Tuesday, July 09, 2002

Hi Rubberheads:



I'm basking in the rock afterglow of the passion that is Weezer.



"From our hearts straight to yours," Rivers said, twice.



Irony is so over.



One day we'll look back on the ironic music of the '90s and shake our heads, and know that irony is a big bluff, the refuge of those who are still living in fear. Fear of looking dumb, of being exposed, and of not living up to the greatness of those who came before.



It's harder not to ironicize. It means you can't fake it; you gotta cut it. It's harder to play real arena rock than to make fun of arena rock. It's harder to play the blues than to make fun of yourself trying to play the blues.



My friends Tsar played around with irony, they went pretty close to the danger zone. But in the moment of truth, they mean it all. Every la la la and harmonized guitar solo is a distillation of their love.



Same goes for Weezer.



It's weird any of us got caught up in irony in the first place, but maybe it was an inevitable passage. Children of the '70s suffered so much. How can you experience the collapse of your own family, of love, of everything that makes a child feel safe, and not learn irony? As a child borne of the '60s but raised in the '70s, how can you sing songs of youth, true love, freedom, joy, personal power, musical majesty and spiritual redemption, with a straight face, the first time round?



The real test is what you do later, as an adult, after the war. Now.



What do you choose?



Weezer choose rock.



"You can't resist the rock," Rivers says. "You can't fight it."



It's time to step up without fear and proclaim everything you believe in.



This is also why I love the White Stripes so. The least ironic band I know---without being no-fun too-precious bitches. The Strokes are OK, but they're really too young to even come anywhere near my heart. There's something special about being a little bit older. And this is also why I know the Hives are lying like hell about their age--you can feel it in their aggressive simplicity. To paraphrase Nirvana, they know what it means.



The show tonight was weird in that they only played one song off the new record--"Dope Nose." A year ago, Rivers told me he was sick of all their old stuff, including their then brand-new Green Album, and he just wanted to play the new-new stuff. I don't know what that stuff was--if it was what became "Maladroit," or if it was a batch of songs that never came out. In any case, he dropped it tonight in favor of all the old stuff, sung with maybe even more conviction than back in 1995.



And Pat Wilson is a true rock hero (the drummer).



I am high on Vicodin and beer, and I really hafta go to sleep.



The new Chili Peppers is out today. I'm psyched to buy it and bond with it and freak out on the harmonies and the John underneath every song. Those guys completely sidestepped irony from the beginning. They were punks, and there wasn't time back then for irony. You had to put on a rock show or get pelted with bottles. They couldn't be ironic if they tried. You've gotta go for it, they would say.



Anyway, I'm off to the land of nod. Got a heavy date with my pillow.



Love,

Kate













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