Rock critic Dave Marsh raised a few eyebrows back in 1978 when he accused Queen of fascism in a review of their seventh studio album, Jazz. I'm not gonna wade into the waters of Marsh's musical politics or address his opinion of Queen, but I can back Marsh up by saying that I certainly believe a band can tacitly embody a political ideology or a psychological state of mind through their work — and if you'll allow me a brief Marsh-ian conceit, I'm about ready to declare Weezer the world's first truly sociopathic rock band.
Like most everybody else who grew up on and adored 1994's self-titled "Blue Album" and its roiling, angst-ridden follow-up Pinkerton, I cut Weezer as much slack as I could muster for their first couple of half-assed post-2000 albums. But I can pinpoint 2005's execrable Make Believe as the point where they, honest to God, started to creep me out. There's something about listening to "Beverly Hills" or "We Are All On Drugs" that feels like staring into the eyes of a hardened career criminal — nothing but a vast, merciless, unapologetic emptiness. I found myself wondering: If Rivers Cuomo can pass off cold, cursory robotics like "This Is Such A Pity" as heartfelt sentiment, then what else is this guy capable of?