Review: Weezer’s Pinkerton

BY: NOAH CASTAGNA

When asked of what ever happened to the girl from “Across the Sea,” Weezer frontman and songwriter Rivers Cuomo responded, “Good question. I don’t know the answer.” This succinct, earnest acknowledgement reverberates the raw vulnerability of the masterpiece that is Weezer’s Pinkerton. Met with critical backlash upon release in 1996 as a departure from the band’s established nerd rock aesthetic, Pinkerton soon after garnered a strong following, due to its authenticity and incredible composition. Within this instrumentation, bass guitarist Matt Sharp and drummer Pat Wilson carve a heart-stopping canvas for Rivers to paint a somber, twisted effigy of his life.

The introductory tracks to Pinkerton seem to buzz with a lively fervor, yet the messages they carry convey Rivers as a tragic hero tortured by the sins of the reckless college kid he once was. “Tired of Sex” betrays Rivers’ self-loathing, one of the many resounding themes of the album that is ultimately human. Along with this, “Tired of Sex” broadcasts the elusiveness of genuine love in Rivers’ life, as he recounts instances of meaningless physical encounters and implores the listener, “Oh, why can’t I be makin’ love come true?” The percussion pounds alongside him, expanding every strained syllable with emotional precision. This narrative is pursued further within “Getchoo,” through which Rivers wallows in the regret he feels over the agony his promiscuity has caused. The heart wrenches as Rivers comes to an instrumentally climactic epiphany, realizing, “What I did to them, You’ve done to me.” As the song denoues, Rivers succumbs to the fact that “This is beginning to hurt,” accepting his reality and finally beginning to move on.

Yet, the album does not stray away from the darker facets of Rivers life, taking what could have been a one note album riddled with despair, and melding it into a complex, dark piece. Within the masterfully composed “Across the Sea,” the track that, I feel, was Rivers’ bulkiest outlet for emotion, we can readily access Rivers vulnerability, feeling the pain he experienced almost cozily, despite the darkness the lyrics forsake. At first the piece is a bittersweet love story, a tale of a depressed college kid entrenched within the beauty of a fan letter and pleading, “Why are you so far away from me?” This tragedy soon spirals into darkness, as Rivers becomes dangerously obsessed, quivering as he licks the envelope and compliments the stationery, “fall[ing] to little pieces every time.” The darkness of this confession embodies what makes Pinkerton so compelling- it is an exposé Rivers crafts of himself through his music.

Soon after “Across the Sea” punches us in the gut, “The Good Life” works to propel the album’s trajectory further into despair, as we see Rivers deploring the isolation brought about by his physical impairment. I feel that this is easily the saddest track of the album, despite the energy the song seems to spring to life with. With such a vigorous beat, it is hard to resist bobbing along to “The Good Life,” despite the despondent verses the song is clotted with, such as “I should have no feeling, ‘Cause feeling is pain.” This parallel between beat and lyrics is present elsewhere on Pinkerton, but here it is fully enunciated, making a song beseeching the simple concept of “The Good Life” memorable.

“The Good Life” has a sequel in “Pink Triangle,” with an energetic beat, tragic lyrics, and Rivers’ ultimate goal of the former enduring- to change what he cannot. Here we see shades of “Across the Sea” resurfacing, as Rivers imagines a life with a girl he soon comes to speculate may be a lesbian. Just as Rivers cannot completely overcome his physical impairment and live the “good life,” he cannot change the sexuality of the girl he had envisioned a life with, instead opting to yet again pull at the heart strings, begging the listener, “If everyone’s a little queer, Can’t she be a little straight?” Both tracks elicit sympathy after the polarizing “Across the Sea” and work to further flesh out Rivers’ duality, as he teeters the fine line between lovesick and just sick.

At its core, Pinkerton is an emotional evolution, characterized by the visceral adolescence that defined Rivers Cuomo’s Harvard years, taking Weezer to a dark place where they thrive wonderfully and leaving the band with expectations they would forever strive to meet once more. By the end of a session of Pinkerton, the listener knows Rivers Cuomo with an intimacy that fails to be rivaled, an intimacy that can be felt within the roar of the instrumentation and the growl of Rivers’ wistful voice. And it is this intimacy that makes a simple response such as “Good question. I don’t know the answer,” genuinely soul-crushing.