A (Late) Review of Weezer’s “Raditude”

weezer 12x12cs3.indd

We all invariably have that one Facebook friend.  The guy we hung out with in high school.  He was part of your group, but he often found himself squeezed out of your conversations.  He was awkward, but a nice guy.  No shame in calling him friend.  Eventually you graduated and the bond there wasn’t enough to keep you together, but you wished him well.  A few years pass, and he sends you a friend request.  You accept, because he was cool enough.  And then he starts posting weird, creepy shit like “hey ladies, just wondering what y’all’s favorite cereals were?”.

Raditude is approximately what I imagine would happen if that guy were given a multi-million dollar contract to soundtrack a Disney TV movie.

Take a look at the lyrics of “I’m Your Daddy”:

“I thought tonight would suck like every other night
I’d party with my friends
But when I saw you grooving on the dance floor
Normal came to an end

We started talking and man, it was so clear to me
There’s no one else like you
You got the brains, the body, and the beauty
To top it off, you’re cool

This ain’t impossible
This ain’t improbable
You are my baby tonight
And I’m your daddy

This ain’t believable
This ain’t predictable
You are my baby tonight
And I’m your daddy

I hope that I ain’t freaking you out
You probably hear it all the time
I swear I ain’t like those other boys
I’m a special kind

I would like to give a demonstration
Of what it is I do
I’ll take you out to dinner at Palermo’s
We’ll split a cheese fondue

This ain’t impossible
This ain’t improbable
You are my baby tonight
And I’m your daddy

This ain’t believable
This ain’t predictable
You are my baby tonight
And I’m your daddy

I will egg the goomba
If you tire
Try my best to moonwalk
On the wire

I just want to, ooh ah,
Feel your fire
Feel your fire
Feel your fire!

This ain’t impossible
This ain’t improbable
You are my baby tonight
And I’m your daddy

This ain’t believable
This ain’t predictable
You are my baby tonight
And I’m your daddy”

I don’t have a toddler, so it should be very telling when I say that my toddler can write better lyrics.  It’s beyond a mind-fuck to think how this heaping pile of irredeemable garbage was produced by the same people who made the blue album and Pinkerton.

Now I have a theory that this is just one giant piss take, because it’s so bad that it transcends bad pop music and bleeds into an area where the listener starts to think that nothing can suck this hard by accident, it has to be by design, it has to be a straight-faced parody.  The problem with this is that this joke is only funny to Rivers and his collaborators.  The rest of us aren’t in on it.

34 of the most joyless and cringe-worthy minutes of my life, I want them back, Rivers, give me my fucking minutes back.

(Click here to see rating)

This is a horrible, horrible song, but still the best on Raditude by a country mile.  I fucking hate this record:

 

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