“Heart Songs” seems to have two meanings, and the way they don’t get along showcases a dilemma. The first meaning is as obvious as it is harmless: Rivers is paying tribute to the songs and artists that have affected him in one way or another throughout his life. The second meaning is a little more delicate, and feels a bit like eavesdropping since it’s probably unintentional. It sounds like someone searching for his muse. In the bridge, Rivers climactically recalls listening to Nirvana’s Nevermind, and what a breakthrough that album was for him. A lot of people felt that way: I’m sure you know some. And briefly, in this moment, he seems to find it, and the nerdy swagger of the Blue Album returns. For a few seconds the song blooms, and Rivers sounds energized in a way that is absent from much of the surrounding material. It’s like you can literally hear his voice change, as if in that moment he rediscovered what drove him to want to form a band in the first place. It’s a passionate ten seconds, then it’s gone.

There are ten-second bursts of brilliance all over this thing: the problem is, none of them are strung together. Welcome to The Red Album, wherein Weezer’s trip through the color wheel has landed them in a rather tricky place. This is almost meta-music, the tone set by the first single, “Pork and Beans,” which seems to be about weathering a midlife crisis in the spotlight. This is only one example: many of the lyrics seem nakedly autobiographical– which isn’t necessarily a bad thing; Pinkerton pulled it off well. The problem is, there’s no revelation, subtlety, or poetry to any of it. It’s like the band is hosting its own VH1 special about itself, as if the purpose of Weezer is now solely to deconstruct, demystify, and, when necessary, defend Weezer. Maybe this is strictly the consequence of getting famous: your rebel yells start to ring hollow. In fact, the songs have become so self-referential that it’s occasionally sometimes difficult to enjoy the album as anything but a document on the vagaries of fame and the weight of stardom. It’s ironic that Nirvana is so prominently mentioned in “Heart Songs”; here we have Weezer’s diluted answer to In Utero– as abrasive a foray into “Fuck you” territory as you will hear from these polite fellows. Only thing is, it doesn’t really work. Those boys from Nirvana were 100% committed to the stunt– these guys aren’t.

At times they get it right. What causes a band to write a song like “The Greatest Man that Ever Lived”– a headlong rush through tempo and style– other than a desire to shed attention and rebel against expectations? It’s the sandbox approach to songwriting, and it’s kind of exciting– and they STILL manage to make it catchy in spite of all the self-indulgence. It ends up being one of the cooler songs on the disc, but as a single? No. It’s about as fit for mass consumption as a Fugu sundae. Even at his most reckless, Rivers is still an incurable crafter of pop songs; it’s interesting to hear a song like “The Greatest Man That Ever Lived” and experience the best of both worlds– it’s a pop song with teeth.

But those fleeting bright spots just underscore how flat the majority of the rest of the material is. “Dreamin’” is boredom by-the-numbers. “Everybody Get Dangerous” couldn’t sound much safer (aside from a few surprising lyrics). In fact, the best material isn’t even officially part of the album– it comes at the end of the deluxe version of the album in the form of bonus tracks. There’s “Ms. Sweeney”, a sweet and off-center tune about a man that can’t help professing his undying love for his secretary, and the fantastic, Scott Shriner-sung “King”, a moody acoustic number about a bar confrontation that plays out in slow motion like a scene out of a modern-day spaghetti Western: “If you want to start something, know one thing…I’m King.”

Why are these bonus tracks the best songs on the disc? Maybe for the same reason that their early records are so appealing– they seem off the cuff. Instinctual, yet vulnerable. During the recording of their early material, I have to guess they truly didn’t care what anyone thought. Now, they seem too aware of themselves and their charge to create a certain kind of Song. A Weezer Song. And the whole time they’re telling you they don’t give a hoot about what you think, attempting to prove it by saying they don’t have to prove it. And that’s just wasted breath.