Stephen Thomas Erlewine (All Music Guide)

Bands used to make records like this all the time. They'd release an album, tour all year, write a bunch of songs, record 'em, release another album a year later. Since hardly anybody — not even indie bands — does that in 2002, it's a remarkable event when Weezer does exactly that, especially following a half-a-decade of inactivity. But, it's hard not to think that this is the way it should be done by all bands, since Maladroit retains the high quality of The Green Album. True, it doesn't offer much that's new — it has a similarly short length, clocking in at 33 minutes, it favors riff-heavy, melodic rockers and has a lack of ballads, while Rivers Cuomo is doggedly avoiding the exposed-nerve confessions of Pinkerton — but there are a couple of notable differences that gives it its own character. Since the band has returned to self-producing, there's a tougher sound — nowhere near as raw as Pinkerton, yet similarily loud and raucous, overflowing with guitars spitting out riffs and solos with a gleeful abandon. So, it's essentially a harder-rocking version of the last album. But you know what? It doesn't matter because the band is at a peak. Cuomo continues to write consistently strong songs, occasionally penning a flat-out stunner ("Dope Nose" is one of their all-time greatest songs), the band is tighter than ever, the record crackles with energy — nothing new, per se, but still vibrant, catchy, and satisfying. It's so good, it's hard not to think that it offers definitive proof that even in 2002, it's best for a band to keep going once they've hit a peak, to turn out a bunch of records that find them at the top of their game instead of waiting three or four years to craft a follow-up. After all, that's what builds not only a body of work, but a legacy. 

Aidin Vaziri (Amazon.com)

After taking five leisurely years to follow up on 1996's Pinkerton, Weezer are apparently on a roll. Arriving just over 12 months after The Green Album, Maladroit finds the Los Angeles power-pop band in the midst of a particularly fertile creative period. "Dope Nose," which is easily stronger than anything on the last album, flexes a sinister shout-along chorus and vintage Van Halen riffs, while the potent garage-punk blast of "Fall Together" wipes out any lingering discomfort over the thoroughly Sugar Ray-sounding "Island in the Sun." In a sense The Green Album was just a taster for this, the blissfully thunderous main dish. Sure, there are some deadpan emo moments ("Death and Destruction") littering the course, but mostly Maladroit is Weezer doing what they do best--inverting and embracing dumb rock stereotypes and somehow making them sound smart.

David Sprague (Barnes&Noble)

There's something about the way Rivers Cuomo and company chew on the most basic forms of rock sustenance -- cheesy '70s-metal riffs, shout-along choruses worthy of any stock car rally, and, of course, their fearless leader's heart-on-sleeve vulnerability -- that makes Weezer the least likely rock archetype for the new millennium. Still, on this apparent rush-job (one day short of a year since their previous effort), the band sounds as snotty and sincere -- a combination that's mighty hard to pull off -- as any combo in recent memory. Cuomo's dalliance with decadence returns on the Van Halen-meets-Black Flag slur of "Dope Nose" (probably the disc's strongest track), while the nifty Strokes nod "Fall Together" makes it clear that there's no time warp pulling the members back into the days of yore. Maladroit buzzes with a more focused energy than Weezer's last self-titled disc, waxing deadly serious (on the wrist-slashing "Death and Destruction" and pulling a Uu-turn to bop in ultra-adrenalized fashion on "Island in the Sun." There's nothing particularly earth-shattering in the disc's grooves -- although it is kinda heartening to hear Cuomo let his guard down on gnarled bits of self-analysis like "Slave" and "Slob" -- but there's more than enough progression to make fans and foes alike rethink the notion of Weezer as simple noisemakers.

(CD Universe)

This is an Enhanced CD, which contains both regular audio tracks and multimedia computer files.
Weezer includes: Rivers Cuomo, Pat Wilson, Brian Bell, Scott Shriner. Producers include: Weezer, Chad Bamford, Rod Cervera. Engineers include: Chad Bamford, Chris Carroll, Carlos "Loco" Bedova. Recorded at Cello Studios, Los Angeles, California in December 2001.

Weezer has been having it both ways for some time; churning out barn-burning alt-rock riffs while maintaining a degree of ironic distance via their nerdy image and quirky twists and turns. Don't be fooled by the geek garb, though, head Weezer Rivers Cuomo is the kind of guy who could raid your refrigerator and steal your girlfriend without ever removing his horn-rimmed glasses. MALADROIT finds Cuomo and his post-modern pals continuing to walk that tricky tightrope between rock and "rock." Whether you believe they mean it or not, the visceral pleasures of the chugging "Dope Nose," the Gary Glitter rivalry of "Keep Fishin'," and the white-boy R&B of "Burndt Jamb" are easy to assimilate. And the first pressing comes with the bonus of seven video clips, so what are you waiting for? Put down that pocket protector, slap on your Doc Martens, and go get MALADROIT.

Amy Sciarretto (CMJ New Music Report, 766, June 10, 2002)

Weezer called, and they want their sweater back, folks! That's right: college and commercial radio's favorite geeks with guitars have not altered their established formula in any way, and that's just the way the fans - which range from backpackin' pop-punk kids to Hot Topic goth-metallers - like and want it. Maladroit stays true to the path first tread on 1994's self-titled "Blue" album and last year's self-titled "Green" album; it's all triumphant, three-chord nerd rock anthems here. Weezer is easily the hardest working band in show business right now, releasing Maladroit almost a year to the day after its last effort and touring incessantly. Maladroit is drenched in addictive pop hooks, plenty of perky "woah woah" harmonies, and big 'n' simple rock riffs. Frontman Rivers Cuomo (still sporting the black specs popular among serial killers) has a reputation of being rather crotchety, but on Maladroit, he's as inviting and pleasant as a basket of puppies. "Burnt Jamb," "American Gigolo," "Dope Nose" and "Keep Fishin'" are definitely Weezer at its best: catchy with just the right dose of jump up and down rock flair. Maladroit is a vindicating and rewarding revenge of the nerds.

Chris Heath (DOT Music)

Three albums in seven years hardly qualifies as a hectic work-rate but Weezer's 'quality over quantity' approach has done them no harm. And let's not forget that Weezer, or more accurately 'the moodiest man in rock' Rivers Cuomo, opted out of the rat race. It's not like they've spent the intervening year scrounging around for ideas or twiddling their collective thumbs.
Bearing this in mind, it came as a shock when Weezer announced that, instead of a half-decade hibernation, 'Maladroit' would follow the widely adored 'Green' album in less than a year. What's wrong with them? 
Even though the album's title might set the odd alarm bell ringing, it's not a major course for concern. Sure, it's fuelled by bitterness and recrimination, paranoia and romantic instability but haven't they always been? Record company politics (which prompted the band to stream demos of this album from their official site) and the general hijacking of Weezer's business model i.e. Emo-Rock have sparked Cuomo back into life.
Inevitably but not predictably, 'Maladroit' follows roughly along the lines of its immediate predecessor, which is no bad thing. But 'Maladroit' is a more satisfying half an hour than the often-impersonal 'Green' album. Quick-fire melody-driven, riff-heavy pop songs that resurrect the gritty, edginess of 'Pinkerton'. The best of both worlds basically.
There are so many tracks on 'Maladroit' that should be squeezed into your list of favourite Weezer songs. A rotation system would probably make things a lot easier. Try the 'Hash Pipe' of this album 'Dope Nose' and the bouncing 'Keep Fishin' for starters. Then move on to teary 'Slob', the jiggy 'Burndt Jamb' and hug-your-partner feel of 'Slave'. They're all contenders.
If the 'Green' album was a slap around the face as a reminder of how great this band can be, then 'Maladroit' shoves ice cubes down your pants and sets fire to your hair. It sticks two fingers up to the copycats and makes some sense of the incomprehensible. Expect laughter, tears, angry, hurt, and happiness at the same time and life's little injustices picked over in Weezer's own unique way. 
So that's the fourth classic album out of the way. Same time next year, lads. 

Darryl Sterdan (Winnipeg Sun / JAM! Music, May 17, 2002)

Last Heard From: On their self-titled comeback disc (aka The Green Album), which was released exactly a year ago this week. 
What You Get: More of the same -- and then some. The half-hour long Maladroit contains 13 short, sharp bubble-crunch shots from ironic popsmith Rivers Cuomo. For those who like a little V to go with their A, it also has about 10 minutes of concert, studio and backstage video footage playable on your computer. 
Does it Rock? Like a candycane. Tracks like American Gigolo and the single Dope Nose pack all the distortion-pedal melodicism, geek-rock romanticism and arena-rock backbeats needed to cement Weezer's rep as the Cheap Trick of the new millennium. 
The Dark Side: Cuomo's smartly crafted, hook-laden songs may be as enjoyable and refreshing as a sugar buzz, but they also tend to stay with you about that long. 
It's Worth: Paying full price -- even though you know you'll be sick of hearing it by fall. 

Mark Beaumont (New Musical Express)

Ah, Mr Cuomo, come in, hop up on the couch, we're just checking your file. Interesting beard, by the way. Now let's see: chronic mysanthropy, rampant persecution complex, dropped out of rock band to run away to college, currently devoted to internet girlfriend you've never met. Patient also displays deviant self-judgement issues (he insists that his greatest opus and the pinnacle of emo majesty, 1996's 'Pinkerton', is "a shit album") and congenital fear of bees. Okay then, El Batso, how can we help today? What's that? You're releasing a fourth album within a year of your third, you've already posted it free on your website and, er, it sounds like 'Pinkerton'? Nurse! The trepanning drill! Quick, we've got a live one! 
Rivers Cuomo has long dallied on the 'DROP THE NAILGUN AND LET THE LITTLE GIRL GO!' side of the genius/madman divide, but 'Maladroit' is by far his most welcome psychotic moodswing to date. Recorded in a manic three-month burst of melodic biliousness, as though physically reacting against the saccharine emo-syrup of 2001's 'The Green Album', 'Maladroit' is the world's first truly interactive album - the tracks were posted on weezer.com as they were completed and visitors were asked to choose the tracklisting and album title. Emo Idol a-go-go, then, and the result is the impeccably filthy, gobby and hypercharged grimepop massacre that 'Green…' should've been. The polite "woo-hooo"s are now malodorous "WOAH-HOAHH!"s, the twangly-wangly 'hello birds! Hello trees! Hello monstrous bank balance!' guitars now emit thunderous rockfalls from the peak of Mount Nerdangst. If 'The Green Album' was the charming bouquet to apologise for not calling for five years, 'Maladroit' is the rigorous porking in the back of a second-hand Fiesta we've been gagging for since 1996. It's almost as if Rivers cares about music again. 
Of course, Emo Law No 1 reads 'Contentment Breeds Billy Ray Cyrus', so it helps that 'Maladroit''s lyrics appear to reflect a life turned unexpectedly to shit. No longerhooked on his harmless 'Hash-Pipe', now Rivers is lumbered with a 'Dope Nose'; no more jolly frolics on his 'Island In The Sun', now Rivers squirms tunefully amidst 'Death And Destruction' as a 'Slave' and a 'Slob'. The merest sniff of the blood of a cheery vibe brings out the slavering Albini-hound in him, battering The Proclaimers' 'Five Hundred Miles' to a bouncy Scottish pulp on 'Keep Fishin'' and derailing 'The Locomotion' on 'Love Explosion'. We're hardly talking Tool here, but Weezer have certainly had a few revitalising crowbar blows across the temple and their bruises are beauties. 
A misery-affirming, gut-pummeling, soul-ragged and triumphant return to form, then. That mad fuck-freak Cuomo will probably think it's bollocks in a week.

Rob Mitchum (Pitchfork Media, May 28, 2002)

Allow me to start by making a rather dorky connect-the-dots between two landmark cultural institutions of our key demographic: Weezer and Star Wars. Check it out: Weezer's self-titled return from hibernation (colloquially known as The Green Album) was The Phantom Menace of indie rock. Both sci-fi epic and alt-rock record were long-awaited events that had even the most jaded hipster hopping around like a small child with a full bladder. However, reactions to Star Wars: Episode One and Weezer: Episode Three were predominantly (and in some cases, absurdly) negative, despite small pockets of supporters slinging the old "just turn your brain off and have fun" argument.
To be fair, the analogy isn't completely fail-safe. After all, The Phantom Menace didn't break the Star Wars hiatus with a skimpy 28 minutes of new material, and The Green Album didn't have some of the worst acting-- human or computerized-- in the history of film. Furthermore, by my standards, Weezer's second eponymous release was nowhere near the memory-raping experience Episode I entailed, nor was it as terrible as judged by this site and elsewhere. Freed from the skyscraper-high expectations surrounding its release, The Green Album on return visits has shown to carry a fair amount of damn fine singalong tunes, while rewatching The Phantom Menace induces more wincing than a Jackie Chan blooper reel.
Now, convenient for my journalistic maneuvering, both franchises have produced their next efforts to get in your wallet-- Attack of the Clones and Maladroit. Regardless of what you might have thought about The Phantom Menace or The Green Album, it's undeniable that the rollouts of their respective followups are not garnering the same kind of delirious Second Coming-level hype. Not surprisingly, the response to Attack of the Clones has fallen along more traditional critics-vs.-the-public lines, with film writers generally turning up their nose at the flick's wooden dialog while normal people celebrate the picture as quality escapism. Maladroit, by continuing in the vein of The Green Album, promises a similar division of opinion, meaning a responsible critic (like myself) should probably submit it to the Mindless Fun Litmus Test.
The MFLT is appropriate because, yeah, Maladroit is definitely not a return to the sound of the band's mid-90s artistic peak. But to give them the benefit of the doubt, it's pretty apparent what the Weez are shooting for with the new record-- a further distillation of their power-pop specialties into short, catchy, big-riff-centered nuggets. Many writers will probably try to lump this incarnation of the band in with Andrew W.K. and the White Stripes for a 'Return of the Rawk!' style feature, but what's truly apparent is Weezer's now-complete focus upon the concert experience rather than studio twiddling. The flying-V guitars and large light-up =W= of their stage act no longer carry the wink that they used to, and these songs are tailored specifically to provoke mosh pits and elicit rampant flashing of devil-horns. 
With Maladroit, Weezer has finally given the full punt to the nerd-rock label they sorta invented and always shunned, settling instead for being our generation's version of Cheap Trick. Rockford, Illinois' finest is just one of the classic guitar-worship pop bands invoked by the majority of the songs here, many of which seem like slight musical and thematic variations upon "I Want You to Want Me," and all of which make room for a fingers-flying solo. Things are harder-edged musically than the sunny Green Album tunes, with guitarists Rivers Cuomo and Brian Bell laying on as much distortion as possible over the crunchy riffs that hold up "American Gigolo" and "Take Control" and, well, pretty much the entire affair. But lyrically, things are still anchored in your usual white-man pleading-voice girl courtship, as song titles like "Love Explosion," "Possibilities," and "Slave" clearly indicate.
When this full-bodied attitude accompanies typically gooey Cuomo melodies, it makes for a handful of some of the best in-car rockout material of recent years. "Keep Fishin'" has boisterous call-and-response vocals and at least three different sections catchy enough to serve as choruses, while "Fall Together" is grunge-pop worthy of the late St. Kurt himself. Many songs on Maladroit come off as near-cover version love letters to Cuomo's rock heroes, most noticeably when "December" grafts a replica of the Who's "Love Reign O'er Me" to a souped-up 50s prom theme arrangement.
On the other hand, the Kiss emulation and guitar-god posturing is a pretty thin disguise for a band that's pretty obviously a mere shadow of its former self. Weezer's first two albums were almost unanimously loved, hyper-influential, near-masterpiece collections of quirky, personal, addictive power-pop. Stripping down to the basics is one thing, but removing almost every element and characteristic that separated the band from the other million quartets-with-guitars is a sad, sad sight to see. There's a thin line between homage and unoriginality, and it's hard not to notice that, in their effort to emulate their guitar-rock heroes, Weezer has to some extent become a fairly straightforward, above-average bar band.
Don't come looking for any of the eccentric flourishes of "Undone" or "El Scorcho," as Maladroit is predominantly a one-note, homogenous affair. Deviations from the hard-rock mean are whiffs: "Death and Destruction" slows things down for some nazel-gaving, but can't come close to the emotional weight of a "Say It Ain't So," for example. "Burndt Jamb" revisits the tropical flair of "Island in the Sun"-- and is only a keyboard and a Laetitia away from being Stereolab-- but can't resist falling back on steel-toed overdrive theatrics in the middle. Meanwhile, Cuomo continues to move away from the intensely specific lyrical content of earlier work (I've always wondered if that half-Japanese cellist got a cut of Pinkerton's profits), preferring instead to drop angstful Everyman phrases like, "Get yourself a wife/ Get yourself a job/ You're living a dream/ Don't you be a slob."
Right, so now's the part where I'm accused of underestimating Maladroit's youthful relevancy, missing the possibility that this album might mean as much to today's disenfranchised high school crowd as The Blue Album or Pinkerton meant to me in more innocent times. Maybe so, but it should be noted that I was a late-blooming Weezer fan, having written them off back in their first heyday and only cultivating a true appreciation for them over the last couple years. Given that fact, I have no qualms about taking a stand and pegging Maladroit as the slightest effort yet from the Weez, marking a continuation of their distressing downward trajectory and a perpetuation of their post-comeback complacence. It may have a handful of premium-grade headbangers, but in the mindless fun department, it sure ain't Yoda battling Christopher Lee.

Mark Blake (Q Magazine, june 2002)

In the parlance of American talk-show hosts, Weezer’s Rivers Cuomo "has issues". The trick is that this lapsed Harvard student masks his emotional trauma inside big, billowy rock’n’roll songs: an art that helped sell several million copies of the US quartet’s ’94 debut.
Maladroit, their fourth, follows 2001’s The Green Album in under 12 months, confirming the theory that Cuomo has stockpiled songs like an arms-hoarding Unabomber brooding in his stockade. Their creator’s disaffection gnaws away on many of the 13 here: a buzz for die-hard followers, less so for those looking for one-dimensional punk thrills. Guitars bleat on Take Control, and Cuomo’s demands to "Leave me alone" dominate Slab. 
Amid all the bitching and moaning, though, are some of the finest songs of Weezer’s career: the fizzy Banana Splits-style Dope Nose, Love Explosion’s toppling house-of-cards guitars. Here, Weezer fashion three-minute calling cards to thaw the coldest of hearts. "Love barely alive," gasps silly old Rivers on Slave, reminding the world that however sunny his choruses he’s still hurting. Sadly, if he found whatever it is he’s looking for, Weezer would struggle to make records as good as this.

Ann Powers (Rolling Stone, 897, June 6, 2002)

By all logic, Weezer's musical pileups should end up in a drawer somewhere. Rivers Cuomo -- the maladjusted, misanthropic mind behind the band -- scribbles muddled diatribes about life and love's utter futility, and splatters the lyrics against a wall of classic-rock quotations. He then adds more disorder via vocal parts that suggest a crazed postal worker doing a Beatles tribute. But somehow, Cuomo turns the jumble into chart-topping cheddar. After a few career bumps, the nasty little fella has ascended to the throne previously held by improbables such as Joey Ramone, Elvis Costello and old Buddy Holly himself: He's this era's model of a most unlikely rock star. 
What makes Weezer so appealing? Artistically, Cuomo is more of a mess than his predecessors; he doesn't possess Costello's meticulousness, Holly's modesty or Ramone's heart. But his distracted creativity is his strength in this age of severe information overload. Maladroit, the latest grouping of songs from Cuomo's manically prolific pen, follows barely a year after the band's long-awaited Green Album and signals the complete emergence of Cuomo the Song Machine, a man with a brain so full of music that he has to drain it regularly to stay alive. If words alone meant anything, Maladroit would be just another chapter in Cuomo's sorry tale of self-loathing and sexual alienation, intensified by a new preoccupation with the perplexities of fame. (This theme is all over pop culture now, and it's getting tired; lighten up, celebs!) But, like all things Weezer, Maladroit adds up to more. 
The music's shift from trivial to memorable dominates Maladroit; this is Cuomo's attempt to make his voice and guitar move as quick as his mind. Cuomo finds the exact spot where rock & roll and his body connect: The leaps and hiccups in his voice, the jerkiness of his guitar lines (seconded by the very empathetic Brian Bell) and the strangely organic way these seemingly disjointed songs unfold wholly express how the electricity of rock can turn one nervous loser's frustrations into poetry. 
This magic happens all over Maladroit and is more pronounced for the songs being rough around the edges. Like Weezer's other albums, this one shows the band just absolutely in love with rock and dedicated to upholding its form and spirit. Given that, it's embarrassing for the music industry that Maladroit's birth has been fraught with controversy. It was self-financed, and its tracks were first released as downloads on the band's Web site and distributed for promotion to radio and the press; Weezer's label tried to shut all this freewheeling down to regain control of the distribution process. Major labels and the Internet have yet to amicably mix, and maybe Geffen's reaction was all about the downloading and not reflective of any displeasure with the album's content. Yet it's worth noting that like Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, the other outstanding rock disc recently caught within the Santa Ana winds of the music industry, the supposedly difficult Maladroit is weird in the most palatable, respectful way possible. 
Cuomo doesn't want to wreck rock or even push too hard against its boundaries -- the three-minute single is his favorite playground. Maladroit has a more disturbed edge than did the Green Album. Careening guitar solos stretch out the waistband on rockers such as "Fall Together," while the teakettle harmonies on "Space Rock" recall Weezer's forebears in hyperactivity, the Pixies. But these painfully romantic accounts of the post-collegiate struggle to make peace with society (and girls, society's stand-in throughout literature as well as pop) invite listeners in, in that patented Weezer way: by being relentlessly singable, even when the lyrics don't quite make sense, and tight as a drum, even when the band seems about to lose it. 
Speaking of drums, Patrick Wilson is a monster behind the kit. Cuomo relies on his rhythm section, rounded out by new bassist Scott Shriner, to anchor Cuomo's melodic flights of fancy. The band's best trick on Maladroit is combining glam-rock riffs with doo-wop vocals -- "Keep Fishin' " starts with Bowie's "Jean Genie" shuffle, while "Take Control" nods at T. Rex's "Children of the Revolution." Wilson and Shriner maintain the tension as Cuomo's singing veers into woo-woo land. 
Solid musicianship allows for quick leaps across genres: ersatz jazz, punk and Southern boogie compete for attention within Weezer's base of power pop. "Possibilities" is the closest the album comes to a genre exercise, an ideal version of Cali beach-town hardcore. That little purist moment seems slightly odd, given that most of Maladroit is classic Weezer -- that is, every kind of rock at once. Sometimes even Cuomo needs a rest, apparently. But despite the damage his mood swings might inflict on him personally, it's hard not to hope that this professional Ritalin kid never learns to sit still.