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Everybody knows that Rocktober ends on Halloween… and usually those Halloween shows are special. In the case of Weezer in New York, we had a special Gossip Girl appearance. Audience came dressed up, so watching the crowd is as fun as watching the band on stage.
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To fully grasp the emotional scope of this review, you should know three things:
1. My first kiss took place at a seventh grade Halloween party with some dude named Eugene. “El Scorcho” was playing in the background.
2. My first non-paste-eating boyfriend was my ninth grade algebra tutor, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Green Album-era Rivers, minus the braces.
3. In high school I was co-president of a dedicated Weezer fanclub called The Cuomosexuals. We mostly dissected Pinkerton lyrics, line by line.
Needless to say, this show (on Halloween, of all days) carried quite a bit of sentimental weight for me. Like most seasoned fans, I’ve pretty much abandoned all hope of Weezer ever releasing anything remotely listenable, yet I’m still willing to brave Ticketmaster fees just to hear “Tired of Sex” – even if that means sitting through gems like “We Are All on Drugs” and “Can’t Stop Partying.” In terms of band-fanbase relationships, Rivers is Sid Vicious, and we old-school fans are doped up, masochistic Nancy.
The show was at the sprawling Hammerstein Ballroom, an odd place to see the opening act: Matt & Kim. (Unnecessary Personal Fact #4: My friends and I saw Matt & Kim right after our senior prom. This night truly was high school redux.) I’ve seen them play in the backroom of a Texan bar and the bowels of a Brooklyn brewery, but this venue was by far the strangest. Despite this, they were as hyper as ever, dressed up as Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick and hurling candy and condoms into the audience. They won the crowd over by using “The Final Countdown” to segue into “Daylight.” Yes, they had t-shirt guns and giant inflatable spiders, and they were playing in a 1200-capacity ballroom – but there was no denying that this was the same band I saw after my senior prom.
Alas, if that was only the same case for Weezer. I should go ahead and say that I had a fucking amazing time. I was front row at a Weezer show, mere inches away from Rivers. This was the epitome of my high school fantasies. But something was amiss. This may have had something to do with the fact that they came out dressed like insects.
Yes, when Weezer took the stage, Brian was as a beetle, Pat was a praying mantis, Scott was something vague and sparkly, and Rivers –ever the Kiss fan—was a big, fuzzy purple spider. It was cheesy and nerdy, two of Weezer’s hallmarks, but what really brought it home was when Rivers stormed onto the stage, one of his many furry appendages got tangled in a microphone stand, causing him to stumble. All of this happened within the first few seconds of “Hash Pipe,” by the way.
The theatrics were obviously a priority that night. Some of the stranger items of interest: Rivers brought out a ukulele with the sole intention of kicking its ass, Leighton Meester (a.k.a. Blair Waldorf of Gossip Girl fame) made a cameo to help sing some song off of Raditude, Rivers proved to be quite adept with a trampoline, Pat played Rivers’ guitar parts for most of the show, Scott sang “My Name Is Jonas” (blasphemy!), and they ended the first set with their infamous MGMT/Lady Gaga medley. Oh, and Rivers rapped Lil Wayne’s part on “Can’t Stop Partying.” Vanilla Ice would be proud.
As both an insufferable snob and helpless Weezer fan, I was torn. I went beavershit crazy during any song from the first two albums, but during anything post-2001, I’d turn to my friend and shrug, mouthing, Do you know this song? (Yeah, we’re assholes.) Soon I noticed that we were pretty much the only ones not creaming ourselves over a song like “Pork and Beans.” Weezer plays stadiums and ballrooms for a reason – and it’s because of this new breed of diehard fans who unconditionally love Rivers, regardless of his questionable facial hair and fondness for Snuggies. These are the people who close their eyes and sway to “Beverly Hills,” while restlessly checking their Blackberries during “Surf Wax America.” In short, these are Weezer’s true fans, whereas I represent their bitter ex who is stuck in the past with the emotional stretch marks to prove it.
They ended the show with “Buddy Holly,” which was good enough for me. My inner-seventh grader was dying to hear “El Scorcho,” but it went unplayed that night. I’m sure it was for the best, as it wouldn’t have been the same without Eugene.
>>>
To fully grasp the emotional scope of this review, you should know three things:
1. My first kiss took place at a seventh grade Halloween party with some dude named Eugene. “El Scorcho” was playing in the background.
2. My first non-paste-eating boyfriend was my ninth grade algebra tutor, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Green Album-era Rivers, minus the braces.
3. In high school I was co-president of a dedicated Weezer fanclub called The Cuomosexuals. We mostly dissected Pinkerton lyrics, line by line.
Needless to say, this show (on Halloween, of all days) carried quite a bit of sentimental weight for me. Like most seasoned fans, I’ve pretty much abandoned all hope of Weezer ever releasing anything remotely listenable, yet I’m still willing to brave Ticketmaster fees just to hear “Tired of Sex” – even if that means sitting through gems like “We Are All on Drugs” and “Can’t Stop Partying.” In terms of band-fanbase relationships, Rivers is Sid Vicious, and we old-school fans are doped up, masochistic Nancy.
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Matt & Kim
photo by
Konstantin Sergeyev
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Alas, if that was only the same case for Weezer. I should go ahead and say that I had a fucking amazing time. I was front row at a Weezer show, mere inches away from Rivers. This was the epitome of my high school fantasies. But something was amiss. This may have had something to do with the fact that they came out dressed like insects.
Yes, when Weezer took the stage, Brian was as a beetle, Pat was a praying mantis, Scott was something vague and sparkly, and Rivers –ever the Kiss fan—was a big, fuzzy purple spider. It was cheesy and nerdy, two of Weezer’s hallmarks, but what really brought it home was when Rivers stormed onto the stage, one of his many furry appendages got tangled in a microphone stand, causing him to stumble. All of this happened within the first few seconds of “Hash Pipe,” by the way.
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Leighton Meester
photo by Rachel Esterday
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As both an insufferable snob and helpless Weezer fan, I was torn. I went beavershit crazy during any song from the first two albums, but during anything post-2001, I’d turn to my friend and shrug, mouthing, Do you know this song? (Yeah, we’re assholes.) Soon I noticed that we were pretty much the only ones not creaming ourselves over a song like “Pork and Beans.” Weezer plays stadiums and ballrooms for a reason – and it’s because of this new breed of diehard fans who unconditionally love Rivers, regardless of his questionable facial hair and fondness for Snuggies. These are the people who close their eyes and sway to “Beverly Hills,” while restlessly checking their Blackberries during “Surf Wax America.” In short, these are Weezer’s true fans, whereas I represent their bitter ex who is stuck in the past with the emotional stretch marks to prove it.
They ended the show with “Buddy Holly,” which was good enough for me. My inner-seventh grader was dying to hear “El Scorcho,” but it went unplayed that night. I’m sure it was for the best, as it wouldn’t have been the same without Eugene.
Weezer at Hammerstein Ballroom, New York (31 Oct 2009) photo by Jason Neely
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