Not twenty-four hours after leading us back through nearly two decades of hits, Weezer once again took the stage at Roseland. Seeing a second night of them wasn’t really deja vu, which is usually and eerily unexpected. It was more like diving headlong into a Pensieve: I could navigate through this memory, flesh and blood; things were familiar, but not; the colors seemed off, but only seemed that way. Probably it was more like the 1955 of Back to the Future Part II, not in that I could see myself having enjoyed this already, but because the timing and perspective were different and the whole enterprise wasn’t an exact duplication of the memory.

Difference Number One was showing up nearly two hours later, completely forgoing the opener I failed to mention in my first review. I applaud anyone touring with Weezer, but found it necessary to eschew that awkwardness the second time around. “Free Energy” were not especially energetic, and I do believe they earned a share of the ticket sales, so– Anyway, technically fine but more stylish than substantial, their only true failing was seeming like an unexpected, unwelcome guest at a night that I and the audience assumed might just be us and Weezer, no third parties allowed. Better standing room on the second night was not worth the two hours of waiting and the aforementioned awkwardness.

So it was that my friend and I showed up mere minutes before Weezer came out, in time for WRXP’s musicologist Matt Pinfield to play the part of Michael J. Fox and introduce the band for a second consecutive night, only this time ruining my overextended metaphor by playing a wintry folk song with some local musicians, while we got beer. We looked for a place to stand on the right towards the very back, but with shorter people behind me (that’s nearly everyone) I made us stand on the other side, at the rear left of the house, closer to the exits. It was a similar angle to the night before but farther back, slightly less a part of the show as we were not engulfed on all sides by fellow represserinos.

That freedom, however, gave us a special enjoyment of the concert, and at little cost. While Rivers did mosey over to the side stage for a time, he did not traverse the audience as he did on Friday. It seemed odd but was maybe the more reasonable choice: While I hate to generalize, Pinkerton fans are passionate folks; but as Pinkerton fans, their frustration may be more internalized, the emotional introspection of the album striking a compassionate chord. So, would Rivers have been in more danger hiking through these particular fans? Probably not, but even more probably so. Tough call. But he stayed up and over there, so we missed out on nothing.

In fact, the setlist for the first half of the show was stocked with rarities. The proper name twins of “Susanne” and “Jamie” were the highlights; kudos to the guys for so tailoring their night. I thought after the first show that the next night they’d play a different single from each of the albums, for their own sanity and for the fans who’d see both shows. Those songs that made both nights were hardly retreads, still fun.

Webmaster Karl again came out during the intermission to give a slideshow. The first four or five slides were the same, prompting him to realize it was the wrong one. The new, correct one had more setlists and studio photographs than the previous one, which had more artwork. Most memorable of Saturday’s was a picture of a poll showing Pinkerton as the second-worst album of the year, right behind Bush’s Razorblade Suitcase (which some might argue was their Pinkerton, before breaking down hysterical laughing still once having bought tickets to see them at MSG). All in all, again, a nice touch.

And then, Pinkerton. Rivers wore a white, possibly short-sleeved buttondown instead of a blue t-shirt. Behind them all was the album’s cover art, which accented the album’s darkness and the theme of isolation, if not its edginess. “The Good Life” was my early favorite, matched later by the no-nonsense, beautiful but not overly sentimental “Butterfly.” Here’s Rivers alone doing that one:

Photo courtesy of 'A.C.' Sloane

Throughout, the songs sounded more lively to me, more powerful (not just because of the volume), less sad, more indignant. I suppose that makes sense, hearing them one way for a lifetime, raw and slightly out of tune and unpolished, in the privacy of your own head, and when played live those production choices are stripped away and the songs sound more like Blue Album songs, in the best possible way. The songs are redeemed, if they needed redemption, by their being played and sung and enjoyed live. In fact, both albums begin to bleed into each other, just a little bit, retaining their distinctions but providing us with a deeper understanding of both, and of Rivers. And of ourselves, man.

SETLIST:
Memories
Pork and Beans
The Greatest Man That Ever Lived (Variations on a Shaker Hymn)
Perfect Situation
Dope Nose
Hash Pipe
You Gave Your Love To Me Softly
Susanne
Jamie
Only in Dreams

Intermission (Slideshow)

Tired of Sex
Getchoo
No Other One
Why Bother?
Across the Sea
The Good Life
El Scorcho
Pink Triangle
Falling for You
Butterfly