Weezer 2010 Tour Returns to the U.S.

…or, as the author refers to it, “ZOMG THEY’RE COMING TO MY LITTLE TOWN!”

I live in a small town, all my friends are so small town, probably die in a small town. Consequently, for big-time professional musical entertainment we must often venture towards larger, sinful places like Los Angeles or San Francisco, which is often prohibitive. But we do have the California Mid-State Fair every year right here in Paso Robles, intentionally scheduled during the peak of summer for maximum climatic discomfort.

Click through for Peaceboy’s unique perspective,
and definitely check out the Photoset with Captions!

Sadly, the musical fare at the Fair is often just fair. We get a lot of bands who may have been big in the 70s but then lost a member or two along the way due to a vomiting-related incident, or perhaps an autoerotic asphyxiation-related incident, or even a vomiting-while-autoerotic-asphyxiating incident, then find replacement members on YouTube. So imagine my excitement the day I checked the local paper and saw Weezer would be coming to town on July 29th. Seriously, take a couple minutes to imagine my excitement. I’ll be right back.

=w=e Came, =w=e Saw, =w=e Destroyed Our Sweaters

Weezer! Still a vital band! Still at their peak! No history of vomiting or autoerotic asphyxiation! Their leader even took a vow of celibacy once, which according to a pronouncement by the Pope means purposely refraining from acts of autoerotic asphyxiation. I don’t know how the booking people let this band sneak through, but I’m grateful someone was asleep at the switch. I cleared my schedule for the morning of the online ticket sale, which found me frantically refreshing my screen until it was 10:00am matt sharp. Somehow I was able to score second row seats, thanks to my mad F5 skillz.

I’d been a fan since their debut Blue album, which on my CD player got more spin than anything outside of a Karl Rove interview. Through the years I’ve followed them as their album cover colors changed while their eponymous album title remained the same. (I always assumed this was a cruel joke just to taunt the colorblind.)

Still, I didn’t really know too much about Rivers Cuomo other than he struck me as being private, a little introverted, had a Harvard degree, his date of birth is 6/13/70, his social security number is 578-24-0942 and his Wells Fargo PIN # is 4479. I detected a little Woody-Allenish shy awkwardness in him, or at least the Rick Moranis-Impersonating-Woody-Allen version. I was pleased to discover, instead, there was an extroverted showman in him (and no, not a parasitic twin).

The night (Thursday) arrives. We arrived too late to see the opening act, which is often just a local band that wins some contest-in-a-jar at the boot store. We work our way to our SECOND ROW!!! seats in plenty time to settle in before Weezer took the stage. I’d been tracking the band’s set lists for a couple weeks to see what I might expect and to familiarize myself with anything I might not know. (Hey, there’s a site called setlist.fm, did y’all know this and if so why hadn’t anyone told me?) I have this paranoid concern, or maybe it’s just a concerning paranoia, that bands stopping by the Fair will truncate their set since we’re not all big and fancy with ramps and pyrotechnia, or we don’t have important local media to impress, or maybe they’re just overwhelmed by carnival dust and want to get back on their bus, but Weezer gave us all their pork and all their beans.

Opening with “Hash Pipe” was a winning move. There’s an art to choosing the perfect opening song in a set list, much as there is for the perfect mix tape/CD or for all our legally-acquired-MP3 playlists. My theory: it should be uptempo, have a sizeable “Oh HELL yeah!” factor, be a big enough hit so it’s still recognizable to anyone unwillingly or unwittingly dragged to the show, but it shouldn’t be the band’s biggest career hit.

Rivers stopped to pay sufficient homage to Paso Robles, while not crossing the fine line and overly sucking up. This is a man who knows his internets and was considerate enough to Google up some local history, kindly reminding us this was where Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe spent their wedding night. (In a local motel, of course, not on the stage. There were decency laws.)

The bleachers along the side of the stage are unfortunately positioned directly above livestock. By this time the usual Wafting Aroma Cagematch between Potsmoke and Cowshit was underway, and on this fine evening Cowshit surprisingly lost. But you probably saw that on SportsCenter.

The band was loose and seemingly having a good time. Pat Wilson was dressed like all his other clothes were dirty. Rivers had on a winter vest jacket, apparently misjudging which hemisphere he was in. Barry occasionally swapped out guitar for keyboards, while Pat did the same with drums and guitar. Rivers sometimes worked the maracas like… ok, I just searched for “famous maraca players” and came up with Ray Barretto, the guy who had a hit with “El Watusi” in 1963, so… Rivers sometimes worked the maracas like Ray Barretto.

The hits spewed forth. We were awash in the band’s happy power chords and crunchy rhythms. Songs like “Say It Ain’t So” carry even more emotional power live. Even “Island In The Sun", traditionally not my favorite Weezer song, works better for me in concert. And my beloved Blue album was liberally represented, digging into album tracks like “Surf Wax America” and “My Name Is Jonas” along with the hits that established their star in the rock and roll constellation. The crowd discovered “Perfect Situation” was still worth singing along to even without Elisha Cuthbert. Rivers even bravely braved a mid-song journey up into the bleachers to be among the throng hovering over the pooping cattle. I presume he’s since had his vest jacket properly dry-cleaned and deodorized.

Another Fair Show tidbit: Rivers told how they flew up from LA in an 8-passenger plane along with the dude who played Hugo on “Lost” (sure enough, the dude was standing stage-side the whole evening). He indicated it is a very discomforting feeling to fly in an airplane with someone from “Lost", and hoped the band would safely make it back to LA later on. We didn’t see Captain Sullenberger also standing stage-side, but by now I assume the band is OK.

He grabbed the video camera from the pit cameraman and turned it onto our faces at one point, and I might have noticed we’d become big-screen stars if I wasn’t fumbling around with my own camera at the time.

I’m sure it had something to do with my proximity to the wall of speakers, but the show was amp-ly loud and my tender eardrums were dealing with decibel levels seldom endured except by Mel Gibson girlfriends. Certainly it was loud enough to put a fright into any grandparents or Future Farmers of America out on the midway. And really, what’s the point of rock and roll without occasional sensory damage?

As an encore we were graced with the MGMT/Lady Gaga medley they’ve been doing of late. This was of particular interest to us since “Poker Face” has become a huge hit in our household for reasons too complex to explain and which have nothing to do with the night I got drunk last week and downloaded many Gaga tracks. Rivers donned his Lady Gaga wig at the appropriate moment. (Note to Rivers: it also works as an Edgar Winter wig. Consider “Frankenstein.” You’re welcome.)

As far as I could tell, which extended to the sight and sound of about one person on all sides of me, the audience was greatly pleased. As the show ended, I realized it was still pretty early. I didn’t bring my stopwatch, and I still haven’t perfected my ability to tell the passage of time from the movement of the stars, but it seemed to run less than 90 minutes. Ordinarily this would leave me wanting, but most of the band’s songs are of modest length, nothing vital was omitted (although apparently They Are No Longer All On Drugs), and there wasn’t any self-indulging in self-indulgent drum or guitar solos, which most of the time seem less about stunning us with virtuosity and more about giving the other band members a pee-break. As we exited the arena and workers were going home, we were musically sated. For one glorious evening, all brothers and sisters in Weezerhood were named Jonas.

It’s the kind of show that got me fired up and renewed my faith in rock, enough to where I’d consider buying a beat up old VW microbus and traveling the country to follow the band. OK, maybe a brand new Lexus, with built-in GPS. Actually, I have a perfectly good working GPS that I can take with me, so I’d be willing to sacrifice the built-in GPS in the Lexus. Anyway, I think you understand the spirit of what I’m saying.

My review: A++++, EXCELLENT CONCERT, WOULD SIT IN SECOND ROW AGAIN!!!1

SMALL PRINT: BFMN is not responsible for the outlandish opinions expressed above. If you’ve got a problem with it, you can take it up with Peaceboy, on twitter or facebook.

But you should definitely check out the Photoset with Captions!