Warning: This isn't just an album review. It's also a tirade from a once diehard Weezer fan who can't find enough synonyms for disappointment.
2 1/2 out of 5
As much as the teenager deep inside me wants to embrace this album, I just can't do it. When I started reading articles about how this was a "return to form" or sounded like Weezer from 1994 I had extreme doubts, and I will tell you now that no, this album is none of those things. And I understand why people hold out hope: as someone who connected with "The Blue Album" and "Pinkerton", only to be turned off by the emotionless reformed Weezer of the "Green Album" up, it's somewhat painful to hear each subsequent album of generic garage pop when you yearn for those glory days. The biggest problem is that the awkward nerds who penned classics like "Say It Ain't So" or "El Scorcho" are grown men now, and not just that, but they're industry veterans who are comfortable in their role as nerd-lite pop-rockers. Weezer in 1994 was naively unready for rock stardom, and their first album was perfectly unpretentious the same way the follow up record was a confused and painful picture of just how ill-prepared they were for success, which created magic from how honestly not rock-star like they actually were. The Weezer of 2014 is a different beast altogether: one that understands that it doesn't have to try to churn out a hit single (fuck you, "Beverly Hills") because of their rock-star status, and is lazily floating through a record release cycle that leaves their endearing early days packed in a shoe box labeled "DO NOT OPEN".
In my mind Weezer is really two seperate bands: the first band made the quintessential anthemic "heart-on-sleeve" power-pop of the first two records, and the other band has made consistently mediocre pop-rock ever since 2001. "Everything Will Be Alright In The End" is the newest collection by that second band, albeit, probably the best they've recorded.
After the shitstorm of baring all the dark, repressed parts of his soul on "Pinkerton", lead vocalist and lyricist Rivers Cuomo ceased writing anything with any gravity, and that's lead to some dismal lyricism on his part. On this album there's three songs dedicated to history: "Da Vinci", "Cleopatra" and "The British Are Coming", and even if musically they aren't the worst slabs of guitar rock the band has produced, lyrically they're cold and deflect having to say anything at all by recounting historical facts. It all sounds fine enough, but there's no soul. It reminds me of hearing old sterotypical Blues musicians on tv shows say that "you don't learn the blues, you feel the blues". As a band they yearn for the days before their hiatus, but they're unwilling to show any emotion or any vulnerability and they mistake trying to record songs that "sound '94" for recording songs with genuine feeling. I could tolerate the upbeat drivel they've put out the last ten years if it felt like any of it mattered, especially to them. These songs, even the catchy "Go Away", would be monumentally better if the vocals were obscured to the point that the lyrics were incomprehensible. Opening track "Ain't Got Nobody" tries its best to drive the listener insane with the circling chorus of "Ain't got nobody, ain't got nobody, ain't got no one to really love me". It would be nice if it was a 50's teen bop song, but it isn't, and it's throwaway. The strangest thing to me is that on a subconscious level, my brain keeps going back to Blink 182's "we're still the same guys, honest" album "Take Off Your Pants & Jacket", an album so mind numbingly juvenile that, had it been made by a band of twenty two years olds it would be bad, but was multiplied in inanity by the fact that those guys were thirty when they recorded it. Growing up is never easy an task, particularly when you're in a band known for writing songs for lovesick teens. It appears that Rivers Cuomo is afraid of maturing, and I wonder what kind of album the band would've made had "Pinkerton" been met with the same enthusiam commercially that they receive today. The old Rivers, who wasn't afraid to emote, might've made some really insightful music that could appeal to those of us who are only getting older and don't have time for songs about girls, and having crushes on girls, and girls girls girls rock out! And in his own castrated way, he tries to open up on this album by alluding to the father who haunted his earlier work, and directly addressing the fans who've abandoned him in light of his less-than-boring output. For every "hey, dudes, we're gonna rock like it's '94" platitude on "Back To The Shack", there's a "hey, guys, fuck you, I like making shitty music" sentiment on "I've Had It Up To Here". So what is it then, dude? Because all you have to do is look like an actual person and give up your crunchy-guitar-Beach Boys-pod person schtick and I swear to god, we'll all listen to what you have to say.
The only surprising thing here is that the album is closed with a musical triptych called "The Futurescope Trilogy", which is a nod at the scrapped "Songs From The Black Hole". The three songs are largely vocal-less, almost proto-metal tunes that strive for Sabbath-esque riffage and the pop-prog of Rush, and truthfully, it pays off. It feels scrappy and audacious, kind of how Weezer used to feel, and if they can take this idea and push it into a new exciting direction then I'll eat all my condescending words, but for now, I think the song "Eulogy For A Rock Band" sums up where this album left me: "We'll never forget the jams you made, let them fade, it's time that we laid you in your grave, let them fade. Goodbye."
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