I Found Something Avocado Can't Improve

PEARL JAM
5/2/2006

Four years. Four years to reflect on what they did.

Ballyhooed as a "back to basics" record, huh. Let's re-open the case.

"Life Wasted"--Indeed. I appreciate the tumult, sirs.

If you waste, say, 75% of your life, does that automatically make your entire life wasted?

"World Wide Suicide"--A 2005 USA Today poll named Pearl Jam the greatest American rock band…ever. Although I'll never agree with any part of the preceding sentence, songs like this here piece of pure delectation showed the jar had some life inside.

"Comatose"--Gives me the Master P face, only not in the "just heard a Mia X verse" way, more the "just heard a Silkk the Shocker verse" way.

"Severed Hand"--Of a mere mortal, sadly.

"Marker in the Sand"--Body of a sandpiper! Appetite of a vulture! I rather enjoy religious assaults that recognize the overarching tragedy.

"Parachutes"--Mike swore he'd fill it in later, damn him.

"Unemployable"--Pretty good for a 21st-century R.E.M. tune.

"Big Wave"--Keep it off mine, pal.

"Going"--A single destined to die alone.

"Wasted Reprise"--Hey Pearl Jam…you have five fathers! All your noodles are elbow macaroni!

"Army Reserve"--Infamous for lyrics co-written by Damien Echols (the most prominent of the West Memphis Three). The true crime buff in me could go on about that particular case, but no, music is paramount here. The title fits. This is a post-battle track, when the overhead reports are still rattling soldier skulls.

"Come Back"--Nope. Eddie, buddy, here's why people dog on your racket-gang or more often just sic themselves on you alone. It's not simply that you're the member of the band that anyone knows--his voice has a Q rating higher than most politicians--it's the complacency. I'm not saying the songs have to be re-writes of your favorite SST bands while you yell like a man with abdominal distension. I'm just saying that begin a diligent referee is no longer enough.

"Inside Job"--Pearl Jam isn't worse than Riot Act. Nor is it as bad. "Inside Job" ensures.

The interior is a hospital waiting room. The job is to deliver the bad news in the flattest tone of voice possible. No doctor or nurse should take seven minutes to do so, but for a band that's acceptable. Tremendous solo at the end.



Had this been as creatively inert as its predecessor, I would have been sharing "Make Pearl Jam Call It Quits" petitions on Internet forums.

And No One Showed Up

RIOT ACT
11/12/2002

Let's just do this.

"Can't Keep"--First song transports me back to that stupid bedroom, those soul-deadening beige walls. How in hell did I get through my adolescence without opening an artery.

"Save You"--Eddie's not interested. Interest scares off syllables. Snottiness can be dealt with by han, anyway.

"Love Boat Captain"--A dedication to nine friends never met. Rest well to each and every one of them. They deserved better than that. Also, they deserved better than this. Dreadfully aimless and references the worst-ever Beatles song.

"Cropduster"--Great, a party where every attendee is feigning inebriation.

"Ghost"--"The TV, she talks to me." We're assigning genders to machines that aren't cars, now? Go head-butt a beehive. I remember when PJ songs weren't bogged down by their guitar solos. When the electric guitar sounded, gasp, electrifying.

Welcome to the 1919 World Series. Matt Cameron will be playing the role of Shoeless Joe.

"I Am Fine"--Waltzfoot Killah.

"Thumbing My Way"--Real men use their pinky.

"You Are"--Pearl Jam are now a Soundgarden tribute band who fuel up with Schlitz and egg sandwiches.

"Get Right"--Or get your slime-covered ass left.

"Green Disease"--Speak of the Hulk. Old Hat? Nah. New wave naked, save for the grass-colored flag. For the first time on Riot Act, the band are intercommunicating.

"Help Help"--Drowning man, everybody out of the water! Riot Act is now a Soundgarden album written entirely by Ben and Matt.

"Bush Leaguer"--A slovenly attempt at a protest song. Time's been pretty kind to the Bushes, I'd argue. Don't misunderstand, both Daddy and Sonny were vile. Still, I'd rather the country be run by the uncle I only ever see at Thanksgiving who talks with bone-chilling calm about how America needs to return to mid-20th century values than the one who's going to pull out a knife and gut me before the pumpkin pie's even been served.

"1-2-Full"--Gin Blossoms show. At a state fair. Toadies opening. Next to the pig pen, next to the Juggalo couple sharing fried ice cream.

"Arc"--Oh I get it, this is one of them civilized riots.

"All Or None"--Nice try, Stone, but that solo is too little too late. Instead of listening to this redo of "The Rainbow Connection," check out instead the Muppet version of "Smells Like Teen Spirit." I mean it ain't great, but it ain't this.



With Riot Act, Pearl Jam went from feeling ill-at-ease with fame to feeling ill-at-ease with existence. Time's passage has only made the songs more austere and sterile. I will weld my right arm to my left thigh before I listen to this album again.

Ear Ye

BINAURAL
5/16/2000

I'm a "bad news first" type gal, so: Mike McCready had to re-enter rehab. Shit, no. The good news: Matt Cameron is their new drummer. Shit, yes. Matt's one of those musicians who's much too talented to go without a high profile gig for over a year.

"Breakerfall"--Hate's less taxing than love--at first. Rage beats a body up, while veggies help us play. So go ahead and devour a big ol' steak whilst ranting about how diversity is ruining your life; if you took the time and made the effort, you might one day come to love Brussel sprouts almost as much as you love democracy.

"God's Dice"--Wasting time is even less forgivable than wasting food. Unless you can show me a store that sells fresh time. (And don't be a smart-ass and say "watch shop.")

Words follow one another with picnic baskets. The blankets are pre-laid and monochrome.

"Evacuation"--Straight on…for you. Wilson Lessons are well-learned in Seattle.

"Light Years"--Eddie's impression of Chris Cornell's impression of Neil Young in the morning. Not bad. Holds peak appeal to folks whose relationship milestones all somehow involve Wal-Mart.

"Nothing As It Seems"--Stare at recovered ship wreckage long enough, you're bound to get drowsy. Fascinating at old currency and cracked bowls can be, sleep is the cousin of death. So, catch the mood. Beach first, then shipwreck museum. Otherwise you'll be splayed out on the Maryland flag beach towel, snoring as the seagulls pick at your feet, forgetting to reapply lotion, and waking up feeling even worse than you look. Which, for the record, is like an embarrassed tomato.

"Thin Air"--A love song for people who love songs.

"Insignificance"--Lowlife on the high seas. Location matters. The crew gifted their captain a bitchin' map.

"Of The Girl"--Speaking of Heart, their 80s output is pretty shaky, I won't deny. "There's the Girl" is pretty stellar for synth trash, though.

Speaking of Eddie Vedder, he's still dedicated to representing the gender he ain't. Weak men and the weaker women they attack against all odds. The music, like the arguments, is behind the walls.

"Grievance"--Rich man poor man, every man's got a grievance. Technology is the devil, which isn't good enough reason to shred your throat.

"Rival"--Gives me the leapy nerves. I don't want the leapy nerves.

"Sleight of Hand"--Dynamism is so early 90s.

"Soon Forget"--Ukulele?! The most execrable of all the stringed instruments?!

The women in Pearl Jam songs are lovelorn and indecisive. The men are addled and miserable. They trust no bitch, but are fool enough to trust a man or two.

"Parting Ways"--A string section provides instant transparent pathos.

A woman and a man, together. Are they egg rolls or pancakes? Considering the source--pancakes.



Gee, thanks for the sonic equivalent of sipping faucet water, guys.

Eve Of Reduction

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.

Medium Heat

NO CODE
8/27/96

Fatigued, not defeated.

The disenchantment with the business of being in a band couldn't overpower the love for the music. That's corny, yet true. Neil Young recruited them for his Mirror Ball album, which in turn reinvigorated the group, which now featured former Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer/long-time pal Jack Irons.

"Sometimes"--"Selfin'" is risky. Just a toe in can be hazardous. The body and mind can't be kept separate, and neither guarantees prosperity. They can be made unequal though, and there's the trick. No one will ever buy a picture of my prominent gums, but they might buy a story about a gay Francophile who suffers inexplicable hallucinations.

Eddie Vedder's made it this far (I mean 2017, not 1996) on the selfin' wave. To which I say

"Hail, Hail"--The avuncular trait of caging one's emotions can function in place of a love declaration. Robust of voice and hearty of, uh, heart, Edward is pleased for "the lucky ones," but it's a bridled joy.

"Who You Are"--The more I eat, the more I want to eat. One of the least-sounding Pearl Jam songs in their catalogue, to general success.

"In My Tree"--Which, tradition dictates, must be high or low. I've never been inside a tree house. Why the walls? Branches and leaves are support plenty for anyone who bothers to climb that high.

"Smile"--Dance classes are for trophy hunters. Why pay someone to tell you what your body lets you know for free?

"Off He Goes"--Him and her, the usual. Hem and haw, the musical. At least it's not about heroin.

"Habit"--I never thaw chew rabbits, either.

Speaking as an 80s Baby…what a magnificent decade for music. Pearl Jam would have fit in fine, just sold much less.

"Red Mosquito"--Summer brings bugs, who bring bites. Wow would I love to meet a person who so coveted my skin.

"Lukin"--I've never had a stalker. Eddie Vedder did. Incensed at how powerless he felt, he did what he had to--go to the cops? Well, I meant write a song, but yeah. Alert authorities for sure. "Lukin" is thoroughly unsettling, never more so than at its peroration.

"Present Tense"--The present is a constant. Every single moment we live through is classifiable as the present moment. More unstable than tense, preferable to future shock.

"Mankind"--Stone Gossard steps up to show what J Mascis fronting a Devo cover band specializing in Mark's songs would sound like.

"I'm Open"--Spoken bookends…something about a Kafka-esque crisis. Gives way willingly to a near-life experience. The past, remembered fondly, has not been touched in years. The yellowed surface and bent corner speaks for itself.

"Around the Bend"--This ain't CCR. More like ZZZ Top.



Turmoil, murtoil. Pearl Jam's most introspective and self-contained album became its fourth #1--and their first to not achieve multi-platinum status. On some level, this had to relieve them.

It's Only A Story When It Comes To An End

DOWN ON THE UPSIDE
5/21/96

With Nirvana gone, Pearl Jam held together with spit and scotch tape, and Alice In Chains at stage 4, Soundgarden swooped in to….

"Pretty Noose"--Obtuse kiss-offs better kick fucking ass if they want to last more than thirty seconds in my air. The anger here claws out from every crack in the Earth, and what a helluva sight.

Thanks, real life, for making my favorite song off this album unlistenable. (For now, anyway.)

"Rhinosaur"--The rear of good old hoary rawk pretensions. "With haste and reverie"? With swiftness and daydreams?

Oh, never mind what the man says, a methanol fire's raging! Toasting marshmallows is about to become a life-changing experience.

"Zero Chance"--Still better than half a chance.

"Dusty"--Scar tissue and pale bruises tell a story generous with the ellipses, yet thick with plot.

"Ty Cobb"--Mandolins? Pardon me while I throw rice.

This frenetic barrage of collapsing carnival rides was originally titled "Hot Rod Death Toll," till Ben Shepherd remarked that the lyrics put him in mind of Ty Cobb, the acerbic misanthrope who happens to be one of the greatest players in the history of Major League Baseball. Hey, whatever it takes to keep him away from the vocal booth.

"Blow Up the Outside World"--Four-car pile-up on Abbey Road sparks overdue reboot of the planet. Nothing causes my life-long roommates to flip and fold like Cornell in full-throated throttle mode.

"Nothing will do me in before I do myself."

"Burden In My Hand"--Whoever "she" is, well, she dead. Straight homicide, cousin.

Self-pity sans self-loathing is just sad. Luckily, the lunatic narrating the tale will probably lay down to await the exodus of what remains of his soul.

"Never Named"--Actually you did already--"Kickstand." It got loose and you puked.

"Applebite"--When you want to enter church, but you suspect your mere presence will set the structure ablaze.

(Wouldn't "Kumquatbite" have been an amazing title?)

"Never the Machine Forever"--Fuck, what a metal song title.

I take my Soundgarden songs like I take my sky, alcohol, and chocolate: dark.

"Tighter & Tighter"--Real good, despite the lack of confidence. Guys, no such thing as a "sword-resistant" rope exists.

"No Attention"--A barrel-breaking punk song that they turn into a cock rocker by adding two minutes of stretch and shift. Both songs will suffice in an ice storm.

"Switch Opens"--Change is all about numbers.

"Overfloater"--"I'm here and now I'm gone/I'm here and far beyond." Life ain't life without one hilariously unattainable dream. Like, um, sustained happiness.

"An Unkind"--Tempted to ask for the rest of the story, until I noticed the songwriting credits: Ben Shepherd. Say no more. Music's memorable, though. Call it "John the Baptist Pose."

"Boot Camp"--Wherein Pinocchio leads a jackass uprising. The future is with boys who smoke and gamble!



One year after Down On the Upside, the men of Soundgarden hung up the pedals and went their separate ways. And just look what happened.

Three The Hard Way

ALICE IN CHAINS
11/7/95

During his rehab stint, Pearl Jam guitarist Mike McCready met fellow musician John Baker Sanders. The pair returned to Seattle upon release, and began playing with Screaming Trees drummer Barrett Martin. McCready approached Layne Staley, himself freshly out of rehab, to sing for the group. Mad Season's debut album was knocked out in less than two weeks. It would spawn two mainstream rock radio hits on its way to gold certification.

AIC's third album followed eight months later. The creation of the so-called "Tripod Album" (or, "Aww, That Poor Doggie") was considerably more arduous, as Staley skipped numerous studio sessions to get high.

"Grind"--Song the first hums from lashing indignation. AIC were the redhead stepsons of grunge, eating mud pies and swearing they saw Grandma in the backseat despite the fact she'd been dead for years. They didn't cite cool influences, didn't run screaming from the spotlight, and had a dumb name. Atop it all, their days were certainly numbered what with their singer turning himself into a pincushion.

Persecution complex thus activated, "Grind" is the bleak buck-back. More a raging boar than bull, really.

"Brush Away"--Critics ain't shit. However, I wonder how easily Staley brushed away the jabs of peers (q.v., Mudhoney's "Into Yer Shtik").

"Sludge Factory"--Throughout the album, effects and layers are used more frequently than on past records in an effort to hide the havoc that years of abuse wreaked on Layne's voice. (Shoulda showed the drums a similar kindness.)

AIC never disowned their hair-metal roots, but even Motley Crue knew better than this.

"Heaven Beside You"--Clearly, one of the first six.

Jerry Cantrell's moaning over a break-up again, but it's so magnetic (ah those harmonies) I was almost convinced to root for him. Then I remembered: this is but one side of the story. So nowadays I just nod my head and murmur.

"Head Creeps"--That dog's mournful look compels. Doesn't look like the mopey sort, yeah? Sure some people act all creeped out when they see him, and that has to hurt his little doggie feelings, but ultimately, he can still walk, eat, accept belly rubs and administer genital baths.

Learn from the three-legged dog.

"Again"--Smells like unprotected teen sex in the deserted parking lot of a Checkers. Vague is always in vogue, so focus on the stutter-stepping cyclops with two heads, won't we?

"Shame In You"--A beautiful slosh. Who's "she"? Doesn't matter. If she forgot to buy flashlights in case of an electrical storm, then she deserves all the darkness she gets, and may her subsequent profuse sweating prove enervating.

"God Am"--The Jehovah's Witness of the album. It needs to get off my property before I smack some teeth loose.

"So Close"--Weary of the cycle, fatigued by the circle? Blur the lens.

"Nothin' Song"--Fidgety, yet relaxing. The perks of cat ownership in song form.

"Frogs"--Thoughts of death can uplift--it's all in the framing. Thoughts of survival can dishearten--think frogs in increasingly hot water.

"Over Now"--Bury the heirlooms! Burn the old wardrobe! Adieu adieu, my heavy lids.



I remember the disappointment the first time I heard this album. Time has not changed much of my mind. Layne Staley's careworn voice is even more noticeable, and Jerry Cantrell de-emphasizing killer riffs in favor of bubble and scrape is just silly. Still went double plat, though. Cuz 90z.