Manila Standard article - May 16, 1995

Print interview with Patrick Wilson
Publication	Manila Standard
Interviewee	Patrick Wilson
Interviewer	Bert B. Sulat Jr.
Date	May 16, 1995
Title	Patrick Wilson, Weezer Drummer
Sub-title	Long-Distance Rock Interview
Format	Print
External link	Archive via Google Books
References	See where this interview is referenced on Weezerpedia

Patrick Wilson, Weezer Drummer Author: Bert B. Sulat Jr. (Manila Standard) Published: May 16, 1995 MANILA time, 8 a.m. Los Angeles time, 5 p.m. In the Pearl of the Orient's capital city, this writer is already at the office, mounted behind his papers-populated desk, yet not anticipating his usual, nerve-wracking work. Today, he will be conducting a 30-minute phone interview. In the City of Angels, meanwhile, Patrick Wilson, drummer of the relatively popular band Weezer, is standing by, ready to gab with the designated pen man as soon as the representative of Geffen Records - the company which Weezer has made a little richer with its best-selling eponymous debut - makes the overseas connection. For the record label and perhaps the interviewee, this little morning exercise (for me, of course) is in line with promotional efforts for Weezer and Weezer. For the interviewer, it means having a subject practically land on your lap and making an article out of it - and, hoped with a gulp, pleasing the editor. But in the back of my mind and from the abyss of my heart, I was expecting more of a communion between creative souls, a bonding, if fleeting, between mutual fans of fun, kick-butt rock. Before I move further, perhaps a reader-friendly background should be in order. Weezer is an L.A.-based band which last year released its first album, produced by The Cars's[sic] Ric Ocasek and brimming with noise pop-rock numbers such as Undone - the Sweater Song and Buddy Holly, both of which became staples on radio and the music video circuit. Though these songs, and the entire 10-song album, may not have escalated into major hits here, they got good exposure and made many listeners of 'unusual music' (let's give 'alternative' a rest) feel that life's not that bad (even if the lyrics border on self-deprecation). Weezer are no influential, history-rewriting icons; at least not yet. At best, the group has done well with the ever-becoming pop culture practice of producing splendid work out of the amalgam of records or what-have-you one grew up with. (In Weezer's case, a collective nod to Kiss as affirmed by the track In the Garage.) I was notified by local Geffen distributor BMG Pilipinas last month of a possible interview with any Weezer member of my choice. The immediate choice would have been the lead singer, in this case Rivers Cuomo. But the vocalist-composer-guitarist-keyboardist has refused to do any more interviews (even Rolling Stone magazine was denied). Pick someone else, the non-tuxedoed suits said. The drummer in me then chose Wilson, who not only pounds the Weezer rhythms but also seemed like such a wacky chap from the magazine writeups[sic] and photos, and that slow-mo-to-the-max Undone video. Mr. Sensible? It's Pat "How are ya?" Wilson inquires with the low but friendly voice of someone lazing under a parasol by the sea. It turns out Wilson is in fact at home, lounging by the TV set under his own roof, taking advantage of a break from a gruelling[sic] world tour which will resume when Weezer hits Europe then the U.S. starting June. (He even digresses during our conversation to relate a news footage, of a guy in a motorcycle being chased by cops a la O.J. Simpson; the motordude ends up running into a Mercedes and lying on the ground.) Wilson is 26, married without children to a woman who "works in a coffee shop." ("Is she your first wife?" I asked on impulse. "Y-yeah," Wilson replied in amazed laughter.) Wilson's bandmates are also twenty-somethings - Pat, says Cuomo is 24, bassist Matt Sharp is 25, and guitarist Brian Bell is 26. "Weezer" is a childhood nickname of Cuomo's. "[We] all met here in L.A. in '92," Wilson recalls. "But we all came from different places." Wilson moved to Los Angeles from Buffalo, New York, in May 1990 after only one semester in a music college "because I thought, 'F--- it, I wanna be in a band.'" Earlier he got a load of whatever rock dosage can be had in Buffalo, including early Van Halen, Rush, Led Zeppelin, and The Clash, but grew fonder of the exquisitely skilled drummer of The Police, Stewart Copeland. ("You could call him my favorite," Wilson says.) Yet for all those rugged rhythms his ears devoured, Wilson considers the critically lamented Spirit of Eden of U.K.'s Talk Talk as his favorite album of all time. Wilson, if my notes serve me right, thinks Spirit is "way bigger" than anything else he has heard. The real deal, or just a way of dealing with the pesky question, "What's your favorite album?" Perks and pains Any rising star should meet the inevitable perks and pains that go with fame. What about Wilson? "No, Modern Drummer [magazine] hasn't talked to me yet," he nonchalantly notes. "The record label's publicist hasn't arranged it yet. But I really don't care whether I'm in a magazine or what. What matters is that being in a band is a lot of fun." If so, then how does he feel about Cuomo's apparent sensitivity towards publicity? "Rivers doesn't want to talk to the media because he's often misquoted. Personally, I don't care as long as [our playing] makes us money." Weezer's said-to-be-unexpected success was borne[sic] out of plain old persistence. "We've played millions of shows in [clubs in] L.A., Hollywood. Until we got a buzz, when we reached that point when people think you're cool, and then more people come out and see you." Record label A&Rs, or artist-&-repertoire executives, included. "We were seen by [representatives from] Caroline, Restless, Slash... But only Geffen was serious with us. The other labels thought, 'It's not your time yet.'" Geffen (as in David Geffen of that dream team which includes former Disney man Jeffrey Katzenberg and director Steven Spielberg) Records, which had already scored high with Guns N' Roses and Nirvana, signed Weezer early last year and the rest is rock 'n' roll glory. "We've been playing the songs [that ended up on the album] a thousand times before and we're already sick of them," Wilson says. "Maybe we wouldn't be into this if people weren't into them as they are now." How did Cars chief Ric Ocasek get into into the picture? At first, "We wanted to produce the record ourselves because we didn't feel like giving $50,000 to someone who'll just screw it up. Then we called Ric and he said yes." But there was a minor casualty along the way to the recording. The band's original second guitarist, Jason Cropper, left the band short of being kicked out because "he was an a------ in a way that the [other members] didn't like," Wilson explains. "But it's not like we've not been a------- either." Cuomo contacted Bell and the band went on. Meanwhile, Cropper, notes Wilson, is in a band called Chopper One and will have an album out soon. Wilson says Weezer does its live performances "like punk rock shows", only with helpings of good pop. A louder version of The Beatles's[sic] If I Fell has figured in many of Weezer's gigs. Right now, Wilson is into the albums of his peers in Portishead (check their Dummy out) and Built To Spill, but doesn't go to his colleagues's[sic] concerts, preferring to mostly hole up at his abode. Not that Wilson is resting on his sonic laurels. The man, who also sings (as he does on the album's Holiday) and plays guitars, is currently recording some original material by his lonesome. "I hate to think of it as a 'solo' project because it may sound like I have some agenda," he says. "I'm on my own on this right now, but I'm thinking of putting a band together. But I would like [the band] to be 'organic'. I'd hate to be the one guy telling people what to do." He adds, "I'd like to say that I'll be coming up with a band called Huge Guy (which Wilson pretty much is, figuratively and literally), and people won't like it because it will have cleaner guitars." So it won't sound like Weezer? "Hell, no," Wilson answers. But there will still be Weezer for Wilson and mates. "It's great to be in this band," he insists. "The good part is that it makes us money. The bad part is flying (during tours). I dread flying." Yet, whether he likes it or not, Pat Wilson is definitely, well, on his way up.

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