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Boston Axis

[a]Weezer[/a] will never grow old...

Don't call it a comeback. Weezer will never grow old.



A few things have changed since we last heard from Weezer. Mike Welsh has filled rental Moog-enthusiast Matt Sharp's old spot, drummer Pat Wilson has grown a modfatheresque mullet, and frontman and axe-grinder Rivers Cuomo got braces. Essentially, nothing has changed.



Rest assured, Cuomo still looks like Rick Moranis starring in another sold-out season of 'Buddy', and his Pixies-style, soft then loud, teenage-angst power-pop songs still hit home like reading old notes from school. He still knows how to make a pity party sound like fun.



Blink 182, 183, and 184 beware. Bouncing back and forth between songs from their self-titled 'Blue Album' and the grittier 'Pinkerton', Weezer prove they are still the catchiest thing on three-chords. They do a harmonica-tinged 'My Name Is Jonas', goof through the Public Enemy-quoting 'El Scorcho', break down the doo-wop section of 'Holiday' with gusto, and candy-coat the angry 'Why Bother?' with sweet melody. In return, the crowd (apparently not bothered about waiting around since 1996) unleashes four years of pent up sing-a-long, sending the giant Kiss-inspired, light-bulbed 'W' backdrop into a flashing fit.



We're not breaking any new ground. The new songs fit neatly into Cuomo's already extensive canon of songs about insecurity and girls. But, what Weezer does, they do well. Heads bob along to 'The Sister Song', which poses the question, 'Why am I so hung up on your sister?/Why am I so hung up on your mom?'. 'Too Late to Try' one-ups the Eels by marrying a three-part Beach Boys harmony to depressing lines like, 'I don't want to die, even though I have to', while 'Slob' sounds vaguely like 'Summer of '69'.



'Say it Ain't So' and the still-brilliant 'Undone-The Sweater Song' close the show and the crowd comes completely (ahem...) undone. They return for a lighter-worthy 'Only in Dreams' and a punked-up 'Buddy Holly'. Weezer are right back to where they want to be: perpetual pop puberty-and loving it. Teenage angst continues to pay off well.

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