You’ve loved this artist for years. They put out consistently great music. What happens when their newest release doesn’t hold up?
Story by Carys Anderson
Sleater-Kinney. Photo courtesy of Suki Dhanda, The Observer
Last year, Saturday Night Live unveiled a sketch simply titled “Weezer.” In it, Kenan Thompson, Leslie Jones, Beck Bennett, Heidi Gardner, Cecily Strong and host Matt Damon enjoy a couples dinner, a common setup for the comedy show. As usual, a normal evening devolved into an incredibly odd and irrelevant argument between two characters. The debate of this occasion? Whether or not Weezer fell off.
“Weezer” SNL Skit. Photo courtesy of NBC
Jones’ character represents the camp that believes Weezer stopped being a good band after Pinkerton, their second album, whereas Damon’s character declares himself “ride or die,” going up to bat for each of their less-beloved releases. Both characters become increasingly upset and aggressive in their arguments. “No offense, but burn in hell,” says Damon at one point when Jones disses a later album. Jones breaks a glass in her hands in response.
It’s a hilariously niche and seemingly unrealistic debate, one you especially wouldn’t expect to air on such a popular television show. But music obsessives like myself have been arguing about whether or not long-running bands are still good since the dawn of time.
As artists realize that nostalgia sells, the 21st century has seen a revival of bands that first made a name for themselves in the 1980s and ‘90s. The Pixies, for example, remained a pretty underground indie band during their original run, but after the alternative boom that followed Nirvana, the style that Kurt Cobain admittedly ripped off from the Pixies was mainstream. When they finally reunited in 2004, they were finally met with the widespread adoration their original fans always thought they deserved. Sleater-Kinney was famously titled the “best rock band in America” by Greil Marcus in TIME in 2001, releasing seven critically acclaimed albums during their original run before returning with another esteemed record in 2015. At the same time, the current mainstream emphasis on pop and hip-hop music has left rock bands from this era — the last time the genre dominated the airwaves — to represent rock to the mainstream. From the ashes of Nirvana, for example, Dave Grohl shocked the world when he released the first Foo Fighters record. The entirely self-recorded album showed he could not only play drums, he could play everything, and write songs too. Foo Fighters are one of the biggest stadium bands around today, and they’ve never broken up.
But what happens when artists we revere release music that isn’t so groundbreaking? Pixies have released three albums since their reunion with only the latest, this year’s Beneath the Eyrie, receiving a decent review (writing for Pitchfork, Evan Rytlewski calls it “pleasant, undemanding, and completely respectable” while wondering how the expectations for a new Pixies album could “ever sink so low”). Foo Fighters have long been written off as “dad rock,” a band that would rather churn out agreeable radio hits than anything challenging or innovative. And Sleater-Kinney, for the first time, released an album to only receive mixed reviews;: 2019’s The Center Won’t Hold was a new wave departure for the punk band, and the jury’s still out as to whether the risk paid off. The sound was so polarizing that even their longtime drummer, Janet Weiss, left the band before they could tour behind it.
As fans, how are we to respond to such a decline in quality? Is it even fair to call it a decline? Music is subjective, after all. After years of devotion to an artist, loving music that is undeniably great, one may feel forced to like their latest release, especially if time has left them with something to prove. Plus, the music isn’t made for us, it’s made for the artist. Shouldn’t we respect artistic risks and changes?
It’s easy to fall into the “ride or die” ethos that Damon’s character exhibits in that Weezer sketch. (tThis writer is a huge Dave Grohl dad rock apologist, for example). You start to rationalize stagnation. People say you have to suffer for your art, and a lot of these artists aren’t suffering anymore; they’ve got the money to live comfortably and they’ve matured past the youthful rebelliousness that fueled their early work. It makes sense that music written decades into a career doesn’t have the same punch, and it seems cruel to penalize artists for achieving contentment.
Maybe the only thing we can do is maintain our critical ears. Blind support is not a requirement of fandom, but subjectivity is what makes art special. Maybe not everything has to be groundbreaking and innovative. Maybe something just sounds good. Every Foo Fighters album has exciting songs beyond the singles, and Beneath the Eyrie at least has those catchy bass lines and surf guitars you come to expect from the Pixies. As for Sleater-Kinney, this isn’t the first time they’ve changed their sound. Compare the Led Zeppelin-esque noise guitar interludes of The Woods (2005) to the short, sweet and punchy tunes on Dig Me Out (1997), or even that album to the quiet and contemplative riffing on The Hot Rock (1999). There’s something for everyone.
I’m still striving to find a middle ground in the debate that Jones and Damon represented on SNL. It’s disappointing when a cherished artist no longer meets whatever idealized expectations we create, but if you’re not digging a new release, just remember: there’s always the next record.
