Pavement

The announcement of the Pavement reunion way back in September of 2009 understandably sent musically minded twentysomethings the world over into delighted shock. It was surreal and wonderful that the rumors were finally true, and the timing seemed perfect—announced 10 years after the band’s messy breakup, and 20 years after they recorded those fuzzy first singles at Louder Than You Think in Stockton, California. Since the news dropped, it’s been a bewildering experience for fans—buying tickets for shows over a year away, internalizing the band’s amusing nonchalance toward the whole event in countless interviews, and, just last week, watching shaky handheld videos of the first reunion shows half a world away in New Zealand and Australia. Some signs of old age emerged—guitarist Scott Kannberg revealed on his blog that at their first show back, frontman Stephen Malkmus played “Here” instead of “The Hexx” because he didn’t have his glasses on—but for the most part, the band remains stunningly unchanged. Always known for their boyish, shambling charm, they seem similar to their former selves of 10 or even 15 year ago. Bob Nastanovich still stands tambourine in hand, Malkmus’ haircut is identical, Mark Ibolds’ basslines and pigeon-like qualities remain pronounced.

And yet much has transpired since 1999. For one thing, four of five Pavement albums have been reissued as two-disc behemoths to welcome effect by Matador, the band’s longtime record label. Each reissue has been an exquisite treasure trove, packed with beautiful artwork and liner notes, live tracks and rarities, and previously unreleased material. From EPs to Peel Sessions to the songs they recorded for Cartoon Network’s “Space Ghost Coast to Coast,” the reissues have witnessed Pavement at their funniest (“Harness Your Hopes”), their most spontaneous (“For Sale: The Preston School of Industry”) and their most heartfelt (“All My Friends”), serving as true testaments to Pavement’s prolific grandeur and limitless creativity.

All of this makes the new release of “Quarantine the Past”—Pavement’s first greatest hits album—so baffling. The very existence of a greatest hits album for this band—whose closest approximation of a hit was 1994’s “Cut Your Hair,” which peaked at the giddy height of 10 on the Billboard Alternative Chart—seems more or less unnecessary, but even when one accepts the notion, this particular collection of songs proves frustratingly off. Many classics make the cut, and the band certainly showcases its versatility, but the album is hurt by glaring omissions and more than a few strange and self-indulgent selections.

The assortment follows no chronological order and spans the entire length of their career, though it is—somewhat unsurprisingly—heavily weighted toward the catalog from 1992 through 1994. This emphasis on the early part of their career is not in itself problematic, but one marvels at the omission of, for instance, epic “Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain” opener “Silence Kid,” when five other songs from that album are featured, including the pretty but slight “Heaven is a Truck.” Likewise, though many songs from the pre-debut album EPs make a welcome appearance—some of which (“Box Elder,” “Frontwards,” “Debris Slide”) provide undeniable signs of the band’s future greatness—others, like the screechy “Mellow Jazz Docent” seem completely out of left field. And second EP “Demolition Plot J-7” is completely neglected, despite containing the most flawless of their early love songs, the fuzzed-out, propeller-laden “Perfect Depth.”

The only album that seems properly given its due is 1997’s “Brighten the Corners,” which is granted four inclusions: the yelping, joyous classic rock song “Stereo;” the winding, wistful “Shady Lane;” the schizophrenic, sped-up “Embassy Row;” and Kannberg’s second-best song, “Date with IKEA.” Pavement’s sedate final album, “Terror Twilight,” gets the short shrift with just one track. Ethereal pop song “Spit on a Stranger” is a solid choice, but some additional context—either in the form of piano-driven ballad “Major Leagues” or swan song “Carrot Rope”—would perhaps have been helpful.

The most egregious injustice, though, is the disc’s treatment of 1995’s controversial masterpiece “Wowee Zowee.” Though detractors label “Wowee” undiscerning and disjointed, it seems unlikely that many would advocate for the inclusion of just two of its tracks on a greatest hits album, especially if one of these is the vaguely unsettling, strings and synth-heavy “Fight this Generation.” Inexplicably, this is chosen to end the compilation, despite its resemblance to a horrible Verlaines parody, creepily swirling around itself without going much of anywhere.

But “Quarantine the Past” should be granted a certain degree of forgiveness; many of the songs do in fact define the band and speak for themselves. It’s difficult to argue with the sun-kissed slow burn of “Summer Babe [Winter Version],” the Stone Temple Pilots jokes in twangy road jam “Range Life,” or the eerie, escalating guitar solos in “Grounded.” But once Malkmus and co. move past the singles into less obvious selections, they prove misguided, opting to include things like their jokey tribute to R.E.M. (“Unseen Power of the Picket Fence”) in place of the many solid rarities that pepper their reissues. In light of their outstanding original releases, generous reissues, and exciting reunion, “Quarantine the Past” is a disappointment—a functional, but far from ideal, introduction to the 90s’ finest indie rock band.

—Staff writer Jessica R. Henderson can be reached at jhenders@fas.harvard.edu.