Review

Beloved indie band’s third album gets the reissue treatment
Pavement leader Stephen Malkmus once suggested in an interview that Wowee Zowee was designed to be played on random-shuffle. That made sense — the sequencing of the band's third album was jarring, the vibe more where-do-we-go-from-here than slap-happy show-offy (as on 1992's Slanted & Enchanted) or sunshiny (1994's >Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain). All that beguiling screwiness requires repeat tackles before you penetrate its shell, which may have something to do with why Wowee Zowee is the kind of album that sounds exponentially better after you put it away for a while; after an extended absence, hearing songs that first sounded like throwaways is like running into someone you barely knew in school and winding up in conversation for an hour.

This album came at an odd time in Pavement's career. A year earlier, Crooked Rain had made them near-stars, getting them on Jay Leno and helping secure their position on the 1995 Lollapalooza tour. Pavement seemed unnerved by the whole thing. Cue the opening words of Wowee Zowee: "There is no castration fear." Then move on to the lead track's refrain, "We'll dance/But no one will dance with us," over a melancholy, dragging piano. Title of next song: "Rattled by the Rush." But Wowee Zowee carried less stardom-as-drag subtext than that one-two would make it seem. The real theme here is the shading of Crooked Rain's summer high into autumn. The scattered punky throwaways sound beefier, lived in, like fond recollections of a not-really-retrievable past; a few songs ("Extradition," "Father to a Sister of Thought") skirt close to alt-country. But for all the willful variety here, both of this album’s two best songs are sad: "Grounded," which strings a piercing guitar motif across an unexpectedly wrenching refrain ("Boys are dying on these streets"), and guitarist/singer Scott Kannberg's greatest-ever song, "Kennel District," which laments a missed opportunity: "Can't believe she's married to him... Why didn't I ask? Why didn't I?"

Wowee Zowee has long been the favorite album by many Pavement die-hards, so it’s appropriate that the Sordid Sentinels Edition is stuffed with cult bait. The goodies are the 1996 Pacific Trim EP, especially the seesawing "Gangsters & Pranksters," the funniest 90 seconds of Malkmus's career; the live-and-loose Australian show from July 7, 1994, broadcast on Wireless JJJ Radio; and "No More Kings," one of the few artifacts from the distinctly '90s craze of the tribute album (in this case, to Schoolhouse Rock) worth bothering with.

Finally: Still have trouble getting into the album’s original 18 songs? Here's a trick: program them in alphabetical order. Not only does "AT&T" lead off with a giddy-up (as opposed to "We Dance"'s stumble), the three that follow — "Best Friend's Arm," "Black Out" and "Brinx Job" — create the most exuberant Pavement album-opening sequence ever. Call it A-to-Zowee; it moves with an uncanny logic. Even if you love the album the way it is, it's a revelatory listen.