Fountains of Wayne
Welcome Interstate Managers
(S-Curve/Virgin)

There's a well-established market for the bottled, concentrated, musical essence of summer. The Beach Boys may still (and always) reign like Coca-Cola, but Fountains of Wayne gamely picks up where the masters left off.

The New York-based quartet nailed the fair-weather sounds of the tri-State area with its second release, Utopia Parkway. For those lucky enough to get caught up in the gossamer tentacles of such pop creatures as "It Must Be Summer," "Fine Day for a Parade" and "Senator's Daughter," FoW didn't just evoke summer, it was an intrinsic part of the experience.

Welcome Interstate Managers mines the vein Utopia Parkway struck. Like good short stories, its tracks are colorful freeze-frames in the lives of vivid characters. A superstructure of guitar pop supports crisp lyrics, propelling the album's tracks forward at a breakneck pace, sweeping the listener forward on a surging, white-water rush of melody and harmony. The songs are sweet like ripe fruit — this is not a hard album to connect with. It's a good sign when an album has you singing along by the second track; it's even more noteworthy when track five has you spinning through the kitchen with your girlfriend, the two of you dancing like high-schoolers to an irresistible melody.

But dancing like a puppet on its strings to conventional pop can make a listener feel slightly dirty afterward. When the songs end, you've experienced nothing that you haven't heard Jewel or George Michael tell you a hundred times before. But the good stuff is a musical photo album of lives that you just can't shake off. Hell, think about the first time you heard Thriller or Abbey Road.

Welcome Interstate Managers channels those albums' legacy. Carved into the glittering surface of its obsessively polished pop jewels are the biographies of horny schoolkids, laid-off airline pilots, aspiring salesmen reeling from scotch and soda — in short, credible characters sculpted with music.

Though the whole album is melodically delicious, it changes dramatically in style from start to finish, opening with two irresistibly poppy guitar-laded pieces before diversifying. "Valley Winter Song's" jangly sweetness is distinct from the funky, Simon and Garfunkelesque "Hey Julie"; likewise the New Wave-tinged "Stacey's Mom" (which feels like a tongue-in-cheek homage to The Graduate) stands out from "Yours and Mine," a stripped-down Sunday-morning tribute built out of light acoustic guitar and vocals.

The lyrics are crisp and clean, lending the whole album comprehensibility (and singalongability). The deeply misguided but hilariously enthusiastic protaganist of "Stacy's Mom" is painted sympathetically, but with a large dollop of humor:

Stacey's mom has got it going on
Stacey's mom has got it going on
Stacey, do you remember when I mowed your lawn?
(mowed your lawn)
Your mom came out with just a towel on
(a towel on)
I can tell she liked me from the way she stared
(from the way she stared)
And from the way she said:
'You missed a spot over there'
(a spot over there)

With its range and depth, you can't help but root for Welcome Interstate Managers to succeed. Fortunately, the disc is steroid-pumped with sticky hooks and sweet charges of melody — like cotton candy at the state fair, it should be snapped up, and fast.

— James Norton (jrnorton@flakmag.com)