And ask, with a smile on their face,
“Hey Dad, my friend’s got some new ninja swords!
Is it cool if we slash up his place?”
-Excerpt from “Everybody Get Dangerous”
as heard on WEEZER’s self-titled RED ALBUM (2008)
It’s hard to believe that I was just seventeen when WEEZER released their now-classic BLUE ALBUM back in May of 1994.
That album would find itself in constant rotation as a part of the soundtrack of the summer that followed; a summer that remains known as a time of exploration and curiosity as the bridge between my high school graduation and the start of my short-lived college “career.” Why did I quit college? Well, part of the reason is because I was in a band (see below):
Pictured: Pre-Rock Father circa 1994. Flannel shirt? Check. BC Rich Warlock Guitar with FAITH NO MORE and BLACK FLAG stickers? Check. DINOSAUR JR. T-shirt? Check. And a cheap hamburger.
I’ve taken some heat over the years for my stance that PINKERTON (1996) failed for good reason, and despite hipster claims that it’s always been a classic, the truth of history cannot lie. I’ve also maintained that WEEZER have never created a bad album, though RADITUDE (2009) contained some questionable moments. Every good rock tale comes with ups-and-downs, and the career of WEEZER is no exception.
Nearly two years ago, I found myself shooting photos of WEEZER as they performed both a “Greatest Hits” set, and their debut album in it’s entirety as a part of RIOT FEST in Chicago.
It’s been over nineteen years since I purchased THE BLUE ALBUM, and now I’m sharing the band’s music with my daughters, four and one.
As time has passed, everyone has (mostly) grown up. WEEZER front man Rivers Cuomo is a certifiable “Rock Father” himself – and as a parent, he began incorporating his Fatherhood into his sonic output almost immediately
If the lyrics to “Everybody Get Dangerous,” from 2008’s RED ALBUM are to be considered autobiographical in nature, than Cuomo and myself share a history of adventure that may or may not be (probably isn’t) suitable for print. Exciting as those times may have been, the prospect of our children embarking on similar conquests is terrifying.
I’ll just sit back and remind myself that the “teen years” for my daughters won’t begin for about another decade. Well, nine years, actually.
Everybody get dangerous.
Just look at the mischief showing through on that little one’s face…
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