fountains

On Friday, in what will stand out as an absolute highlight of this summer, we went up to Summerfest to see Fountains of Wayne.

With some bands, you can remember the exact moment you fell in love with them. I was in my car one morning in the summer of 2003, listening to WXRT, hearing this mournful, minor keyed ballad with an understated baritone vocal. A haunting, clear toned guitar line with a gentle tremolo set the verses apart from each other. It really stood out from whatever else I was hearing at the time. One lyric just about caused me to pull over: “I saw you talkin’ / to Christopher Walken / on my TV screen.” It takes a rare kind of genius to put a reference like that into your song and not play it for a cheap laugh.

As usual, XRT was in front of it. “Stacy’s Mom” would go supernova a few weeks later in part thanks to the video, but by then I’d had the CD in constant rotation. Welcome Interstate Managers is their third album, and the only one that achieved any kind of commercial success. In my opinion, it’s the best album of the aughts. The first four songs, “Mexican Wine”, “Bright Future in Sales”, “Stacy’s Mom”, and “Hackensack” (the one above that Lin Brehmer introduced to me) is as strong an album start as I can think of.

Also as usual, I was late to the party with this band. Back in ‘96 when my band was on the road a lot, their debut album was in the rotation in the van. Tony and Devin were particularly fond of it, but for whatever reason it didn’t really speak to me, and I kind of dismissed the band as doing a novelty bit or something. It’s that same fine line about navigating some of the humorous and pop cultural references in the lyrics. That first album, at least then, didn’t land for me. But as is so often the case, once you discover you love a band, you can go back and hear their earlier work with new ears, and find what you missed the first time. My bandmates were right, which I’m sure they’ll be delighted to read.

A memory I tie very specifically to Welcome Interstate Managers is listening to it over and over as I prepared the spare room in our old house for Danny’s arrival the following spring. The tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs had devolved into junk storage, as any unused room in any house I inhabit will tend to do. The de-junking, painting, electrical work, window treatments, furniture assembly—that album was the soundtrack to all of it. I don’t know how much music is absorbed in utero, but if any is, it’s surely the music Danny heard first. My obsession with the record continued into the early years of his life, so he surely heard it in the car as I drove around that first year, trying desperately to get him to fall asleep in back.

They released two more albums of original material after that, both of which took me a little more time to appreciate. Turns out the making of them was fraught for all sorts of interpersonal reasons in the band, and you can hear it in the outcome. Not bad, surely, but maybe not easy. I love those later records, too, though it’s different. Throughout all that time, I had opportunities to see them live. But with little kids in the house, well, you know how that goes. There’s never time. FOW unoffically disbanded and went their separate ways in about 2013, and it seemed my chance was gone.

Adam Schlesinger, the co-founder, bassist, and one of the two principal songwriters¹ (along with lead vocalist Chris Collingwood) died from complications of Covid in April of 2020. Of all the incalculable losses during that hideous time, his passing hit me particularly hard. Remember that era specifically: thousands were dying in hospital hallways, the economy had shut down, there was no vaccine on the horizon, no effective treatments, and very little hope. We were celebrating children’s birthdays by driving past their homes and waving. To suffer the loss of this brilliant artist was almost more than I could take. It took a long time for me to get past it, and I spent plenty of time kicking my own ass for not working harder to go see Fountains of Wayne live when I had chances to do so.

We move ahead to this year. They announced a limited festival tour with Max Collins of Eve6 filling in on bass and background vocals, and Summerfest was on the list. I’ve had the Fourth of July circled on my calendar for months. That holiday used to mean a lot to me; not so much now. Finally, a thing to celebrate. So Sharon and I made the trip up there Friday, where we caught up with Tony and Dave, my own bandmates who’d been right about this band the whole time. Through some business connections, Dave scored us free admission and wristbands to get us up into a “VIP” area in front of the stage.

Can’t lie. I had some trepidation about it. This was a show I’ve been waiting to see for over twenty years, and a critical element was missing. Would it work? Could it possibly live up to my imagination and anticipation? I am thrilled to report that yes, it absolutely did. If I have any gripe, and this is the pinnacle of a First World Problem, it’s that we were so close to the stage that we really couldn’t hear Jody Porter’s guitar solos as clearly as I’d have wanted. He keeps his stage volume low and counts on the house PA to cover him.² But that was of minor concern. The band killed it, Chris sounded great, and Max, filling really big shoes, delivered a rock solid yet low profile performance. The set list was pretty close to exactly what I’d have drawn up for myself. Earlier in the tour, they were only playing songs from the first three albums, but they’re starting to venture into the other two.

It was cathartic. This year, while nothing like the agony of 2020, has been full of difficulty and heartbreak, too. I needed a win, and I got one.