"They say I need some Rogaine to put in my hair" sings Weezer frontman Rivers Cuomo on the song "Pork and Beans". Don't call it a lyric, call it the truth. Cuomo's ever-balding crown was quite noticeable at his band's Madison Square Garden show Wednesday, even from the stratospheric section. The man's pushing 40, and if you've listened to Weezer's latest LP, the Red Album, he's none too happy about it.

Sometimes though the best way for a rock star to combat the progression of manhood is to become something of a manchild - in this case, a manchild dressing in spaceman-like jumpsuits and jumping on trampolines. Perhaps it's an attempt at keeping an aging act alive? Or maybe it's a genuine foray into dorkdom? Either way, catchy songwriting helps to compliment this kind of physical display.The rest of the group, (bassist Scott Shriner, lead guitarist Brian Bell and drummer Pat Wilson) did their part by donning jumpsuits as well, while amplifying power-pop ditties about desperate memories, schoolboy confusion and wet dreams gone by. Behold - the Weezer way!

By and large, the fans seemed easy to please. Older, grunge-era fanatics (aka worshippers of the 1994 Blue Album, 1996's Pinkerton) played nice with younglings who probably skipped over the first three albums and loved everything from 2002's Maladroit onward. And despite Tom DeLonge's unnecessary guest appearance on the classic "Undone - The Sweater Song" (his band, Angels & Airwaves were the opening act), favorites like "Say it Ain't So", "Keep Fishin" and "Perfect Situation" made for some wonderfully kooky, rocked-out entertainment.

Memorable moments include rousing versions of Oasis' "Morning Glory" and Nirvana's "Sliver". The best though was when 30 New York City musicians took the stage to perform "Beverly Hills" - a thumpy ode to dreams of the good life. Cuomo clearly got a kick out of leading the hootenanny of trumpets, guitars, flutes and saxophones (hell, there had to be an accordion in there!).

And, yes, Cuomo enjoys his kicks often. Not just figurative ones that come from fronting a successful rock band, but literal ones that send cherry-red record players crashing to the stage floor towards the end of the set. The machine was spinning "Heart Songs", the Red Album's touching-yet-annoying nod to childhood idols (thus its destruction made some sense). Here's a guy slowly accepting the end of his youth; he'll just be damned if he's going to like it.