A local Top 40 radio station preferred by the data entry ladies in Keds recently held a ridiculous contest. Four lucky listeners had a shot at winning a Saturn Sedan. The pony- tailed DJs parked the four- door by the escalator rotunda in the newest mall in the suburban area, and all four slap- happy listeners had to live in the car, in the mall, for as long as possible. The contest cops allowed the listeners out from the boxy domestic once a day for an hour so they could wipe off with hot towels, defecate, and buy Cinnabons. Whichever listener could endure the lumbar pains the longest and outlast the others in this bucket- seat endurance would win the ride. The lure of the ten- grand, plastic, door- stop- shaped automobile drove these four people to live in the Saturn for nearly the length of a WNBA season.
After listening to Fountain of Wayne's mall- walking soundtrack, Utopia Parkway, I kept thinking back to those four contestants with comma- shaped spines trapped in the Saturn, where they usually set up Santa's Village. This entire album sounds like it was recorded by four white guys in a Saturn parked by the foodcourt. Nothing here exists outside of the world of sprinklers, sprinkles, and sport quenchers. This album is suburbia perfectly captured by four suburbanites with suburban sounds-- neon, sod, and concrete pressed into DAT plastic. Perhaps their accomplishment is to be commended, but then again... it's suburbia, and how banal is that?
I'm scratching my head trying to come up with new ways of saying "sugary sweet." There's been a glut of pure guitar pop recently, and not even my thesaurus can help. It seems like every young kid with a Fender has been buying a Beatles franchise recently, and shoveling out crisp Rubber Soul rip-offs. But out of the current batch of vended pop that's sitting on my review pile, this record's gum stuck least in my memory hairs.
To make sure the album ages badly, Fountains of Wayne throw in silly pop culture references such as "the guy from Korn" and Pink Floyd laser- shows, which wouldn't be so bad if it was done with any sense of lyrical ingenuity. I mean, I'll take Pavement's "What about the voice of Geddy Lee..." over "the guy from Korn" any day.
One of Utopia Parkway's highlights is a well- acted ballad about Senior Prom that would break Seth Green's heart. It's a nice song and all, but I can't help hearing it playing over the slow- dance scene in "She's All That 2: A Bag of Chips." If an album could ever be accused of being too nice, this would be it. Nothing offends. No sound feels out of place. No vocal is out of harmony. And you know what? It's boring. Move to the city or the woods.
