Weezer

Weezer's like a rock cockroach; since the foursome's early-'90s inception, countless cultural nuclear holocausts have devastated the cultural landscape, yet the Rivers Cuomo-led outfit's still crawling around, finding sustenance, thriving. Early on, Weezer wore '50s- and '60s-era sincerity and rock lingua franca as both armor and badge of honor, a blithely dorked-out, throwback alternative to the dual grunge and rap freight trains riding radio airwaves during the first Clinton administration. Irony, narrative generalizing, and gonzo video concepts would seep into their M.O.—at increasing levels—as lineup casualties mounted, fortunes shifted, and hiatuses came and went. 1996's Pinkerton—as emotionally naked and embarrassing as mainstream rock gets without becoming, you know, emo—remains Weezer's finest half-hour or so, but despite a dearth of canon-worthy full-lengths since then, the singles suggest that an eventual Greatest Hits will just bang; from "Dope Nose" to "Beverly Hills" to "Keep Fishin'" to "Pork and Beans," Cuomo's honed-if-cyborg-esque songwriting formula is almost scarily dependable. With Angels & Airwaves, Tokyo Police Club. All ages.
Fri., Oct. 3, 7 p.m., 2008

 
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