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“Some Rambling on Weezer’s, and California’s, Big Picture”

I would classify Weezer as today probably more jealous of Green Day than they’ve ever been. And tha’ts considerable.
But have you ever listened to “Undone (The Sweater Song)”? How’s that for a stupid question. But have you ever REALLY listened to it?
Now, listen. I’m currently working on a master’s in English. It sucks, to be honest. I’d much rather work as a line cook, but I always end up so misanthropic, quiet and full of unwanted b.o. as to render such an opportunity implausible.
And they won’t stop teaching me THEORY. Rivers Cuomo’s got a BA in English from Harvard, by the way.
But to what extent are artistic statements conversations with other artistic statements, and to what extent, or when, if ever, do they truly stand on their own as tactilely efficacious? The question is part and parcel with the fleeting notion that “Everything’s been done.” This was a common attitude in the mid-’00’s, if memory serves, whereas now its truth is so obvious that nobody even bothers to utter it, they just subject their maligned ear drums to the unruly peal of the voice of Bernie Sanders.
But enough about that. Boy, is that an understatement. Let’s talk about us some ‘90s. This was a time when everything was talking with itself. Hootie & the Blowfish were labeled “soft rock” [1], because apparently they weren’t distraught enough about some whales or California Condors dying, or something, I dunno… anyway, they were too poppy, Live was too poppy [2], my dog’s getting leukemia, wah, wah, wah, NO artistic statement was ever good enough. But then. hey. At the end of the day, let’s look at it. Nirvanan was pretty da** good. But Pearl Jam sucked.
Ok. I’m sorry, this post is sort of pointless, but I heard Weezer on the radio about three months ago, “The Sweater Song,” and the greatness of the song finally hit me: my lingering worry of course being that the exact way it declared itself to me as the best song ever is so inexplicable that any attempt to write about it is entirely futile… I mean, the dude is a good guitarist. Ok. The single was successful, it’s obviously received extensive radio play, it’s popular, it’s obviously PU**Y, I mean the dude isn’t even fighting back, is this… ZEN? What are you scared of, person, reading this? I wanna know. I really do. I’m being paid $25,000 a year in precious money to be your social worker. I want to know what is so painful, and beautiful, to you, about Rivers Cuomo’s inimitable, undeniable exact brand of such concentrated, acute LAMENT, or maybe nothing’s painful about it, you just went and popped in Better than Ezra – Deluxe, or Counting Crows – August and Everything after.
I once read an interview with Brian Bell where he said “We’re a lot weirder and more talented than most people realize.” This begs the question — are weirdness and talent always hand in hand? Are the most efficacious artistic statements always the most misunderstood? Or was there the overarching, draping understanding over the entire ‘90s, and up through today, that no artistic statement ever truly COULD be understood, because we’ve always quote-unquote HUMans so internalized this notion that we are unconquerably, indubitably SEPERATE, for all of eternity? Not only do we have our own bodies, in this life, but Christianity has it that we enter the NEXT da** life as separate too, in either heaven or he**. And in between, there’s a lot of nervous chuckles. And sugar, a lot of ‘em come during Weezer’s “Undone.”
But the ‘90s weren’t THAT da** long ago, although I live partially in South Bend, Indiana time, wherein one month is equivalent to 12 normal years. [3]
Anyway, in the last paragraph of this post, I’d like to talk about the exact color of the Weezer CD in 1994, and the concept of mutuality. I’m not sure, but it’s possible that Weezer, the entity, that is to say Rivers Cuomo, Brian Bell, Patrick Wilson and whatever nut job bassist they happen to pick up for the current day [4], are mutual with the very color of blue. Think about it: what does a color do? It’s zen. This is not even a discussion of quality, but disposition, somewhat like a housecat. Many people do not see any use in housecats, although I’ll be da**ed if I’m voluntarily hanging out with any of ‘em tonight.
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[1] http://www.nytimes.com/1995/11/05/arts/pop-view-if-colin-powell-sang-and-played-guitar.html
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[2] http://articles.latimes.com/1997-02-22/entertainment/ca-31172_1_secret-samadhi
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[3] Anyone who doesn’t believe me on this feel free to walk through the Better World Books warehouse sometimes and try it out for size for yourself.
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[4] That was my impression of Die Hard 2: With a Vengeance.

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