The Sequel To Your Life

Oh, wow: Pavement, the namesake of this blog, is reuniting! Every music Web site made a gigantic deal of it earlier this week as the news trickled, while, true to form, Pavement and its longtime label, Matador, shrugged their shoulders.

Pavement is easily the band at the top of my list of ones I've yet to see in concert. They've only announced two shows so far, for Sept. 21 and 22, 2010, in Central Park. But should they come to Boston for a tour, I'll do my best to be there. (A new classmate and I were joking Wednesday about how ridiculous it is to have tickets go on sale more than a year in advance of a show, but the first and only one on sale so far sold out after two minutes. I suppose indie-rock kids can plan 12 months in advance, as the Times wondered this morning.)

Since the Pixies reunited for the failed 2004 Lollapalooza tour to lucrative excitement (the tour's failure wasn't their fault), countless critically loved, commercially overlooked bands from the 1980s and early 1990s have done the same. As is the case with all art, time creates fondness, and it certainly helps when your former 20-something fans are now at least in their late-30s, with higher salaries. Dinosaur Jr., the Feelies and Mission of Burma quickly come to mind as other examples. Hand in hand with the phenomenon is one, largely driven by the All Tomorrow's Parties festivals, where popular indie bands perform their trademark record, first song to last, live.

In art, the pinnacle of one's career is so much more glaringly obvious than anywhere else (though maybe that's only the case because an artist's career is public and, say, an accountant's, isn't). I suppose that's because good art takes such effort to produce, meaning only the highest echelon can do it for more than a brief period of time, and even they have missteps too.

It's understandable why fans want to dwell on the pinnacle -- who wants to listen to/read/watch something bad? But the moment an artist steps back and performs a 10-year-old record note for note, front to back, hasn't he also admitted that his best moments are in the past, at least for now? Why this phenomenon of reliving the past is so much more prevalent in rock confuses me. I don't think Philip Roth is going to announce a book tour where he'll read "Portnoy's Complaint" anytime soon, so why rock and roll?

My good friend, who says choosing your favorite Pavement record is like choosing your favorite child, e-mailed to say he hopes they don't make another album. He's probably right, considering their oeuvre is untouchable and peerless. But, then, what's so bad about them making another record, so they don't only re-live the past and acknowledge it's better than what there is now?

Anyway, to the good times: The video to "Shady Lane," directed by Spike Jonze, from which this post's title takes its name, is above.