...I'll put a foot in yo' a$s."
- Gangsta Gangsta (N.W.A.) Ah, N.W.A. Taking suburban middle cla$s kids to the ghetto since 1986. The problem comes when they don't wanna leave, yo.

DISCLAIMER: This blog makes liberal use of the N word. I am not using it to be racist whatsoever. Every other white or not-black boy these days uses it to sound cool, yo, so I'm taking the piss, yo. But don't be offended, yeah?

You see, dawg, I watched da Malibu's Most Wanted on da TV lat night, yo. It's about this honky as$ white boy who reckons he's straigh outta da ghetto. only dat ghetto is Malibu. Anyway, honky's dad is runnin' fo' governor and he gets pissed off at his little sh!t son for being a little sh!t, yo. So instead of popping a cap in his ass, daddy hires two nigg@s to take his honky-as$ son to da ghetto and show him the real sh!t. Sounds cool, except da nigg@s Daddy hired don't know sh!t about da ghetto and sh!t their pants at the sight of G's.

Anyway, da brothas carjack da white boy's dope-as$ ride, and take him to da ghetto. But white boy f*cking clueless and still thinks he's cool by acting like a G and sh!t so brothas try to scare him some more by making him carjack a convenience store, yo dawg. Whiteboy almosts gets a cap in his as$ from the Ko-rean store dawg for being a pu$sy, but he flashes a little of da bling and he cruises outta there, only da two brothas almost beat his a$$ fo being a pu$sy.

And the weed and beer caught up with me here and I forgot the rest of the plot.

Weezer fans have never lacked loyalty. A large number of them were members of the Pinkerton cult who saw their life stories played out in Rivers Cuomo's tales of woe and blue balls and who turned a forgotten mid-90s oddity into the biggest cult hit of that decade. The same cult who have seen practically every single step taken by Rivers since then as heretic and a betrayal of the nerd ideals that album espoused, yet who still make the effort to buy every Weezer album in the hope that, finally, they will receive Pinkerton 2.0. And when they discover that it isn't, they vent their rage on the internet.

Those fans will probably be disappointed by Raditude. They will hear the poppy choruses, the synths and - of course - the Lil Wayne guest appearance on Can't Stop Partying and raise the chants of "sell out" all over Youtube and the Internet. And when you consider the rest of Weezer's post-Pink work - the soulless Green Album, the uneven Maladroit and Make Believe and the promise-so-much-yet-fail-miserably front-loading of the Red Album - in some regards these chants may have been deserved.

With Raditude, however, Rivers Cuomo and his band of merry men build on the potential of the first half of Red and make a full return to form. And don't doubt it - this is very much Cuomo's band. Despite the claims of the album being a more collaborative effort, most of the collaboration comes from outside sources (All-American Rejects vocalist Tyson Ritter and guitarist Nick Ritter, hip hop guru Jermaine Dupri, Kelly Clarkson collaborator Dr Luke and album co-producer Jacknife Lee) rather than the other band members (Pat Wilson's In The Mall is the sole writing contribution by a band member other Cuomo, who sings the song himself).

The album kicks off with the obnoxiously titled "(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To". Over a country-esque acoustic guitar and shuffle, Rivers tells a tale of a teen romance and meeting the parents that would sound annoying and douchey from a lesser artist but sounds charming and nostalgic from him. When the guitars kick in on the "Giiiiirrrrrllll", I dare anyone to not sing along. The industrial-sized hooks continue on "I'm Your Daddy" and "The Girl Got Hot", although even Rivers can't change the fact that a married dad approaching middle age just sounds creepy when referring to a barely legal teenage girl as "my baby" and him as "your daddy." It's "Across The Sea" 10 years later with extra perv.

Enter the most talked about track of all. "Can't Stop Partying" is a track about just that. It's a completely brain dead anthem where Rivers, one album after dissing Timbaland, name-drops Grey Goose and the former King of the Nerds claims that he's "your VIP." I can only hope that this statement is meant to be ironic (along with most of the album's lyrics) cause otherwise, this track may just be the guilty pleasure of the year. Driven by synths and an R&B beat, it's nothing like Weezer ever recorded, but lacks the sing-along qualities of the first three tracks. These return on the "Put Me Back Together", which features Rivers' collaboration with half the All American Rejects. However, this is possibly the weakest song on the album. While it tries to be a shiny pop rock anthem, it's lack of a genuine hook combined with the inane lyrics give it the feel of a Green Album outtake.

In contrast, "Trippin' Down The Highway" feels totally fresh, fun and is not only the best song on the album, but possibly the song of the year. Telling the story of a couple on a road trip (hence the title) the lyrics still aren't exactly deep, but the song itself is a sweet nugget of power pop that deserves to be a roadtrip cla$$ic of the 00s.This little gem is followed by "Love Is The Answer", which has a strong Indian music influence. Being Indian myself, I can say that I thought that one of my Mum's Hindu devotional music CDs had been mashed up with Rivers' voice singing a Hallmark card chorus ("Love is the answer; You have got to trust in the world). It shouldn't work, yet somehow it does. Not the best track, but still enjoyable enough.

The shiny power pop returns with "Let It All Hang Out". By now the album is beginning to feel a tad same-y, but the singalong factor is undoubtable even if Rivers' voice, never the most powerful in the world, sounds buried under the guitars for the chorus and the whiny bridge somewhat grates. Pat Wilson's "In The Mall" continues in this vein - fun, but somewhat disposable.

However, the closing ballad "I Don't Want To Let You Go" is perfect. A remake from the second Alone album, it is also the only song that feels like it belongs on Pinkerton. When Rivers softly sings "the pain is killing me, but I can't let it be, I have to let you know, I don't want to let you go" once again you realise what sets Weezer apart from a million other emo bands as he vocalises the lyric with a frankness and honesty rather than mindless angst. It almost feels out of place amongst the good times spirit of the prior nine songs, but in a very nice way. The lyrics are also the best on the album.

If Raditude has a lyrical theme, it is nostalgia; if the Red Album was Rivers approaching his mid life crisis, Raditude is him well and truly in it as he looks back on his teen years, relationships, partying and having fun. As such, most of the lyrics are throwaway and a bit cheesy - give them a club beat and they won't be out of place (is it a coincidence that Rivers has recently songs for Katy Perry?). But when almost every song makes you want to grab a beer, go and sit out in the sunshine and start belting the songs out (preferably with some mates) does that even matter? For me, the worse crime is the lack of guitar solos on the album. While fretboard wankery isn't called for, when the songs start to become a bit samey a few melodic solos would be a nice change of pace.

Weezer have had an interesting career arc. Ever since their first two albums, which are dead set future cla$$ics, everyone has been waiting for a retread of the more edgy one (Pinkerton) where as they seem more interested in remaking the Blue Album and that album's mixture of power pop, alternative rock and nerditude (if raditude is a word, so is nerditude). On Raditude, any lingering nerdiness is lost, but in doing so Rivers and the boys have made their best album in 15 years. Yes, I am calling it now - for what it is, Raditude is better than Pinkerton.
Better than Blue? Only time will tell if Raditude grows to be seen in the same mold. But it's definitely the first spritual son and a return to form. Finally, Weezer are back.

Score: 9.5/10.

...is sober Ash keeps his thoughts to himself."
- Verity's succinct description of me at dinner. I tried to argue, but there was no point.

Friday night ended up sucking. It started very promisingly, with a trip up to Shads and hitting on a girl at the bar. (I almost squeezed a free tequila shot out of her in the process). She told me where her friends were, and I was about to go and find them and hang for a while and see where this went before the crew (Verity, Rupert and Jodi) ended up leaving just as I went to go look for her. While little head and most of my instincts told me to stay and join them later, I realised I had no idea where the restaurant was so, being the good sheep that I am, followed. After all, we were going partying later. There would be more women then, right? Score one for Big Head.

After Verity's Amazon mate Lisa showed up, we headed to the restaurant. There most of the alcohol on offer was wine, which I don't touch cause it generally does bad things to my stomach. So I ended up dipping into my wallet for a few beers and Jim Beams. Given that I also refrained from eating, I managed to get fairly drunk at the restaurant. The photos from dinner are all on Facebook if anyone wants to look at them. Most of them are just us being drunk uni students - there's one of me giving a creepy smile and John groping Arena (I had my arm around her as well but I wasn't copping a feel), plus my new profile shot which shows me at my skeevy best, but it was all fun. Then Max announced that they were planning to head for Rakinos, a club down town. And while I hate clubs with the fire of a thousand suns, I love women and clubs = women. So they tend to cancel each other out. Anyway, I noticed a few of my friends were leaving early and mentioned they were heading for the club, and now I had to make another decision. Do I stay with the rest of the crew, or do I go early and get first shot at anyone before all the hotter male members showed up? Big head says stay, little head says go. Considering that Big head drew me away from Shadows and let me down, I decided to follow Little Head's advice this time and follow the small group.

Turns out that was the mistake of the night. We made it to Rakinos, but they had a private function that wasn't us. So all the others decided to go home and I was up the proverbial creek without a paddle. Where to go from here? I crunched the possibilities in my head. Generally, the first port of call post-DebSoc party is Arena's house. And if the club was shut to us, that seemed like a natural place to head for some more drinking/partying, even though the last party there ended up with John puking in her sink and me pissing on the deck.
Anyway, I got in a cab and offered the driver $20 to take me to her place, which isn't far from the city. He agreed, but once I got there I realised no one was home. F*ck. They're all somewhere else and I don't know where to go. I tried sending some of them texts and even calling, but no one answered. F*ckers.

So I'm alone for the night with some cash left in my pocket. Home is 20 minutes walk away or less than $10 cab. That would be the logical, rational decision - get on home and call it a failed night. Or I could roll the dice once more and head back to town. My chances were slimmer without my friends around and I realised my only hope of getting laid would be to go to one of the sleazier clubs, which I hate with the fire of a MILLION suns and tend to have uglier (but more desperate) women.

If you know me at all, you shouldn't even have to ask yourself which option I picked.

I ended up dropping $25 on a cab to take me back to the city. Now there's just enough cash for a cab home - gotta put any more drinks I buy on credit. In a vain hope that the girl from earlier in the night was still there, I decided to start at Shads. Of course she was gone and replaced by faceless skanks who all looked the same (only difference beaing hair colour and skin tone), but the DJ was spinning some decent music (a little Nine Inch Nails and Static-X mixed with Parliament-Funkadelic and Michael Jackson) so I decided that since I had fought to get past the bouncer (I had said I'd only had a couple of beers, he could probably tell I was lying but let me in anyway) I would stay for a cheap Corona ($5.50, down from th earlier $7.50) at least.

Eventually I decided to hit the d-floor. Since I am a rarity among non-African American men in that I actually can dance, I got one girl's attention, but after a little dancing and more spent on drinks (she insisted I buy one for her friend as well, and those girls do not drink on the cheap) I found out she was with her brother. Her big Islander brother who isn't Villi. Okay, I'll just be going now.

After leaving Shads, I decided that since I had come this far it was worth one last roll of the dice. I headed down Queen St to a couple of the clubs we had gone to at Kornfeld's party, after stopping for a Macs Gold, a vomit in the toilet and to catch a Zeppelin tribute artist at QF Tavern. Once again, sanity should have kept me there if I wasn't going home - the women mostly had boyfriends, but the music was OK and they were decent eye candy, which realistically I was beginning to realise was about all I could hope for from the night. However, if Shads was my last roll of the dice Met Bar was a bonus pity roll - the absolute last chance I would get.

Needless to say, it failed. I hit on one girl but got chased away by her friend's boyfriend. Then I tried to get on the platform with the hotties (shot out to Steph) up there to bust a move or seven, but the security pulled me off and threw me out - the second (and last) time I've been kicked out of Met. (I got kicked out at Kornfeld's party for grabbing some girl's boob - I'm not proud of it either, but I was too drunk to care). Finally, after heading back to QF for one last beer and stare, I decided it wasn't worth trying anymore and to get in a cab and use the rest of my cash to go home. Thankfully the cabbie could tell I've had a sh!t night and knocked the change off the fare. Thanks mate.

Hunger Strike (Temple of the Dog)

And if things weren't bad already? They were going to get worse.

Soon after I got home I heard the phone ring. In my drunken state I failed to realise that the only person who would be calling at 2am would be my mum and she would only be calling because she was pissed. From the minute I picked up the phone she could tell I was drunk, but kept things short with a "Talk to you in the morning" once she realised I was OK otherwise (maybe I should have faked being hurt).

Obviously, she called. And she had brought Dad in. That's never good. They only work together when it comes to me. F*ck. Long story short, they both decided to read me the proverbial riot act. Especially considering my exams were a week away and I'd decided to go partying. Never mind that everyone else is doing it - the old "you're not a European, you do things differently" bullsh!t got trotted out by both of them. F*ck that. Yes, I know damn well I'm not white. I see it in the mirror every day. But I live here and this is the culture I've grown up with. And unlike you guys, I don't feel a need to hang onto a culture that my family left two generations ago at least. I am an Antipodean (my cla$sification since I don't really feel comfortable calling myself Australian or New Zealander over the other) and if either Australia or New Zealand went to war against India, I would fight for either one of them. (Well, if it was NZ I'd probably desert if conscription became an issue, given that their army is tiny and they don't have ANZUS any more etc). Anyway, I got a lengthy lecture, got pissed off at them, ended up smashing the phone through a window and decided to take one of my emergency Prozacs cause I knew that I would be sinking into mondo depression. However, it failed and as such in the past three days I've probably sabotaged any chance I have of doing good in my exams.

The good news is that things are on an upswing. I have finally managed to gain some control over my mood swings, although I am far from controlling them - I can just put off the depression for longer or lessen the manic-depressive crash by not building up the mania. On Friday, however, for obvious reasons I tried to hold off on having a manic episode for as long as possible but I'm fairly sure I went qute nuts in the restaurant. Some of the photos would suggest so, and I took a fair few myself (albeit with Verity and Arena's cameras). Anyway, the excess mania did lead to a particularly massive crash. This isn't always the case, but here the environment plays a role. Given that the euphoria blew up in my face, this probably = bigger downer. Three days stuck in my bedroom, to be exact, unable to get out of bed. Haven't had a spell like that since fifth form when I was weaning myself off the Prozac.
Anyway. That's life and it just goes to show how a couple of bad decisions can f*ck everything up.

So what's the result of this? Well, my dad's calling me home the day after exams finish, so no leaving party for me like I had planned. That night I'll probably just go to Shads and celebrate/drown my sorrows. Maybe try and call a couple of friends who don't mind a mid-exam beer or two up and hope there's a few others who are finishing with me. It can't go worse than last Friday. I guess that also goes to show what expectations can do to ya.

Times Like These (Foo Fighters)

See ya.

Ash.