Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
This past July 29, the long-dormant, but still immensely popular rock and roll tour de force that is Weezer made a triumphant return to Hollywood. There were no trumpets, no marching elephants or sword-swallowing, fire-breathing swamis; merely four rock gods at the top of their game and a few hundred of their rabid, ticket-stub grasping legionnaires. Forsooth, the term “insane” is probably the mildest adjective applicable to the psychology of the average Weezerite standing in the line wrapping around the venerable Whiskey-A-Go-Go for hours before the doors were to open. Fevered would be more apropos.
Every conceivable vicious rumor has been thrown at this oft-imitated quartet in the three or so years since they slipped off of the face of the earth, but the very presence of Rivers Cuomo, Brian Bell, Pat Wilson, and winsome newcomer Mikey Welsh more than quelled any doubts that the Weezer name was once again to be reckoned with. Not that the crowd seemed concerned at all—rather, the anticipation was tangible, practically dripping down the walls of the packed club.
Pasadena based earnest-rockers Ozma were appointed the holy duty of warming up the audience, and was greeted with equal amounts of politeness and patience. The youthful group, which has already amassed a sizeable following, built their set mostly around tunes from their recent independent release “Rock and Roll Part Three,” and whatever they lacked in liveliness, they made up for in melody.
However, the prom queen on this particular night was undoubtedly Weezer, and they didn’t just take the stage, they seized it. From the very first crystalline notes of “My Name Is Jonas,” Rivers & Co. had the throng of fanatics eating out of the palms of their hands, and twisting to the music like a gigantic serpent. They banged out nearly their entire first, multi-platinum album, vigorously delivering favorites like “No One Else,” and the incredible “In the Garage,” along side of their anthems “Say It Ain’t So,” and “Undone—the Sweater Song.” The set was a little thin on tunes from the deeply introspective cult sensation, Pinkerton, perhaps the only miscalculation that the fab four would make. “El Scorcho,” “Why Bother?” and the scathing “Tired of Sex,” were received with as much hysteria as any of their more commercially well-known hits, proving once and for all that Pinkerton was not the “failure” that so many industry pundits perceived it to be. Additionally, stellar b-side tracks “You Gave Your Love to Me Softly,” and the a cappella “Susanne” delighted the room to no end.
For good measure, the boys threw in four new songs, presumably to appear on Weezer’s third album, which is slated for a spring 2001 release. “Superstar,” “Yore Sister,” and “Too Late To Try,” each rocked hard in Weezer’s trademarked morose and dopey sort of way. However, “Slob” was nothing short of a masterpiece, filled with despair and neglect, complimented by appropriately tortured guitar riffery. By then, the pained refrain, “Get yourself a life/ Get yourself a job/ Don’t live in a dream/ Don’t you be a slob,” was already familiar to most of the crowd, who sang along with gusto.
Illuminated only by a flaring, gigantic flying W, Weezer reemerged for an encore which consisted of a rousing “Holiday,” a raucous take on “Buddy Holly,” and their traditional farewell hymn, “Surf Wax America.” The Whiskey echoed with cries for more, but Weezer did not oblige, lest they never escape the insatiable audience.
The masses poured out onto Sunset Strip, simultaneously dizzied by the spectacle they had just witnessed and already itching for more. One truth is clear: Weezer’s absence from the spotlight has done nothing to curb neither their brilliance nor the devotion of their fans.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
By Casey Lombardo
Long Beach Union
Originally printed 8.14.00
Back
