Responding to Saturday Night Live's Weezer Sketch (Patreon)

It has come to my attention that Saturday Night Live, NBC’s premiere hotspot for sketch comedy, recently did a sketch on the popular rock band, Weezer. I recognize that, as an Internet personality, I have often been vocal about my support for the band, Weezer, often citing them as my all-time favorite band. My adoration of Weezer is something of a sensitive subject for me, for it is, perhaps, as close to a “nerdy interest” as I might have. See, I have never taken much of a liking to video games, or comic books, or even movies, or even fun things, in general. I have, however, grown to love philosophy, psychology, and the rock band, Weezer. I do not believe that one of these is not like the other. All three share a thread of masochistic pleasure. And alas, Weezer is not just a rock band, but the lived experience of multiple philosophical disciplines. One such discipline is that of absurdity, and it is through that context that the Saturday Night Live sketch must be observed.

Weezer is a band with an “underdog” persona, despite a decades-long history of producing multi-genre hits. They’re also a band known for the stark contrast between their earlier works and their later works. Even moreso, they are heralded for their cult classic, Pinkerton, a work initially hated by critics and fans alike and then later practically universally adored. Therefore, it makes sense that Weezer could make for an excellent subject of sketch comedy. They do, in fact, produced impassioned opinions on music lovers all over the world, and for good reason. Rivers Cuomo’s unending desire for commercial triumph has informed the band’s decisions even since before Pinkerton, and the initial failure of Pinkerton, cited as a heavy predecessor to the emo movement, spawned a veritably romantic story of insecurity-driven pop domination, a public and commercially successful example of the defense mechanism known as “sublimation,” in which a subject channels anxieties intro creative works. It was from this moment on, with the success of the Green album, that Weezer became a story as much as a band. It was also the point where I was introduced to them, back in 2001: A Space Opera. This is a joke for die-hards who are familiar with the scrapped Songs From The Black Hole. You're welcome. 

There is plenty of comedy in the story of Weezer, as well, which Saturday Night Live made good use of— like the exiting line of Matt Damon’s character as he exclaims that if they want to find him, they’ll find him “living in Beverly Hills.” Beverly Hills, from the album, Make Believe, represented another turning point in the story of Weezer. It is, perhaps, the impetus for their current disputed reputation. An album that was promised to be a return to form became known for an ultra-poppy single that skyrocketed the band, once more, to commercial success. I recognize that the writers of this Saturday Night Live sketch must have prioritized certain tried and true elements of sketch writing over historical accuracy. For that reason, while no die-hard fan of Weezer’s current output would cite Beverly Hills as a favorite, it a choice that works on a thematic level. 

For that reason, we must forgive a certain amount of inaccuracies in the portrayal of a die-hard. However, there is, at the same time, an abundance of gross inaccuracies in the sketch. As a Weezer fan, I am not often represented in mainstream media. Unfortunately, the powers that be have typically chosen that the masses do not want to see members of the Weezer fanbase represented throughout media. I find this offensive, and I believe many works, such as the upcoming Avengers The Next One, would gain from a Weezer fan character who insists he has the perfect Post-Pinkerton song to get the vibe right for saving the planet. Why, what Tarantino film wouldn’t be a little better with a scene where a Weezer fan who enjoyed Pacific Daydream faces off with a fan who enjoyed Hurley, though admittedly, the idea of a Weezer fan who enjoyed Hurley may just be the kind of Oscar bait certain blockbuster franchises are afraid of.

And that is where the absurdity of this particular chapter in the history of Weezer, undoubtedly the world’s greatest band, comes into full view. To cite Memories as proof of post-Pinkerton quality is to erect a false idol and still manage to not be struck by lightning. Camus would be proud. Sure, to be represented by none other than Matt Damon an honor. I happen to align more closely with his views on Weezer. Unfortunately, the truth of his words is nowhere to be found. 

Here’s what I mean, in simple terms: Memories is a horrible song. Memories is, arguably, one of the worst songs of all time. To cite Memories, at any point, as a defense of Weezer, is to subvert the very ideas of justice and fairness that modern society was built on. I cannot emphasize enough how unbelievably atrocious the song Memories is. The song Memories is to music what failed analogies are to Memories is awful. Memories is a song about once having been a good band, captured in a song that explains the protagonist’s predicament. It’s a nostalgic song through a lens of absolute trash. If Memories were a person, it would be a drunk, sloppy man outside his ex-wife’s house, shouting, “REMEMBER THE GOOD TIMES?!” and the woman would reply gently, sadly, but resolutely: “You did this. You did this, Rivers. Do not be nostalgic about what you yourself destroyed. There is no honor in mourning the ashes of our own fires.”

But I really liked the rest of it. 

-Elliott