: It may not have the resurgent swagger of "Hash Pipe" or the pleasant sentimentality of "Island In The Sun," but "Photograph" is the strongest example of the pared-down pop formula the green album attempted to perfect. And with Ric Ocasek behind the boards, it has a direct link to another shining example of hooky economy—The Cars' "My Best Friend's Girl," which shares half of its timeless, syncopated handclap pattern with "Photograph." Just keep drawing up the plans and re-erect it, indeed.
"I'm Your Daddy"
The case against it: It's everything that's wrong about Raditude: Slick production from an outsider (Swedish hitmaker Dr. Luke, whose work with Pink, Katy Perry and Leona Lewis is partially absolved by Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone"); a completely empty, seemingly predatory lyric; flawless performances that make all of the band members sound like their last name is Jonas.
Why it's wrong: Straddling the line between perfectionist songcraft and calculated hackery, this would be your current guilty pleasure if it weren't by the Weez. There are some really nice instrumental touches (the upper-octave guitar in the chorus, a synthesizer part that doesn't stink the whole joint up), and the "You are my baby / and I'm your daddy" line was written by Rivers for his infant daughter, so—wait, no, that actually is very creepy.
