Pavement · 1995Wowee Zowee
These days, the albums of my youth feel less like nostalgia and more like a necessary act of rebellion against a culture obsessed with proteinmaxxing.
When I was 20 and worried about whether I’d ever attract a lady or land a job that paid more than minimum wage, I’d put on Pavement and go hang out with the cool kids.
These slacker kings defined ’90s lo-fi indie, and 1995’s Wowee Zowee is a reminder that being cool isn’t about virality. It’s about subtlety.
Who needs self-actualization when “Grounded” can turn any Tuesday afternoon into the best part of a mushroom trip, the very beginning, that slow build of warm anticipation guiding you to a higher plane?
And I can’t think of anything produced today as cryptically surreal as “Grave Architecture,” evolving from a tightly structured guitar opening into a full-on unhinged jam. Salvador Dalí couldn’t have done it better if he’d been a bored Gen Xer who started a band with his college buddies.
Sure, the album is all over the place, but that’s the point. It’s an unapologetic hodgepodge of styles that intentionally defies corporate expectations.
As a culture hijacked by the unholy alliance of jocks and nerds, we need Pavement more than ever. Wowee Zowee is kryptonite to the algorithms trying to steal our souls.