That ear-shattering squeal of feedback. Those disturbingly discordant guitars. Rivers's uncharacteristically gutteral yelps. Less than a minute into 'Pinkerton' and it's quite apparent that this is a very different Weezer than we're used to. Gone are the endearingly nerdy paens to Buddy Holly and Mary Tyler Moore; the dumb fun college rock of tracks like 'Surf Wax America' and 'My Name Is Jonas' has fallen by the wayside, replaced instead by something far darker, far more abrasive and far, far less inviting. It's hardly surprising, then, that this sophomore record was met with howls of objection from fans and critics alike upon its original release, way back in the Britpop and pop punk-tinged summer of 1996. The world just wasn't quite ready for the emo boys to grow up. Which is a pity, really, because with the right musical climate and enough support, this veritable masterpiece could have been Weezer's stepping stone to superstardom.
Bearing the hallmarks of an 'In Utero', this initially difficult and uninviting record slowly reveals its true genius upon closer scrutiny. For all Rivers's laments on opener 'Tired of Sex' may at first seem to be the self-serving moans of a man far too immersed in the spoils of fame, the brutal honesty of the intimate lyrics position the listener as an uncomfortable voyeur. It's an arresting formula and one that makes the album such a starkly fascinating listen. The fuzzy guitar chops and crashing drums that topple their way through 'Getchoo', 'No Other One' and 'Falling For You' are a far cry from the melodic riffs and see-saw harmonies of 'Holiday' and 'In The Garage'. The beauty, however, is that, even here, the album retains the irresistible sparkle of 'Blue'; in fact, at times, its masterful grasp of the mechanics of pop even manages to surpass the band's debut.
'Pinkerton's lightest moment, 'Pink Triangle' - an ode to the perils of discovering that the object of your affection swings the other way - has a hook to die for, as well as a backing medley that manages to be unashamedly good fun and unusually melancholic at the same time. And then there's 'The Good Life', the greatest single Weezer have ever written. Its bittersweet retelling of a mid-life crisis is set to the most masterfully simplistic chord progression in the Cuomo arsenal, producing a track that is effortless in its brilliance. 'El Scorcho' is almost as good, a romantic paen that morphs from creeping dirge to all out punk monster at the two minute mark... and then promptly switches back again, refusing to play ball.
If you prefer your Weezer with a generous portion of pop and a second or third helping of glitzy three chord power rock, you may wish to stay well clear of the abrasive, unfriendly stylings of 'Pinkerton'. You'd be a fool, of course, since this is the most rewarding listen the band have ever produced. Hidden beneath the brusque, angst-ridden surface is a record of great beauty, marrying melancholy and pain with some of the most sumptuous melodies you are likely to hear. 'Blue' may have the immediacy, but 'Pinkerton' has all the longevity. (9.5)
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