Album Review: Weezer — Weezer (The White Album)

Like that slightly unpredictable Uncle you don’t see much, but who loves to pop in and drop a good Dad joke or two when you least expect it, Weezer return with their 10th Studio (and 4th self-titled!) album — dropped on April fool’s Day 2016. Whether this timing is intentional or not, it is a move that almost begs serious-minded rock critics to put the boot once more into the Weez, and more specifically pretty much all of their maligned post-Pinkerton output (Am I the only person in the World that quite likes Raditude?! Re-listening to this track with Weezy, I’d say quite probably yes).

However; what old school fans and critics perhaps lose sight of is that the band’s bespectacled leader, chief songwriter, lead guitarist, prime Shakespeare enthusiast and ornery oddball Rivers Cuomo doesn’t care at all what anyone thinks. He regularly solemnly promises each of the group’s records will be a return to the good old days of sunny heavy and often alarmingly emotionally naked pop, and then promptly un-crosses his fingers and proceeds to do whatever he wants. This is no different on The White Album. Rivers has no interest in re-visiting the emotional blood-letting of the Pinkerton era. Songs are propelled forward with insight-free lyrics which move between school-boy poetry (Girl We Got a Good Thing), and complete “WTF is he on about now?” moments of strangeness (Thank God for Girls and Summer Elaine and Drunk Dori, the latter of which appears to be a loving tribute to a teenage crush on two mermaids).

Rivers lives in a never-ending adolescence, shy and nervous around girls, looking forward to just hanging with friends and rocking out. He is a pop songwriter, and a very good one — creating his own internal nerd-rock universe of nostalgic good times, where everyone really loves KISS and where there isn’t a track not worth jazzing up with a slightly extravagant solo reminiscent of that Van Halen compilation you can never quite bring yourself to bin.

This perpetual Peter Pan syndrome has sometimes hurt Weezer albums in the past, however what discerns The White Album from its’ immediate predecessors is that the music snaps into focus — Cuomo and band internalise all the detours (read affectations for serious Weez-bashing types) that popped up on their other records of the past decade, and mould them seamlessly with the guitar-heavy sound of their early days. Hip hop cadences and piano lines enhance, rather than distract from the overall sound and sensibility. So when Rivers sings “Would You Mind if I was Pregnant? I’ll Sleep on the Edge of Your Bed” it’s not particularly jarring when coupled with the power pop driving the whole show along.

In a way it’s refreshing that at 45 Cuomo simply seems to want to have some middle age fun — creating a summery L.A. beach vibe and giving never taking himself too seriously. Some of the prog-rock pretentions that could weigh down this record’s otherwise-strong predecessor (2014’s Everything Will be Alright in the End) are gone, leaving a 34-minute lean little rock record. Not something that will win the band new fans, but one which recalls the bands peak, while also showing that middle age in pop music doesn’t have to mean the fun times are over. One for the fans then, but at this stage pretty much in the best way possible.