Sure I liked Weezer. Before they sold out. What better way to drive the nail into the coffin of this week than to wake up to this frothy bowl of dog poo cereal. What, is Weezer post-ironic now? Can they really play Polo? Do they think they're the new Beastie Boys? Is 2008 the new 1998? IS UP DOWN?
Frankly I was more excited by the prospect of the Spice Girls reunion than a new Weezer album. Had I actually gone, I could have seen how droopy the girls have gotten. (Scary Spice's wrinkley dugs scrunched into a push-up bra, Ginger Spice's roots showing, Baby Spice no longer able to blame it on baby fat…) But Weezer, or at least the current incarnation of Weezer, is frozen in time, forever the early-20s pot-smoking sweater vest-wearing faux intellectual who won't stop sleeping on your couch. Get off my couch, man.
Alternate names for Rose Hill Drive:
1. Jesus and the Jesettes
2. My Three Jesuses
3. The Jesus Brothers (and Jesus Sister)
4. The Pantene 3: Perm, Straightener and Volume
6. Shifty, Smarmy and Piggy McBlonde
7. Nördic Hairz