Stephen Malkmus, formally known as SM, formally known as that tall, skinny guy who knows more neat metal guitar riffs than anyone in Stockton, Calif., was the leader by default of Amerindie's greatest band, Pavement, which called it quits last fall after a year of waffling.

A lot of people think Amerindie died the moment Liz Phair appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone, but Pavement kept the banner flying for the rest of the '90s without making a fuss about it. The band's most convincing claim to true independence was its lack of a clearly defined band identity, which is easy to maintain when your members are scattered all over the U.S.

Matador Records liked to credit Pavement's output of consistently high-quality product to its "musical brain trust," a phrase that is so un-indie as to be practically Republican. No, Pavement was great because none of its members, Malkmus included, ever acted as if they had a stake in what they were doing. They were intelligent and passionate about things other than music (poetry, horse racing), and in the final analysis, the rightness of the band's break-apart melodies and slapstick lyrics did not spring from inspiration but from happy accidents. For whatever reason -- collective temperament, most likely -- Pavement was able to make the happy accident occur over and over again.