Weezer: ‘Raditude’ (C-)
Rivers Cuomo emerged from a small closet into a large sunlit room in the east wing of his mansion where for the past 15 hours he’d engaged in Vipassana meditation.
He loved Vipassana meditation. It was all he needed to sustain himself, having evolved past the need for sleep years ago. Or had he? Sometimes he forgot these things.
Not long ago he was convinced he no longer needed to eat, but then many of his major organs shut down and one of the humans found him slouched in his meditation closet where he’d been for the better part of a month. Had he still not evolved?
He called for one of the humans, and his wife, who’d been waiting outside his room, quickly stepped inside.
“Oh, Rivers, I’m glad you decided to come out of your meditation closet, today,” she said. “I was thinking we could take Mia to the park.”
“Servant human, am I pure energy yet?” he asked. “Can you see me? Have I transcended?”
His wife sighed and told him that if he wasn’t going to spend time with his family, then he needed to write a new song. “The studio called and asked about the new album, but I told them you were in your closet again and you were a total diva about not being disturbed when you’re in your closet, so whatever,” she said.
Then she left, slamming the door behind her.
So indeed he had not yet shed his physical prison. This was disappointing.
“VEGETABLES!” he screamed.
Seconds later one of the humans shoved some roughage under the door and he ate. It disgusted him, masticating like a beast of the field, but the long-haired, not un-comely human was right. He must make the animals dance if he is not to be disturbed in his quest to return to the energy field from whence he came. He opened the balcony door and threw the plate into one of the pools below.
It was time to work.
He opened his laptop and consulted some algorithms he’d made years ago. He picked up his guitar, plucked the D string and waited for the note to fade. Then he smashed the guitar to pieces.
“Hmmm,” he said. “Interesting.”
He swept up the remnants of his guitar and threw them into a pool different from the one he’d thrown the plate. He typed the numbers “87,” “5” and “1,000,000.3” into WordPad. There. All done. He estimated the song had a 90-percent probability of being a hit, but he still needed lyrics.
Constructing a simple melody to stimulate the pleasure sensors in a simple animal mind was easy for him, but how did he write lyrics about the kind of human experiences that market research showed the slack-jawed masses found palatable?
He yelled in frustration, and was immediately ashamed at his display of emotion. There was a knock at the door.
“Sir, can I help you?” said Roger Benderson, his personal assistant.
“Come in, human animal servant” Rivers called. “And before you say anything, I already know I’m not pure energy.”
“Of course, sir,” said Roger, who’d known Rivers since childhood and worked for him in various capacities for 10 years.
“I want to know what excites your fleshy, corporeal form,” Rivers said.
“Well,” said Roger, who’d answered this question countless times before. “I guess going to parties with my friends or hanging out with my girlfriend.”
“Of course,” Rivers said. “It’s so predictable. Please disappear now.”
Rivers opened his lyric generator on his computer and entered the words “parties” and “girls,” but he also knew that to appear authentic, he needed to sprinkle in some playful idiom that signified he was an animal like them. He laughed at the absurdity of the thought and typed: “don’t have a cow,” “what up,” “bust a move” and “double cheeseburgers.”
Seconds later his lyric generator had created a surefire hit.
Pleased, he decided to reward himself and returned to his meditation closet.
Favorite tracks off “Raditude”
• “(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To”
• “I’m Your Daddy”
• “Put Me Back Together”
Address correspondence to Jeremiah Tucker, c/o The Joplin Globe, P.O. Box 7, Joplin, MO 64802.
