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The GEEK shall inherit the Earth
Author: Max Bell (VOX)
Published: May 1995
- Weezer may have written a million-selling debut album full of sparkling punk-pop songs, but it means nothing to super-nerdy frontman Rivers Cuomo. He's 23; time to grow up and go to school...
"This is the worst cheese sandwich I ever ate in my entire life." Rivers Cuomo, Weezer's laconic frontman, peers balefully at the processed bread and sweaty grated cheddar on the plate in front of him at London's Nomis Studios, where the band are rehearsing for their European debut appearances. Sitting at the next table is Paul Weller's dad, John. He leans over. "Should've 'ad the fish'n'chips, son. Blindin', that is."
"Oh," says Rivers. "Right. But I'm vegetarian and I expected more than... well... this. I expected mayonnaise, mustard, avocado, lettuce, sprouts. At least."
Rivers concentrates on his sandwich, bits of which are soon nestling in his recently cultivated moustache. It's a rare specimen, normally sported by natural-science students anxious to make an impression with potential Hula Hoop sharers at the freshers disco. By the time of their first British television performance tonight, Rivers will have had it surgically removed, but that's about the extent of his fashion self-consciousness. Despite his New Age moniker, young Cuomo is not exactly babe Velcro, let alone your stereotypical pop star. Indeed, given his nylon, fur trimmed anorak, fuck-off khaki trousers and Tesco Bomber buttoned-down check shirt, he could easily blend in with the platform season-ticket-holders at Crewe.
"My parents were hippies, I'm not," he tells me. "My brother is called Leaves. We've both got huge chips on our shoulders. We were total outcasts at high school; long hair, freaky clothes, non-matching shoes. Everyone picked on us. Now, I've gone the opposite way. Strange."
There you are, it's always the unlikely ones, can't judge a book, etc. And after all, Weezer have sold much more than a million copies of their eponymous debut album in America, which makes him a pop star, if only by default.
"I decided to grow this moustache out of respect to Puccini. I'm half-Italian and lately I listen only to opera. But Brian Wilson is my ultimate hero."
That figures. Weezer have been described as geeky collegiate nerds but their records fuse garage- band aesthetics with arrangements that aspire to The Beach Boys.
Most of Cuomo's mournful songs are written from a loser's perspective. "Or a realist's. I'm a hard-core cynic. Fun, happy stuff is no good to me." Weezer's most commercial song, 'Buddy Holly', is a case in point; superficially sunny, it's actually the sad but true tale of outcasts at the senior prom. "It's about a particular girl I knew..." Rivers pauses at length, pulling a sprig of parsley to death. "It's about my commitment to her... our relationship... and, er, my willingness to defend her. It's very platonic. Not a romantic thing at all." The parsley is finally put out of its misery. "And that's the most I've ever said about that song before now."
'Buddy Holly' was a big MTV hit in the States, thanks to director Spike Jones'[sic] Zelig-like video that magically transported the band to Al's Happy Days diner. According to Weezer bassist Matt Sharp, none of Weezer is a fan of junk TV. "But Henry Winkler introduced us when we performed in Los Angeles last month. The place erupted. Ten thousand people were screaming "Fonzy, Fonzy!". It was such a trip at the time, the best thing that ever happened to me in my entire life. It also made me realise how absurd this whole thing is. We've sold all these albums when, honestly speaking, we're a super straight-ahead American guitar garage rock band. We thought we were like Rodney Dangerfield [US TV celebrity] as far as respect goes-we just didn't get any. We were boring, uninteresting failures. When I first moved to Los Angeles, I was working with our drummer Patrick Wilson, telemarketing. We were selling luxury dog shampoo to dog salons." There seems little chance that fame and success will spoil Weezer. Besides, 23-year-old Rivers intends to take early retirement very soon. "I've applied to various schools for the Fall semester to do a degree in Music and English Literature."
This may not please the head- honchos at Geffen, yet Cuomo is adamant. "It'll be very convenient for us because by the end of the summer we'll all be completely insane. We've done 217 gigs since February 1992, minus all the in-stores and radio appearances and I think we peaked 50 shows ago. As for sales, I was happy when we passed 50,000. The rest is icing on the cake."
Maybe jet lag is starting to kick in because nothing seems to get past Rivers' edge this afternoon. He isn't looking forward to playing in Europe - "It might be OK but they'll have no idea who we are." He didn't enjoy supporting Green Day in enormously lucrative halls - "Clubs are much better." Nor does he care about promoting the current Weezer single 'Undone -The Sweater Song'. "I'd prefer if there were no singles released, except then we wouldn't sell any records."
Matt Bright attempts to lighten his leader's mood. "I've just been invited to a prom by Stacy Farmer."
"Really?"
"Yeah. She wrote me from Utah, says she'll pay my air ticket, get me a ride from the airport, fix me a place to stay and buy flowers for the corsage."
"Hmm. That's nice. Y'know, we get some insane letters from people in mental institutions. They're really scary," says Rivers. "One guy from an asylum wrote in demanding his share of royalties for the songs he co-wrote on our album."
Matt tuts. "I'd never write anybody back. No way. People get real obsessive. I never want psychos after us."
At this point, a Nomis employee approaches the band to ask if "one of you is called Mister Weasel? Only, you can't run up a tab for spirits. Soft drinks is alright, but not Scotch."
Rivers looks nonplussed and outraged. "I haven't had a drink for months. The only time I do drink or drugs is out of necessity."
It's now the turn of the man from Nomis to show bemusement. And there's no stopping Rivers. "Recently I've decided to start doing drugs again to help get me through the tour. I've got some sleeping pills and some Nodoz. Hey, you wanna try some Nodoz?"
In terms of rock'n'roll excess, the offer doesn't compare to a gram of coke, a toilet seat and a rolled up hundred-dollar bill. It's hard to tell whether Rivers is being serious or flippant. Maybe disguising the truth is his way of dealing with pop life, or maybe he's just one of nature's experiments. Two hours later, the band are deep in rehearsals for The Word. Rivers is in the bathroom shaving off his moustache.
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