LA Weekly

Illustration by Erik Sandberg

Eccentricity is a great rock tradition, and usually tolerated with some affection. Jack White can post his surgery photos online, John Frusciante can freely discuss talking to ghosts, and Ozzy can strangle his wife during a blackout — it’s all good. Somehow, though, Rivers Cuomo’s brand of eccentricity brings out the mean streak in journos, and overtakes almost everything that’s written about him. Most recently, Weezer’s Rolling Stone cover, marking the release of the band’s fifth album, Make Believe, followed the received template for Weezer articles: With the headline “Rivers Cuomo Hasn’t Had Sex in Two Years, and Boy, Is He Ready To Rock,” the article portrayed Cuomo as a nutjob who treats his band like shit, lives in a closet and doesn’t own a car in L.A.

Cuomo gets a hard time in part because, unlike regular rock stars, he’s built an iconography as a befuddled mortal, a kid who sits in his garage and dreams of being Ace Frehley. Cuomo stands in for every boy who ever had a metal cover band, dressed poorly and couldn’t talk to girls. There’s enormous freedom in that position, but the price is that Cuomo simply isn’t allowed to do the same things rock gods do.

And unlike other rock stars, Cuomo talks openly about his quirks. He once confessed his fondness for Asian prostitutes in Rolling Stone. And about a year ago, he posted an essay online describing the moral extreme makeover he’d begun in recent years: rigorous meditation, selling his house and car, volunteering at a food bank serving HIV patients and taking a vow of celibacy. For all his claims of shyness, Cuomo invites attention to the extreme cycles of his private life. That candor is admirable, but does make his protestations of misunderstood normalcy a little tough to buy.

Nevertheless, it’s time to admit that, yes, Cuomo’s kind of a strange guy, and no, that’s not even remotely strange. Because what gets lost among the clichés is a more useful story, and the real reason people care: Cuomo’s music, his band and, specifically, his songwriting process. Cuomo is a deeply devoted student of songwriting, and has gone as far as anyone in the quest for the perfect pop song: seclusion, drugs, meticulous charting of Nirvana songs, attending Harvard to study classical composition. To some, this may seem as bizarre as a vow of celibacy, but, on this count, they’re wrong. Perfect pop is a sacred god, and as anyone who’s ever tried to write a hook can tell you, all sorts of sacrifices seem appropriate when you’re courting the muse. She can be a bit of a bitch, you know.

Just off the road from supporting Make Believe and looking forward to a 10-day meditation retreat, Cuomo spoke to L.A. Weekly from his grandparents’ home in Peachtree City, Georgia.



L.A. WEEKLY: So how’s it going? How was the tour?

RIVERS CUOMO: It went really well. I’m coming back to playing with a totally different mind state than I’ve ever had before. So it’s been a real learning experience figuring out who I am, how I want to be onstage. It’s been really fun.



You mean different from when you were touring Maladroit?

Yeah. Every time you come back it’s different. I feel very calm and concentrated [these days] — I can get into the zone a lot more easily, and stay there a lot more easily. And not get knocked off by negative thoughts — you know, the inner critic telling you that that note was flat, or that lyric’s no good, you’re a faker — those sorts of things. I shut that guy out a lot better now. That’s the goal of any performer or athlete or artist — to just concentrate on what you’re doing and not analyze it too much.

"The inner critic telling you that you're no good, you're a faker - I shut him out a lot better now onstage." (Photo by Wild Don Lewis)

I can see that in terms of the songwriting process, but I imagine that when you’re onstage the smoke and crowd and noise would drown that out more than when it’s just you alone with your guitar.

It’s more extreme having the crowd there. When you’re on, you’re really on, you’re really excited, and you feel everyone’s watching you and giving you their energy. But then if the critic gets the upper hand, it’s like the crowd takes sides with the critic, and that voice gets so loud it can be unbearable. You can look out in the crowd and just happen to see the one person that looks like they’re not having a good time, and then your inner critic will latch onto that image and magnify it and shove it in your face. And then you forget about what you’re trying to do. You forget about the music you’re trying to make. And the enemy has overpowered you. [Chuckles.]



Do you think those bad voices are just some weird evolutionary flaw in the way our brains are structured?

You know, that’s a very interesting question, and up till a year or two ago I definitely would have pondered it. But now, I don’t really care. All I know is that it’s a maladaptive behavior to think like that, and I don’t want to think like that anymore, and I’m just going to stop.



Is it the same thing when you write songs?

Yeah, it’s the same thing when you’re writing songs, it’s the same thing when you’re giving an interview and you think, Did I just say something stupid? That critic’s gotta go. He’s not helping!



Do

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