This is Grant’s half of the Pinkerton point-counterpoint review. Read Dan’s half here.

Pinkerton is the sound of a band afraid to become great.  Representing a comeback after the hiatus Weezer took in response to their debut album’s surprise success, it doesn’t so much as reinvent the band as push their less desirable attributes to the forefront.  Weezer’s early work embraced its quaintness and made no effort to appear polished, but much of Pinkerton turns the aw-shucks charm into something far worse—childishness.  The album sounds unfinished, amateur, and slight, a noble effort from a high school garage band, but not one with such a devoted following.  That’s not to say that it doesn’t have its moments—it does—or that Rivers Cuomo forgot how to construct a tune—he didn’t—but that it has a horrible tone and message, and even the better songs convey annoying problems.

Said debut album, Weezer (rechristened The Blue Album because of its cover) was a critical album in emo’s transition from Rites of Spring-style punk to 1990s power pop and careening vocals.  But it’s Pinkerton that seems to anticipate the rash of wimpy, whiny bands that subsequently sprouted up under the term’s guise.  The melodies are by and large listenable, but there’s an effeminate undercurrent to everything, both in the slight and repetitive music and, more importantly, in the lyrics of Cuomo, who sings as though he’s been castrated.

The band keeps things moving on tracks like “Tired of Sex,” but Rivers cobbles together an embarrassing set of lyrics that threatens the dignity of almost every song.  Conveying an even greater sense of immaturity than the music, he whines about the impossibility that girls could ever like him, punctuating the theme with “What could you possibly see in little old three-chord me” in the otherwise charming “Falling for You.”  Likewise, when he whines “Why bother? It’s gonna hurt me / It’s gonna kill when you desert me” on “Why Bother,” one can’t possibly agree with him that it’s a crying shame that he’s all alone—it’s what he deserves, especially if two bad break-ups have sucked the life out of him.

Rock bands from here to eternity have sung about relationship problems, but of all the avenues from which to approach the issue, the I’m worthless-so-what’s-the-point one conveys the greatest immaturity.  Even “Tired of Sex” runs into this problem.  Songs such as The Cure’s “Siamese Twins” have described feelings of regret over sexual encounters, but they’re more credible when addressing a specific situation.  When Rivers simply says “I’m tired of having sex,” without any more context or elaboration, he sounds, well, prepubescent.  This sentiment, when combined with the rejections of relationships expressed elsewhere, leads to one simple thought: Grow a pair.

Because of this feeling, when he switches course and later extolls the glories of shakin’ booty or touching yourself, he sounds patently ridiculous.  By that point in the album, he’s lost credibility with the listener on the topic.

Sonically, Pinkerton songs rely heavily on similarly tossed off, amorphous shards of guitar that don’t sound heavy enough to be so caustic.  Weezer, on this album and their debut, don’t exactly exude sonic beauty, which makes their albums sound much better in small doses.  Several of the songs are hummable (“No Other One” especially), though the band tends to fall into predictable, vague grooves.  Cuomo nails the bridges of  “Falling” and “Across the Sea,” but if that makes you pay attention to his lyrics—both of which, interestingly, center around the word “Goddamn”—you’ve lost the war.  “The Good Life” has the album’s best melody, but, again, with his chorus he sounds like a little kid.

Pinkerton isn’t a difficult listen by any stretch—only “El Scorcho” is truly unlistenable—so long as you don’t expect much and ignore the lyrics.  Yet it’s so caustic after ten tracks that you’re searching for a way out.  Rivers wrote a few reasonably catchy melodies, and “Pink Triangle” is a perfect summation of Weezer at their pre-Make Believe best—off-center but endearing—but the specter of childhood looms over every moment.  Listening to Pinkerton, one hopes that Rivers and company will grow up, both in their playing and in their minds.

Rating: four 1/2 stars (out of five)

In their career trajectory, Weezer have rarely followed the traditional rules of rock and roll.  Their debut was an unexpected success, but the subsequent long layoff and eventual follow-up, Pinkerton, suggested they didn’t have aspirations of grandeur; yet it was hardly a typical sophomore slump, as it became, over time, their most popular album.  Lulls and comebacks have defined the band’s career, but Make Believe, their fifth studio album, is the work of a supremely confident group doing just what it wants to do.  It succeeds both by projecting a more mature emotional perspective than their earlier output and because of its sheer sonic grace and beauty.

From beginning to end, the album sounds soothing and heavenly, with a majestic scope that rivals 1980s U2.  Whereas some of Weezer’s other work can come across as abrasive upon repeated playings, Make Believe is one of the most euphonious albums I own.  Without sacrificing power, the band and producer Rick Rubin create mellifluous soundscapes that underscore the emotional purity at the center of the songs, producing a strikingly absorbing result.

And the album has the songs to match its sound, for along with eschewing their occasionally caustic sound, Weezer also leave behind their amateurishness.  The album opens with the hit single “Beverly Hills,” which announces that anthemic chants will rule the day.  Make Believe is full of grandiose choruses and guitar solos that envelop songs sung with full conviction by frontman Rivers Cuomo, with themes ranging from typically self-conscious (“Perfect Situation”) to idealistic (“This is  Such a Pity”) to shamelessly emotional (“Hold Me”).

Yet even when the chorus isn’t perfect (“Situation”), the band nevertheless sounds stronger than ever.  “Hills” is a touch bland, but “My Best Friend” could easily be a Green Day ballad, and the verses of “The Other Way,” especially on the heels of the chorus, click along in ideal rhythm.  “Pardon Me” builds to its crescendos masterfully, and the haunting album closer “Haunt You Every Day,” which wouldn’t fit on any other Weezer album, makes you want to do nothing more than close your eyes and be carried away.

Then, however, there are songs (such as “Pardon Me”) where the choruses are just about perfect, and it’s almost impossible to deny Cuomo’s sentiments.  That’s all the more true because his lyrics are as smooth as the music, conveying a refreshing gratitude to replace his prior whininess. (“I can’t tell you how the words have made me feel” wipes the floor with “What could you possibly see in little old three-chord me?”) But it’s his vocals that deserve the most acclaim.  His extended notes in “Hold Me” represent his finest moments, and he shows an equally deft touch sighing “Did I hurt you / Are you OK” on the change-of-pace effective “Freak Me Out” as he does belting out the lovely oh-oohhs of “Perfect Situation” and “Peace.”  Playing to the crowds, perhaps, but the earnestness is undeniable.

That sentiment applies to the whole album.  The band may be striving for accessibility, but in a much different way than their early power-pop did.  Their melodies have never been stronger, their songs never denser, and they’re accessible because Weezer is capable of wearing their hearts on their sleeves without coming off as overwrought.  That’s not easy to do, as albums can collapse under the weight of their good intentions, but the songwriting prowess evinced here alleviates any such concerns.  They’ve stripped away their unfortunate qualities to reveal their musical gifts, in the process indicating a willingness to continue to grow.

Make Believe isn’t quite muscular enough to be one of my all-time favorite albums, and you could argue that the songs sound a little too similar, but the exquisitely warm and soothing sound ensures that playing it lights you up.  All their talent coalesces on “Hold Me,” which has more heart than most modern bands’ entire catalogues.  They stretch all the way out here, and in the interlude, Brian Bell launches into a guitar solo that sounds timeless and old-fashioned at once, the product of a forgotten age when bands were unafraid of unabashed emotion.  When they leave their insecurities behind, Weezer are one of the few bands who can still pull that off.