Even a superficial assessment of this album, from its pun on outmoded slang, to the red tracksuits donned by the band on the inner sleeve, prompts the conclusion that Weezer have failed to escape the 90s.

If the blatant nostalgia for a time when curtains referred to a hair style rather than drapery is self-knowing, retelling the same dweeby jokes that made their 1994 self-titled debut a cult hit, is decidedly facile coming from fully grown men. “There may come a day when we have nothing left to say”, Cuomo laments on the opening track: that day has long passed with songs such as ‘The Girl Got Hot and I’m Your Daddy’ now possessing the sinister edge of an excessively physical uncle.

Evoking high school parties and hormone rushes of first crushes, all of which one hopes are mere, mere memories for Cuomo and the gang, Raditude feels both inauthentic and infantile.