It wasn’t Adam Schlesinger or Chris Collingwood’s idea to name their band Fountains of Wayne. It was Schlesinger’s mom who made the suggestion.

But the duo of prospective songwriters had plenty of reason to pick themselves a handle and move on with things. Collingwood and Schlesinger met while literally playing guitar on opposite ends of a building’s roof at William’s College in Massachusetts, where the two attended school.

Playing shows under names like Are You My Mother?, Woolly Mammoth and Three Men Who When Standing Side By Side Have A Wing Span Of Over Twelve Feet, the two eventually settled on the Wallflowers, a name Jacob Dylan quickly purchased from them.

Finally, Schlesinger’s mother attempted to contribute her two cents of pop know-how to the band, recommending they adopt the name of a Wayne, N.J., lawn-bauble store. Schlesinger called the idea “too horrible to resist.”

Before they had a name, Fountains of Wayne already had an album. A weekend of hanging around playing guitar quickly turned into a hefty first album. Releasing the album on Schlesinger’s Scratchie Records label (which he founded with Smashing Pumpkins’ James Iha and D’Arcy), FoW was quickly on its way.

The first single, “Radiation Vibe,” met with strong college airplay. The song sported infectious hooks, lots of ’70s wah-pedal swishing and a healthy dose of post-punk irony.

With the single came moderate MTV airplay and requests to tour. Since FoW was only two people in the studio, new members had to be found. Schlesinger drew from a deep well of talented associates, eventually adding drummer Brian Young (The Posies) and guitarist Jody Porter (Belltower) to the fold. The newly completed FoW headed out on the road, first with The Lemonheads and then with Smashing Pumpkins.

It was at about this point that, by what Schlesinger regards as dumb luck, “That Thing You Do” was selected from a plethora of demos to become the cornerstone of Tom Hanks’ nostalgic ’60s send-up of the same name.

The song won Schlesinger extended radio play and nominations for an Oscar and a Golden Globe. Furthermore, it solidified his reputation as a renaissance man in a volatile industry.

Following up “Radiation Vibe” with the even catchier “Sink to the Bottom,” FoW helped pack stadiums around the country, but quickly began to fade away from the limelight.

Perhaps to the relief of interviewers, interrogations of the sarcastic musicians decreased in quantity. Journalists never could get a straight answer. When asked the meaning of “Radiation Vibe,” Collingwood responded by saying, “God, why do people keep asking us this question? I think it’s pretty obvious. It’s about this guy who plays pinball, but he’s deaf, dumb and blind.”

When asked what they were trying to say, Schlesinger shot back, “Stay in school, don’t sniff glue because you can get your nose all stuck together.”

Regardless of the band’s message, FoW crafted a wonderful little red album, and the singles aren’t the only worthy tracks. The most arresting song is the two-minute sugar rush of “Survival Car,” in which Collingwood entices the listener to come along: “Don’t you wanna ride in my / Survival car / We can take the long way home / through Central Park.”

“I’ve Got a Flair” could just as well be about the style of pop FoW peddles as a relationship, with lines like, “I’ve got a flair / for pulling your hair / and making you crazy / oh yeah, it’s something I do well,” and “Joe Rey” criticizes the hipsters of the time, declaring “I can’t understand / why he’s so in demand,” and, “He’s cool / cooler than I am.”

Despite strength of the group’s debut, FoW seemed quickly forgotten by the record industry, and for a while its members returned to their original projects. Schlesinger reassumed bass duty for Ivy, and Collingwood turned toward songwriting.

The year 1999 saw the release of a second album. While Utopia Parkway made a number of critical top-10 lists, it failed to inspire the same level of enthusiasm from radio stations.

Although it sported the requisite radio-friendly track (“Denise”), Utopia Parkway had more craft and better production value than its predecessor. The album’s breadth is greater than the band’s self-title, and as a result it is less immediately accessible.

While Fountains of Wayne was basically one genre, Utopia Parkway hops from here to there, one minute rocking (“Denise,” “It Must Be Summer,” “Lost In Space”) and the next lethargic and soothing (“Prom Theme,” “A Fine Day For A Parade,” “The Senator’s Daughter”).

The album’s scope and car-related concept (which Collingwood and Schlesinger dub “accidental”) are integral to an appreciation of the work as a whole. “Hat and Feet” exudes a kind of ’70s cool, a breathless Collingwood intoning, “I’m just a hat and feet / that’s all that’s left of me / just a mark on the sidewalk / a stain on the street.”

Others display a hard-to-date suburban enthusiasm for commerce and flashy shows. “Laser Show” is an ode to planetariums, and “Valley of the Malls” is about bargain hunters trapped in a traffic jam.

Either album is a worthy investment, and both are widely available used. Whether the listener is a pop fanatic or skews toward a slightly stranger demographic, Fountains of Wayne has something to offer. If you’ve been wishing for something a little less maudlin, then perhaps FoW’s “lighten up, loser” mentality will suit you.

Demos and video are available at the band’s site www.fountainsofwayne.com — Fountains of Wayne will also be releasing a new album, Welcome Interstate Managers, tentatively scheduled for a June 3, 2003 release.