YIELD
2/3/98
Musically speaking, the last three years of the 1990s sucked. Mainstream radio was clogged up with sexless R&B, uncalled-for country crossover tunes, fast-food hip hop and baby-butt Europop. Alternative acts were truly so again. The industry no longer looked to it for tips and tricks, for cues and cures, for shits and giggles.
Into such a decimated forest, Pearl Jam released what would turn out to be their last platinum-seller.
"Brain Of J"--The Jet City's take on the classic Scottish breakfast of grey milk and sterilized noodles. (Nothing beats Charm City's booster pack: scrambled eggs with crab meat and Tabasco sauce.) Each bite is a back slap, each swallow a promise to leave the house and stay gone awhile.
"Faithful"--More to the point, thoughtful. As in, full of thoughts. Maybe Pearl Jam couldn't save their fans from Michael Bay, but they could at least save them from Diane Warren.
"No Way"--Don't get sicker than you normally are, superstar. The cables are about to snap. Fortunately, the rescue team is bright-eyed and dry.
"Given To Fly"--A top 30 hit on the big ol' Billboard, and I'll be thrice damned to an eternity in Florida if I can remember hearing it all that much on rock radio. Irony is a song titled "Given To Fly" remaining stuck on the launchpad.
"Wishlist"--Wishlist in one hand, shitlist in the other, which is longer? Why are my success scenarios so preposterous and my revenge fantasies so rational?
These are the songs that re-establish focus. They function within an album context the same way a bathroom operates in the household context.
"Pilate"--Inspired by Mikhail Bulgakov's satirical novel The Master and Margarita, so the chorus sounding dumber than a Holocaust denier is lamentable. Verses are good, at least.
(Pilate's dog has a tag imprinted with a phone number and the words "Take me to the Pilate.")
"Do the Evolution"--Back to the bookshelf for more inspiration: Daniel Quinn's Ishmael, a novel about a philosophical, telepathic gorilla. Makes sense; Pearl Jam are doomed wanna-be world-improvers, acting out their predetermined roles in their predetermined story, protesting the pollution (thinking they're entitled to fresh air), wholly decent but holy shit, sometimes I wish I'd just never read a book or wrote a haiku. Just settled into that "18-5-300" life.
"Untitled"--AKA "The Color Red," "Red Dot," among others.
Guys like Vedder and Cobain meant the world to so many young people. Hip big brothers, smart, aware, clever and empathetic. They had the platform these kids craved/feared and they spent their elevation coins wisely. Adulation unchecked, though, leads to overexposure and a loss of agency. The progressive men retreat, to be replaced by the likes of Fred Durst.
"MFC"--I get a kick outta the guitar tone. My dream guitar tone is one that makes you disgusted and delighted at once. Like licking pussy juice off a gun barrel.
Maryland Fucking Crabfest. Mediocre Fried Chicken. Many Felicitous Curries. My Final Conclusion--a sauce-slathered, cotton-mouthed night at the local bar that is my basement.
"Low Light"--Sung with candied tongue. I miss the 90s. Or do I just miss being able to state with absolute certainty, "I'll never live through a worse president than Reagan."
"In Hiding"--My sophomore year of high school was almost my last year of high school. My grades were horrendous, and I missed over twenty days. The nadir had to be the day I spent hiding in the girls bathroom. After the first bell, I exited homeroom, walked into the nearest bathroom, entered a stall and just…sat there till the final bell rang. I was caught on my way out, and sentenced to detention.
Still a Top 3 most inexplicable thing I've done in life.
"Push Me, Pull Me"--Willy Wonka's bus ride, directed by Brett Ratner and starring Hugh Grant.
"All Those Yesterdays"--Tidy conclusion. Hah! "Tidy." Not normally a word I associate with days gone by. Accumulating all those yesterdays is a bad move; putting them under and slicing them open is the better course of action.
"There's still time."
Maybe.
Another impressive team effort.
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