On Weezer’s most underrated album, the band brought its own fireworks

In Hear This, A.V. Club writers sing the praises of songs they know well—some inspired by a weekly theme and some not, but always songs worth hearing. This week, in honor of Independence Day in the United States, our favorite songs with the word “America” in their titles or lyrics.
Here’s my pet theory about Weezer fandom: No matter what Weezer fans think of the band’s roller-coaster discography, fans will vehemently defend the Weezer album that came out during their junior year of high school. Like most rock-critic theories, this is complete and utter bullshit based on personal experience. Unlike most rock-crit theories, however, its claims are borne out by people who aren’t me, as evidenced by this informal Twitter poll. (Further flying in the face of convention and logic, the theory asserts the existence of people who enjoy 2005’s Make Believe.) Seemingly discrediting the theory is the fact that three classes of American high-school juniors went without a new Weezer record between the 1997-98 and 1999-2000 school years, meaning that the band has no fans born in 1983. Counterpoint: I’ve never met a Weezer fan born in 1983. If I meet a 31-year-old wearing an “If it’s too loud, turn it down” T-shirt in the next few months, I’ll be sure to alert the world’s major anthropological journals.
My junior-year Weezer record is Maladroit, which is a particular burden to bear because on the month of the record’s release, Rivers Cuomo showed up on the cover of Guitar World looking like this. The dude who once sang about looking just like Buddy Holly appeared to all the world like he now spent his spare time practicing finger taps in the Guitar Center showroom, and the opening track of Maladroit reinforces that image. “American Gigolo” was the heaviest Weezer ever sounded, to the point that I wondered if there was some sort of packaging mistake the first time I popped the CD into my car stereo. The overdriven crunch of the band’s first two full-lengths had clenched into a metallic snarl; Patrick Wilson’s drums sound like he accidentally wandered into a recording session with Mutt Lange. Weezer had made a stadium-rock record that didn’t feel the need to apologize for its stadium-rock ambitions, and “American Gigolo” was confirmation that lead single “Dope Nose” was no jokey fluke. The light-up version of the band’s logo, a longtime live staple, was no longer a winking nod toward Kiss; by the time Weezer hit the road with Dashboard Confessional and Sparta (oh, 2002!) that summer, the logo even spat flames.