Pinkerton starts out slowly, and from the very first chord
the listener can tell that this album is far removed from the
sugary lyrics of Weezer's freshman effort. The pounding, driving
bass-line of "Tired of Sex" is oppressive, stifling -- the
overlaid, terribly out-of-character guitar solo feels like a
lifeline thrown to a drowning man. This album is indeed not a happy
one, and songs like "Buddy Holly" are a long way away.
The fuzz-tones of "Getchoo" lift us up a bit, but the theme of the album -- which has been well-documented elsewhere, and which I won't repeat -- is becoming more evident; paranoia, rejection, loss, and hopelessness creep. (Ok, perhaps I did repeat a bit.) These first few tracks aren't great, aren't standouts, but they do provide a consistent feel, characterized by solid musicianship.
The mechanical nature of the first half of the album starts to take over between "No Other One" and "Why Bother?" expanding on the rhythms of the disc-opener. (One would be remiss not to compare this to the act so despaired of in that disc-opener.)
The middle of the album is where the real meat, musically speaking, is found. "Across the Sea," "The Good Life" and "El Scorcho" are the standout tracks of the album, the ones that stand up to repeated listens, and most notably, listens out of context of the rest of the album. Clever bass-lines, catchy melodies, and good emotional resonance could make each one of these a successful single.
And from there, the album begins to descend. The final two tracks of the "album proper" are weak and somewhat ill-conceived, with some good melodies but otherwise lacking in emotional resonance. The final track I find to be the worst -- contrived, obvious, and unnecessary.
This album, when viewed as a whole, is certainly stronger than it has any right to be. The good portions, when viewed individually, comprise only a third of the music -- but in context, the album flows well, if a bit unevenly.