Weezer's "Feels Like Summer" Is Solid Electropop

Weezer's "Feels Like Summer" Is Solid Electropop

The new track has been released ahead of The Black Album.

Hot on the heels of The White Album, Weezer has released a new single. It’s called “Feels Like Summer,” and more than a few people are pretty mad about it; gone is the power pop sound found on the band’s past two releases.

On “Back to the Shack,” the lead single from 2014’s Everything Will be Alright in the End, frontman Rivers Cuomo made a number of promises to weary fans: “Sorry guys, I didn’t realize that I needed you so much / I thought I’d get a new audience, I forgot that disco sucks.” He seemed to be through with genre experimentation, fully intent on returning to and sticking with the familiar alt-rock formula.

And for a short period, that was the case; The White Album, released last year, delivered on that promise. Its sunny lead single “King of the World” was and continues to be celebrated for its fresh take on the sound that they established on the Blue album way back in ‘94. “Thank God for Girls” had Rivers attempting some weird white-boy rap kind of thing, but ultimately, it was just as solid. Fans were relieved; this was what they’d wanted for years now. The old Weezer was back.

That contentedness didn’t last long, reverting to revulsion upon the release of “Feels Like Summer.” Go look at the music video’s YouTube comment thread - hundreds of commenters are voicing their distaste for the track. It makes sense - the song completely breaks the aforementioned promise that “Shack” made. Everyone - me included - was expecting more alt-rock goodness - this slickly produced, auto-tuned sound was a surprise. They haven’t sounded this electro-poppy since that infamous track, “Can’t Stop Partying,” on that equally infamous album, Raditude. That’s not to say it’s a bad song, though - unlike that garbage fire disaster, this song is competent.

Competently written, competently arranged, competently performed. It’s - dare I say it - a really great song. It easily could have been a flop, like so many of their previous endeavors in radio-friendly sounds have been, but it comes off as so much more confident, so much more self-assured. It’s primed for beach trip playlists, full of catchy, MGMT-esque hooks, and Rivers sounds uncharacteristically cool and cocky, if a bit aided by pitch-correcting software. So why the backlash? Perhaps all the negativity it’s getting stems from fear brought about by Raditude: oh no, they’ve done the pop thing before, and look how it turned out. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.

Is “Feels Like Summer” an indication of what The Black Album (as it’s reportedly called) will sound like? Maybe, but maybe not. “Thank God for Girls” was the first track released ahead of The White Album, and that led everyone to believe we were in for a post-Limp Bizkit Durstian rap-rock nightmare (thank God we weren’t). Rivers divulged his plans for The Black Album’s sound last year in an interview with NME: “I think it’s going to maybe be like Beach Boys gone bad,” he said. I can’t even begin to think about what “Beach Boys gone bad” would even sound like, but God, what a concept. The Black Album is slated to release sometime this summer.
Cover Image Credit: therock.net

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12 Signs You're Addicted To Grey's Anatomy


Oh, "Grey’s Anatomy." We have been through so much together. Through the years, we have taken on bombs, shooters, plane crashes, and everything in between. You have loyally stood by me even when I hated you for killing off my favorite characters, or making Merideth and Derek break up. I know that some people may read this and call me crazy, but the real Grey’s fandom can relate. We are the most dedicated group of people you will ever find, almost to the point of insanity…or definitely to the point of insanity. Thinking of diagnosing yourself with Grey's-o-mania? If you meet these 12 criteria, time to strap on your surgical mask and scrub in because you are addicted.

Disclaimer: Spoilers ahead!

1. It has made you want to become a surgeon.

You are lying if all of the drama and medical lingo hasn’t made you consider changing your major at least once.

2. It has also made you NOT want to become a surgeon.

...but then there is all of the blood and the long hours.

3. You compare every guy you meet to Derek Shepherd.

The biggest mystery in all of "Grey’s" is how Meredith took so long to put a ring on that?! I mean, c’mon girl.

4. Hearing the names “Lexie” or “George” may result in an emotional breakdown.

These deaths left us with an open wound that even Mark Sloan’s sutures couldn’t repair.

5. You feel personally attacked every time a character is killed off.

Please refer to #4.

6. You feel like you could actually perform neurosurgery.

I have watched Derek clip so many aneurisms, I could do it in my sleep. Hand me a scalpel and sign me up for a clinical trial, I am ready.

7. You even sat through the musical episode.

Owen Hunt singing around the OR? A little too awkward for most people.

8. Your iTunes library is filled with songs from the show.

“How To Save a Life” by The Fray brings on all kinds of new feels now.

9. The new interns have to prove themselves to you.

Every couple of seasons, they decide to throw us a new crop of interns. This fandom is just as tough as Dr. Bailey when we decide whether these characters have what it takes for "Grey’s Anatomy" though.

10. When a friend is sick, your first thought is to start chest compressions.

After 11 seasons, I am fully prepared for all medical situations. Push one of Epi! We need a crash cart!

11. You have an immediate bond with anyone who says they watch the show.

…Did we just become best friends?

12. You frequently ask yourself “what would Christina Yang do?”

No major decision should EVER be made without asking this first. Of all of the people who have left "Grey’s," her absence is the most strongly felt. No one can replace Christina Yang.

Cover Image Credit: www.eonline.com

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The Breath of Solitude

A Poem With A Prologue // Polar Viewpoints.



She smacks your parted lips,

sucking the dry,

open cracks to a seal.

Pumping energy into your chest

and sending a continuous shiver

from lung to navel.

You can't help but cough,

as your lungs tighten and twist.

Ringing the frosty sensation out –

slipping through your parted lips.

The same parted lips that

allowed her deliberate fingers

to crawl inside

where she can escape her own dimension

of solitude.

The Breath of Solitude

All I know

is solitude.

We chat

every day

in conversations that circulate

behind the backs

of the present.

Solitude grinds my coffee beans,

as we sit

with our legs crossed,

waiting for dawn

to explode over our opaque landscape.

Solitude runs my bath,


as the Sun crashes

against the diminishing horizon.

But none of this is reality.

I am above

the dimension of reality.

Not theoretically,

but physically.

I am only a tool

to be used in the dimension

of your reality.

Drifting in and out,

twirling through your negative space.

My only purpose

is found through your breath;

but what do I do

when you stop breathing?

I wait for your fingers,

less deliberate than mine,

but filled with that

that I lack.

I cannot see the blood

that sloshes through the veins

in your innocent hands.

The blood that energizes

those fingers

upon which I wait.

But I know

the blood is there.

It isn't

what you do.

It isn't

the way you move.

Simply put,

it is

the way

that you exist.

The sheer fact

that you have a bursting burgundy waterfall


not only through your fingers,

but engulfing all of you

in its rich,



The only waterfall

that I encompass

is the waterfall

that you imagine.

I have no blood;

I have no way to exist.

And so I

wait for your fingers,

less deliberate than mine,

but filled with that

that I lack.

I wait for your fingers

to filter the heat

to a state of regulation,

a state of production,

a state in which I can exist.

The peach fuzz

that sleeps on the bridge of your nose

begins to rise

when your fingers initiate the flame.

The temperature reacts,

as would my heartbeat,

if I had a bursting burgundy waterfall,

or some type of life source

inhabiting my chest cavity.

As the heat

starts to melt

my metaphorical skin,

I become reality.

I don't have a face to smile,

or eyes to produce tears.

But I have thoughts.

I have words to say,

I have feelings to express.

I still can only drift,

in and out,

twirling through your negative space,

but now spiraling

into your positive space,

as well.


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