Weezer – Everything Will Be Alright In The End
Weezer are getting old. These cult Los Angeles indie rock mainstays are at album number nine (if we’re not counting 2010’s offcuts compilation Death to False Metal), and their discography charts an ascent from pubescent garage rock to men with jobs and kids and fame. It feels too long since a single-hued album shamelessly rocked our steroes, with Say It Ain’t So, Island in the Sun, and even Pork and Beans fading behind Raditude and Hurley’s attempts to reclaim some of that elixir.
Ever the blunt optimists, Everything Will Be Alright In The End is Weezer’s brazen statement that if little else, they’re still gonna keep on trucking: heartstring-tuggin’ fuzz-melodies with poppy hooks and vigorously youthful lyricism. They’ve got the big sound of later efforts (opener Ain’t Got Nobody amps up the epic like ‘Red’s The Greatest Man That Ever Lived, stadium-ready) and some of the wide-eyed rebellion of earlier work (The British Are Coming and Da Vinci recapture some of the playful innocence of Burndt Jamb or El Scorcho).
But add to that mix the less-than-subtle clawing-back of times once had (“Rockin’ out like it’s ‘94” he yowls on Back to the Shack – so, your debut record, Rivers?), fears of becoming old and irrelevant (“5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, you’re older”, Cleopatra; “Time marches on”, Eulogy for a Rock Band), and the earnest fatherhood imagery (Foolish Father’s gushy imploring sounds like it could’ve been made for Make Believe) and you’ve got a rock band with one eye on the crowd and another on the clock.
It’s not all nostalgia; the punchy I’ve Had It Up To Here and the (conceptually contrived, but fun) three-part closer The Waste Land / Anonymous / Return To Ithaka show they’re not afraid to experiment with intros and outtros, even if it doesn’t quite approach the sweaty innovation of Maladroit or Pinkerton, and the wailing, gnarly solos and scuzzy distortion prove there’s still muscle on those bones.
Fortunately, Ric "Cars" Ocasek’s production, last seen on their blue and green outings, gives the album the pizzazz it needs. Less a spit-and-polish, and more an HD tune-up: the fuzz is darker, the highs are cleaner, and the immortal Cuomo sounds as excellently goofy as he did in the 90s. EWBAITE chugs hard and whines with its heart on its sleeve, and while they’re longer in tooth, the unstoppable Weezer still say it like it is.