11/22/94
Pearl Jam's reluctance to embrace the role of rock music bellwether was either disingenuous or noble, depending on whoever was giving their opinion. Kurt Cobain's suicide only intensified these debates, revealing a surplus of insensitivity and naivete in the process.
I get both sides. Pearl Jam in '94 should have been acting like Shawn Kemp to the world's Alton Lister. Album number three should have dripped nut sweat. Instead, the vibes were thoroughly bogus, to the point that Stone Gossard seriously considered blowing the 'sicle stand and taking all the bomb pops. Quick, guess which member had to go to rehab? Least it wasn't for heroin.
"Last Exit"--Lithe guitar lines for the boy with the dirty chin to color outside.
"Spin the Black Circle"--Husker Du with vastly improved production. That's not anger…an intact vinyl record is incapable of provoking enmity. No, this is pure passion. The only thing greater than the fact that this hit the Billboard top 20 is the additional fact that it won a Grammy (an honor for which Mr. Vedder was exceedingly gracious).
"Not For You"--Now, this is pissed off. Pearl Jam refuses to let anyone else take ownership of their big jar.
To treat cat scratch influence, visit your nearest, unfriendliest alley, lift your shirt up and lie stomach down.
"Tremor Christ"--Good luck trying to overcome the Holy Ghost. It ain't heavy, it's just older and larger to boot…upside your head.
"Nothingman"--Existential dread meant something different in the '90s. You'd stare at a pair of jorts and disappear into an abyss where the only thing rarer than oxygen was hope.
"Nothingman" shimmers with gravitas befitting the subject matter: the value of reciprocated love. So no, not a nothing song.
"Whipping"--Up the bacteria-ridden forth of a komodo's mouth.
"Pry, To"--A 60-watter stuck in a fixture with a maximum limit of 40.
"Corduroy"--Rankled by fashion whores, the wind 'n' dust brothers accumulate righteous disgust and catapult it into the air, trusting it will land on a deserving target.
"Bugs"--Insects, insects everywhere. Probably since someone forgot to close the screen door properly. Damnit, y'all gotta remember to grab the knob and SLAM. Don't worry about the noise; I'll take heart palpitations over flies on the edge of my plate.
"Satan's Bed"--Devilish sleight of hand. Glass will break, nails will bend, and wood will rot. The band sounds like they spent the whole day thinking of ways to cheat at a piss test.
"Better Man"--Written by Vedder while still in high school. Kinda shows, kinda doesn't. Domestic violence is a topic that splits the world into have-hearts from the have-nots pretty quickly. Giving a damn has the potential to be disastrous. Not giving a damn will always be disastrous.
Would have been wonderful if the song had ended with the promise of a better woman. Wouldn't have been authentic, though.
"Aye Davanita"--Mantra for a flamingo.
Flamingos don't need mantras, motherfuckers!
"Immortality"--I distinctly remember dreading my tenth birthday. For some reason (or reasons) trampled underfoot by the relentless parade of time, I believed that no one younger than the age of ten ever died. Once a person reached double digits, they were no longer afforded the protection of this golden shield.
This song puts me back in the yard on West Side Avenue, running barefoot, lying on my back and reshaping the clouds. I was not yet ten and thus had no cause to fear the creatures that might be scurrying amid the blades of grass.
"Stupid Mop"--Distorted audio over distorted audio. As a Sonic Youth fan, my tolerance for musical experimentation is higher than normal. But my patience for palpable self-consciousness is thinner than graphene.
Pearl Jam threw it all in the pot and lamented the lack of a self-stirring spoon. This leads to moments of exceptional frustration and satisfaction. I'm not saying they didn't deserve any invective, but accusing Pearl Jam of dishonesty is just wrong.
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