Search recent issues

Review info
• About us
• Subscriptions
• Advertising

By Jim Casteleiro

I first heard Ween when I was working in upstate New York last summer. I had accidentally walked in on one of my co-workers, a 5’8’’, 100-pound, 28-year-old named Walt, standing in the middle of his room in his boxer-briefs, air guitaring and singing along to “Ocean Man.”

Ween’s music made me feel like I was eating Doritos and drinking Pepsi in a room full of stale cigarette smoke, decrepit furniture and a threadbare carpet with patches of splintery wood floor showing through. The songs sounded almost as though Gene and Dean Ween were trying to write bad music, but ended up writing catchy tunes instead. Their live performance had a similar vibe.

As Ween took the stage at Phantasy in Cleveland, I was first struck with the band’s appearance. Singer Gene Ween looked like Jerry Seinfeld’s recovering crack addict brother, and guitarist Dean reminded me of the asshole jock from ’80s teen movies who gets his comeuppance in the end. Bassist Dave Dreiwitz looks like a middle school science teacher in the worst way, and the icing on the cake is drummer Claude Coleman Jr., a muscular, tattooed black man. They’re ugly, discordant and not cool in the most uncool way.

Gene and Dean’s hatred for touring (and the twenty-plus years of pot, pills and booze that have clearly taken their toll,) added up to a slow start for the show. While Dean did his best to look and act like an ’80s rock star on guitar, I doubted his sincerity at times; he gave me the impression that he was faking it until it became real. At the same time, Gene had a distant look in his eyes and sang through the set list like it was chore. An empty “Swinging My Dick in the Wind” left me feeling like another night in A-level would have been a better use for my evening. However, when they played the instrumental “Tear For Eddy,” Ween hit their stride and the next two hours were amazing.

It should not be overlooked that Ween is solid musically. The riffs of Dean, which at first sounded random, later made sense as the only solos that could fit. This wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as the rhythm section (bassist Dave Dreiwitz, keyboardist Glenn McClelland and drummer Coleman) lay down such a solid groove that just about anything would sound good over it.

While the songs would probably sound awful if anyone else played them, one gets the feeling that Gene and Dean aren’t very nice people, Ween finesses their dissonant changes, awkward melodies and rough personalities into something almost beautiful.

After playing “The AIDS Song” and closing out the first set with “Buenos Tardes Amigo,” it was clear that this would be a show to remember. Next time they’re close by, check them out. For better or for worse, there’s nothing else quite like Ween.