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Weezer
Author: Simon Witter (Sky)
Published: February 1995
- Weezer are a bunch of weird blokes who wear nerdy clothes, nerdy specs and sing nerdy songs. Which is why we love them, says Simon Witter.
IF POP-PUNKING L.A. FOUR-PIECE Weezer have had a fast rise from obscurity to million-selling stardom, no one has had it faster than guitarist Brian Bell. 24 hours after auditioning for the band, he got the job and a plane ticket to New York. Two days later he had learnt ten songs and was in the studio recording an album. So what happened to learning, growing together, paying dues? How the hell did he even know what to do?
"Well, Rivers told me," says the Tennessee-born goofball of Weezer's songwriting frontman. "It was all about vocals, harmonies and blending. I had to be a good singer. He would take care of the guitar solos, so we should just use bass strings for the chords. We're guitar-heavy too."
That they are, but the occasionally dirge-like grunginess of Weezer's sound is punctured by the joyous innocence of their vocals.
"That's what really differentiates us from the rest of the L.A. scene, our dedication to vocals. We spend ages singing at the piano like faggots, concentrating on harmonies like a barbershop quartet. We thought we were in the Bee Gees. Other bands concentrate on noise. We're loud, but we sing even louder."
If Bell came on board at the last minute, the album's producer arrived even faster. Pressured by major deal-donors Geffen to use an outside producer, Rivers Cuomo (who was listening to a Cars CD at the time) suggested Ric Ocasek, assuming it would never happen. Overnight Ocasek was there.
"He was great," says Bell. "We produced the album, but he created the mood. He set up lava lamps, did doodles and brought his supermodel wife to the studio – and she always brought her friends. We were sweating bullets and freaking out, especially me, but Ric relaxed us. And there were all these superhuman people in the studio."
The resulting album infused a collection of Ramones-meet-the-Beach-Boys guitar pop gems with Weezer's uniquely naïve humour – see the ingenious Happy Days pastiche video for their new single Buddy Holly – but the group had no idea it was about to sell over a million copies, quick smart.
"In L.A. every other person is an A&R guy," says Brian, "so anyone can get a deal. But we thought we'd be such a big flop that the A&R guy who signed us would lose his job. Then we kept hearing about radio stations adding our songs every day and the videos went straight to the Buzz Bin on MTV."
The singles so far have come from a three-strong raft of "happy" songs mid-album that Rivers wrote in a temporary post-deal euphoria (now well over) and, typically, the band like them less than anything on the record. In fact, loosely grouped as part of the new punk scene, you'd expect them to have a problem with success altogether (1.5 million albums sold).
"When I go to clubs in L.A.," says Brian, "people treat you like you've made it. Now I know I only ever have to make music, which is all I ever want to do, so I'm the happiest man in the world. Success means money and freedom. The bad bit is always having to be polite, to be on your toes in public. It's not much to ask, but you feel cheesy, like a politician. And there's the responsibility of people looking up to you. Life isn't normal anymore, but we're never arrogant. The Green Day guys taught us about treating fans nicely."
Success, polite, responsibility, nice? This is clearly punk with an attitude different in every way to the '77 scene, including the musicianship. All of Weezer are multi-talented, and both bassist Matt and Brian (who started piano lessons at five) have side bands to indulge their songwriting. Brian is so serious about music that he waited three years after arriving in L.A. to start a band, so horrified was he by the state of things.
"When I turned 18 and got to L.A., the scene was so lame I didn't want to be a part of it. It was that '87 hair-metal phase, pretty frightening. Thank God for bands like Dinosaur Jr and Sonic Youth."
Muso passions aside, the four Weezers are endearingly untouched by any preconceived notions of coolness. Converging on Los Angeles from a variety of small towns, they were all so humble and self-aware, it's amazing they ever made it in the rock'n'roll world.
"I soon realized I was an idiot," says Cuomo of his rock star ambitions, "and gave up." Drummer Pat admits to having witnessed very little live music, and Matt seriously hopes people get as much delight from Weezer's album as he did from Talk Talk, early Gary Numan and Jesus Christ Superstar. Brian – despite having seen Elvis live at the age of four – is no better.
"Before I left home I had posters of Kiss and Iron Maiden on my wall, the worst possible things a 15-year-old could be into in 1986. I was so into Star Wars – my favourite figure was Hammerhead, the band player in the bar – that when my sister was born, in 1977, I persuaded my parents to name her Lea[sic]."
This freshness of attitude, and their infectious energy, has made Weezer a top live draw. Indeed the one thing they all agree on is that they already sound a million times better than their album.
"I hope we stick together and make three more albums, "says Brian. "Well, one at least, 'cos the next album is going to be so much better. And what more could you want from a band than good music? When you feel this good, it's paradise. I just hope it lasts."
And there's good news for any devotees wanting to become a part of the paradisical world of Weezer. You won't have to go through the kind of sartorial contortions inflicted on fans of Prince, Axl Rose or Coolio.
"Our look," explains the owner of the album sleeve's most interesting shirt, "is like four guys who just got out of bed."
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