A Vital Step for Pearl Jam

        **Disclaimer: This post may be a little longer than normal. If you are not a fan of Pearl Jam, I suggest you stop reading at once and attempt to remedy that problem.

        Recently, I asked Hobo Keith, a soon to be contributor to Dad Rock, to give me a masters course in Bob Dylan. With his ever deepening Robert Zimmy knowledge, he is constructing "essential" cds for each of the 48 (and counting) eras of relevance Dylan traversed through. Starting with the folk-filled, solo acoustic social commentary days, an image was crafted that an adoring public came to fawn over. This was followed by him wanting to evolve and surreptitiously sneaking an electric band into half an album (Bringing It All Back Home). The test run lead to the now famous plugging in at the Newport Folk Festival and subsequent blowing of the gourds of the folksy fanatics. Rock scholars much more knowledgeable than I will be able to hopefully determine someday if the rest of his career worked out. As it turns out, this was far from the only time he morphed styles, but it's that initial change, done as a method of survival, that I've become fascinated with.
        Throughout musical history, artists seems to hit a point where they are tired of doing whatever they do that fans became attracted to in the first place. Due to this adjustment phenomenon, fans are faced with the choice of remaining loyal (i.e. accepting the sound of Bob backed by some instruments attached to amps) or freaking out and renouncing their fandom (see: fans at above mentioned NFF). Though I'm sure that Bob would have his own thoughts on this, one has to wonder if he knew just how bad the reaction was going to be when he made his choice (he probably did and didn't give a poop). Nowadays though, most artists are clear as to how the public is going to react to any change they happen to make. While it may be accepted in time, odds are, the artist is going to lose some fans or at the very least have many clamoring for the sounds of yore. In my college years I watched this happen to The Strokes (with First Impressions of Earth, a bloated yet mostly excellent work), Kings of Leon (with Because of the Times, a very good album, after which they knowingly dove off the d-bag cliff) and the Arctic Monkeys (Humbug, a stark stylistic maturing that may someday be looked back upon more fondly). Due to its seeming inevitability, these mixed results always lead to a certain level of fear for the fan base when they find a new, young band. Just when is a band going to change, and how much?

Home remedies for the musical soul. 

        While each of the three bands mentioned above had varying levels of popularity, none would be considered a truly dominant force in the middle of a musical resolution (with the Strokes coming closest during the early 2000's). Whatever your feelings are on early 90s rock, it was certainly a (welcome) change from 80s video influenced, pyrotechnic filled, hair metal bombast. Nirvana and Pearl Jam helped lead the charge and the general public became full-on obsessed with their sound. With such pressure to sustain popularity, both bands began to veer into new directions. Nirvana started to hit their new phase with In Utero, going back to a much more raw production and eliminating some of the immediacy of the pop hooks of Nevermind. Obviously, we'll never know where else they could have gone or how far they would have strayed from what made them legendary. Pearl Jam, on the other hand, after two massive selling beasts (Ten and Vs.) followed the Dylan road map and chose to do what they wanted to do, regardless of how they masses felt about it.

       This is how we end up with the 1994 cleanser known as Vitalogy. Though it sold extremely well, I say cleanser because whether intentionally or not (arguments can be made for both), this was the tipping point for their career. It was the first hint that they were going to be OK with wiping out, or at the very least confusing, a massive section of their fans. From this point on, no album in the Pearl Jam cadre sold nearly as well. Most people continued to appreciate them for their live shows, but at the same time they were quick to claim to not be as much of a fan of what they were putting out on record. Now, that's not to say they didn't have their loyal, diehard fans intact, but there was certainly a sea change when it came to their view through the public, rock-radio, prism. It was decided; let's mess with the formula. Vedder figured that he needed to learn guitar, and play guitar, even though he was in a band that already had two guitar players. The 1995 tour that went along with Vitalogy also marked the Ticketmaster debacle where they (nobly) attempted to boycott the ticket-selling giant and perform in other venues without exclusivity. While an ultimately heroic gesture to help out a lot of those same fans who would soon renounce the band, it was a markedly failed endeavor. Thankfully the same can't be said about the album. 

        Vitalogy is often looked back upon fondly, but outside of "Betterman" and "Corduroy" there is a strong chance that even some loyal fans can't name you another song. Compare that to the hordes of singles that dripped off their first two albums (along with plenty of other songs that would probably have worked as singles) and a new dynamic was born. Fans were going to be asked to appreciate songs that didn't have an arena-sized (or maybe any) chorus. As someone who became a fan much later in their career, it's quite noticeable how drastic the change was. I wish I had been around to pay attention to the feelings that swept over the fanbase. Pearl Jam (especially Mr. Vedder) seemed to be ready to crawl out of the spotlight and perhaps bash a few overly invasive privacy leeches along the way back to some semblance of normalcy. Vitalogy is a snarling indictment of the media, fans, the industry and most of all, a group of young men figuring out how to live suddenly different lives. Take a walk through this album and as you do, pause for a second to marvel at how biting the commentary seems to be. 

Edward, Michael, Jeffery and Stoneward.

       Years later, the warning signs seem a little more obvious. But just in case you weren't sure, the opening track, "Last Exit" was a literal attempt to give the listener a final chance to bail. A cacophony of instrumentation bleeds into a driving drum beat that is relentless throughout the whole tune. Including a backwards solo and brilliant Vedder wail, it's a final warning to the fans that if you're not cool with what's going on, get off now. From there, "Spin the Black Circle" helps to simultaneously long for the days of vinyl and look into the crystal ball to see it's eventual resurrection. A punishing punk groove careens this song to the point where it sounds as if the band might come apart at the seams. It's a glorious blast through Vedder's love of a seemingly forgotten musical delivery system. Decades later, critics might be shocked to see that both the band and the format are alive and well.

      The clearest middle finger to the overly obsessive fans/media comes next with "Not For You". The second single (hot damn, "StBC" was the first?), it was a direct indictment of the fans ever increasing obsession with knowing everything about the band members. Lines had been crossed, stalkers were stalking and it couldn't have been a comfortable time to be an artist unsure of how to handle everything. This towering beast is as clear a sign as any that something either had to change, or this was the end. Listen to the tortured lyrics as Vedder repeatedly admonishes all that will listen, "this was not for you, it never was for you". This is a man who needs some space. Though many complain about the lack of quality rock music in our world, there is a reason the type of band Pearl Jam was at this point doesn't exist today; the intensity of this invasion of privacy has magnified tenfold. Who could, or would want to, deal with that?

       As someone who certainly can't claim to have been on the ground floor with the band, it's possible that right away fans didn't quite pick up on the seemingly obvious swipes within the lyrics "take my time, not my life" or song titles ("Nothingman") but the odd musical interludes are as clear as could be. Sandwiching the "still missing a big time chorus" fan favorite, "Corduroy" are two prime examples. First up, "Pry, To", a one minute jam that has Vedder repeatedly spelling out the word privacy. No subtext here. Leave us alone. Next comes "Bugs", a messed up accordion (??) ballad that has Vedder ruminating on what to do with an invasive bug species (the media, fans, probably both), settling finally on giving up and joining them. This is no accident. They really wanted the fans to have to work. 

           This phenomenon happens again later in the album with their third single, "Immortality". The beautiful and touching (supposed tribute to Cobain) is smack dab in the middle of the oddly chanting amble of "Aye Davanita" and the moderately-to-extremely disturbing, little girl sounding insane and possibly referencing suicide "Hey Foxmophandlemama, That's Me". Putting two of the most popular and accessible tunes between such enigmatic curiosities is a sure sign of their reluctance to be a part of the continued level of stardom they had been living with. This, in combination with putting each of these on the second half of the album say we'll give you what want, but you are going to have to wade through an awful lot of muck to get there. 

Currently using the force to strangle an invasive photographer. 

       It needs to be said that though some digging has to occur, when you remove the detritus, there are some fantastic songs on this album. "Nothingman" is a heartbreaking, slow look at a man who is having trouble finding his identity. It's a great example of the versatility of Vedder voice. He layers it on top of itself in an attempt to create an effortless harmony that helps to bring the mood to another level. As mentioned above, "Corduroy" is another standout effort, bubbling with hatred right below the surface on a churning traipse that fans clamor to hear live to this day. The aggressive romp of "Whipping" is a hard charging testament to the strength required to survive in the world that they were anxious to leave behind. The blistering bass work of Jeff Ament in combination with the frenetic fretwork of McCready and Gossard brings about an urgency that helps to put you inside the chaotic headspace they must have been occupying. "Satan's Bed", with it's killer whip-crack opening, has a strange pace that almost has Vedder scatting as the song starts. An ode to dissuading the uninvited groupies who constantly threw themselves at the band, it's an excellent look at how something that might seem like heaven to some can seem like hell to others. 

       The one song that doesn't seem to fit at all is also the one that has the most notoriety, by far. "Betterman" is quite personal, much like all the tracks on the album, but something is different. Unlike the others it's missing an immediacy. This is the only time Vedder reaches back into the past, and in the context of the album it's easy to see why he didn't even want to include it. It may be well known, and a fan favorite to sing along to in concert, but it sticks out as the one track that would have made much more sense on one of the first two albums. Vedder was all about reclaiming personal space, so another song about his troubled childhood would seem to deliver the opposite of what he was going for here. One could assume the record label may have pushed them to include it after hearing everything else.  "Tremor Christ", on the other hand, while nowhere near as successful a song has a much more veiled meaning. Buried within the guitar's stabbing odd counterpoint dance with the bass is the same confused little boy found within "Betterman", but now he's grappling with how to deal with those feelings instead of just documenting the past. 

Shh! You're happiness is too loud. 

       It seems to be a testament to the talent of the band or to the gullibility of their fans that such a scathing group of battle-scarred songs became as notable a collection as Vitalogy did. Most likely, this album only sold so well as a result of the massive success of their first two albums. While I love and appreciate this album as much as any other in their catalog, it's hard to argue with that claim when you analyze what they presented to a blood thirsty fanbase that was craving more mega hits. From all accounts, this was a rough time within the band. Certain members (read: everyone other than Vedder) didn't want to alienate any fans while others felt the herd needed to be thinned out. As tempting as it was to attempt to advance their ever-growing fame, if you look back, this may have been the move that saved their career. Without this change in mindset, they may have bloated to the point of parody or stayed at the unsustainable level of fame and possibly lost a member or two to drugs. It seems quite likely that another Ten or Vs. might have been the beginning of the end. Instead, Vitalogy is now able to sit back and be a wolf in sheeps clothes in the long career of a seminal band. 

Final Score: .89 You're Living All Over Me's