Link to Huw Jones' Review of Raditude by WeezerArtist: Weezer

Album: Raditude

Reviewer: Huw Jones

Slant, 2009

Writing Disorders: Scorn Disease







Most Emo Phrase: “naïvely holding out for a return to Rivers Cuomo’s melancholic roots”

Dollar Words: libretto, melancholic, lambast, gormless, vacuous

Something only a critic would write: “such an abhorrent cocktail of deluded lyricism and indolent musicianship.”




Hi, Huw. It’s clear from your opening paragraph that you’re not a fan of Weezer’s latest release.

“Weezer’s unpardonable decline into soulless streamlined pop-rock continues with Raditude”

Maybe it’s the contrarian in me pulling the strings, but I’ve got to ask. What’s wrong with streamlined pop rock? I’m assuming you mean that it’s inferior to its counterpart, cumbersome rock that no one listens to. Remind me why exactly that’s good music, Huw.

You really don’t pull any punches after your opener.

“This terribly titled and woefully written record consists of odes to partying, romance, and girls who “got hot”

Yeah, that sounds like an awful time. Screw fun.

“For those who, like me, were appalled by The Red Album’s forays into teen-pleasing power-pop anthems or were naïvely holding out for a return to Rivers Cuomo’s melancholic roots, this album is not for you”

Did you ever stop to think that maybe Rivers Cuomo doesn’t return to his “melancholic roots” because he isn’t melancholy? The guy’s rich as hell and looks cool in glasses. Wouldn’t it be worse if Weezer wrote depressing songs to reflect states of mind they no longer felt just to please critics? Not just any critics, but those who were absolutely orgasmic over a white man singing about an Asian fetish on an album that came out 15 years ago?

You know what, Huw? Let’s play a game. Let’s play “The Kind of Music Huw Jones Thinks Would Be Good Based on His Hatred of Raditude.” Playing is easy. I’ll just take every single negative comment you wrote and use its opposite to paint a picture of what you want music to sound like. Here, I rewrote the first part of your opening paragraph to reflect how it might have been written if Raditude pleased you:

“Weezer’s enviable ascent into soulful, cumbersome unpopular-rock continues with Coypond. This wonderfully titled and nobly written record consists of odes to staying home alone on Friday nights, verbal abuse, and boys who “got ugly,” executed with enough laudable complexity and salient chronicle to bolster interest in their output from here on in.”

Apart from showing you’d probably be just as hilariously longwinded even in positive form, this fun little exercise shows something else. You’re hella emo, Huw.

But jokes aside, you come off like an asshole throughout the entire length of your review, especially when it comes to the ever-popular “it hurts to blast your art” statement:

“It pains me to lambast Weezer with such vitriol”

So don’t do it. If it hurts, don’t do it. Why are you doing it if it hurts? Why are you lambasting with such lambast when you could just as easily NOT write a review of an album you loathed? Or better yet, why did you spend 1-2 hours writing this three-paragraph waste of time when you could have learned the seven basic chords on guitar in order to write your own brilliant collection of music?

First came Blue, then came Pinkerton, then came obtuse comparisons in a baby carriage:

“sporting a stout acoustic riff that owes a lot to the Jam’s “Town Called Malice” as well as John Fred & His Playboys’s “Judy in Disguise.”

Dude, chances are that this Weezer riff owes nothing to those two bands that you happened recognize used similar chords. Just because a band’s riff sounds sort of like another band’s riff does not mean that the newest band “owes” anything to the older. It just means that it’s easy for rock music to sound similar when it’s been 60 years since Chuck Berry first started playing chords in songs.

I’m going to end with this great bit you wrote on Cuomo’s songwriting:

“Cuomo spins a meet-the-parents story that, however sincere he may be, seems a bizarre topic for a man on the verge of 40″

Yeah, almost as bizarre as a grown man yearning for another Pinkerton. And just as funny.