September 23, 2010


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Weezer, Hurley
Epitaph Records, Sept. 14
Literally if not inarguably figuratively, Rivers Cuomo is getting old, having, as he acknowledges in this album’s leadoff tune “Memories,” come from the time “when Audioslave was the rage.” Does he know that the verse of “Memories” sounds like Huey Lewis’s “Heart of Rock n Roll,” or did he do it on purpose? Regardless, he won’t go away and take his 40-year-old skater dweebs with him, and they do themselves a solid by continuing to refuse to speed up their proto-emo to keep pace with Yellowcard and all those guys (yikes, “Trainwrecks” moves like a hard-rock Jefferson Starship B-side from the mid-’80s) (then again, “Unspoken” could make you think they bought an Interpol album once on a lark).

They named this album after the morbidly obese dude from TV’s Lost, though, so with that, and as the flailing yell-stomp of “Where’s My Sex” proves, they’re just Weezer being Weezer, doing their traditional geek-awkward, culturally stupid shtick (and not in as sucky a vein as The Red Album and whatnot, so count your blessings) all for the benefit of your boneheaded little brother as he shall ever remain. B — Eric W. Saeger