By 2000, Pinkerton had slowly transformed from unmitigated disaster to cult classic, and so Weezer regrouped to take advantage of their new-found popularity. However, instead of trying to capitalize on the recent reassessment of their sophomore record, Weezer decided to try and pretend that Pinkerton didn’t exist by making an album that was as much of a copy of their self-titled blue album as possible.

Their third album was also going to be self-titled (leading to the color-coding of Weezer albums), also produced by Ric Ocasek, also, run less than half-an-hour, also feature ten fun, catchy songs, and also have a bunch of cute, gimmicky music videos. And as a result, the green Weezer album reignited their career in terrific fashion, making Pinkerton seem like even more of a fluke. It was a big hit, but somehow didn’t engender nearly the love and devotion that the first, blue Weezer album did. It didn’t seem nearly as sincere or passionate or personal. It felt a little more contrived. A delibarate attempt to recapture the old days, but something was still missing. Of course, a lot of fans were just hurt because of all the mean things Rivers was saying about their now-beloved Pinkerton.

These fans were really pinning their hopes on the next record to redeem their faith. These same fans would continue to do that, eagerly awaiting each new release, and ultimately being eventually disappointed, from here on out through the entirety of Weezer’s career.

Album number four sounded promising. It was going to have an actual title, Maladroit, one long obscure word. It was going to be self-produced, like Pinkerton. It was going to be the first Weezer record to have more than ten songs. Heck, Rivers even grew out his beard again. But the resultant album felt like even more of a pale imitation than the green Weezer album. Sure, there were hits like Dope Nose and fun videos like the Muppet Show-inspired Keep Fishin’. But this wasn’t what fans wanted. Fans wanted more Pinkerton. And seemed like Weezer (especially Rivers) just wanted more fans – and not these die-hard Pinkerton cultists.

This led to another break for the band, though not nearly as long as the one from 1994 to 2000. When Weezer re-emerged, they had enlisted Rick Rubin, one of the hottest producers at the time, to helm what was initally teased to be called the black album, but ended up being Make Believe. Lots and lots of songs were recorded and discarded during the making of this record, which made the actual selection of songs on the finished product seem that much more curious. If they recorded hundreds of tunes, why did they end up picking these?

Sure it boasted their biggest single to date, Beverly Hills; a track that still inspires much division amongst the Weezer fanbase. It is an undeniably catchy song. It is also super popular. But the lyrics are not only vain and shallow, but seem to be celebrating the vain and shallow and making fun of all of those who looked like Buddy Holly and were initially supportive of the band. It almost felt like a betrayal of their hardcore base in order to sell-out. And what was even worse is that it worked. Again we had the usual fun, goofy videos making huge hits out of the dumb, stupid singles. The hardcore believers were being outnumbered by the legions of casual fans. It was war!