A Guided Tour of Backspacer

Hi All

I started another 'tour' thread (basically a LONG album review) for Backspacer at Red Mosquito (we've done similar threads for all the other records but Vs. at this point). If you want to join in the discussion you can find it here http://www.theskyiscrape.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=1&t=92850&start=0 but I'll post the review as I write it here as well for anyone who happens to be interested. This is a long gloss on the themes of the record and how it fits into the rest of their catalog, not a 'isn't Just Breathe awesome' or 'doesn't supersonic suck' style thread.

Anyway, if this is your cup of tea enjoy and come join the conversation

Backspacer

It’s been over a year. The ‘new album’ buzz has long since faded, and so I think it’s safe to take a serious look at Backspacer--at what the album tried to do, and whether or not it was successful.

Although the songs on Backspacer are comparatively simple (and certainly shorter) than a number of the more artsy moments in their catalog, this is not a simple record, and its simplicity is deceptive. The songs feel light, but not because they are devoid of substance or good ideas. It’s because Backspacer, more than any other Pearl Jam record (even Yield, which is probably the record that Backspacer most closely resembles) is the first time Pearl Jam ever sounded unburdened. There are scattered moments here and there throughout their catalog that touch on this(most notably Given To Fly) but Backspacer is the first time Pearl Jam ever really dwells for an extended period of time on what it might be like to actually feel free—freedom as something immanent and present, rather than freedom as an aspiration. In that respect Backspacer represents Pearl Jam doing something genuinely new, thematically and even musically.

More than many bands, Pearl Jam albums are in conversation with each other. They tell a continuing story—not a narrative per se, but they chronicle the emotional development of the band, and each album is enhanced by situating it within that larger context. And so before we start to tackle Backspacer it is worth taking a few moments to reprise what’s come before.

Ten, as I’ve argued before, is an album about betrayal—a sense of being robbed or cheated of something you’re entitled to by the people and institutions that should be protecting you: your parents, your partners, your teachers, your society. It responds to that betrayal by finding solidarity in opposition—if we cannot trust everyone else we can at least make common cause with our fellow victims. There is anger on Ten for certain, but it is a bewildered anger, with the hostility cut by the pervading sense of confusion and the desire to rise above it. Vs. and Vitalogy expand these themes, although in different ways. While on its quieter moments (think Daughter, Small town, Indifference) Vs. finds itself in the same emotional space as Ten (more reflective, perhaps,) the rest of that record is pure anger and aggression. Vs, responds to betrayal with rage, although it cuts this with an undercurrent of solidarity that makes the approach more compelling than pure rage, and more substantive than simple angst. But in important ways this approach is a non starter, and Vitalogy marks the first major pivot in the conversation.

Vitalogy lashes out in much the same way Vs. does, but while Vs. swings wildly everywhere (perhaps because it can’t find a suitable target) Vitalogy narrows its focus to the commodification of music and art, not because being famous is such a pain in the ass, but because this commodification cuts off and makes profane one of the few sacred things left to us. Music has always been a means of transcendence for Pearl Jam—a way to rise above and to set yourself free—as well as a way to give voice to solidarity. Close that off and what’s left for us?

There’s never really any official resolution to this question, but Pearl Jam makes their peace with it (to an extent ) on the next two records. There is a line in an R.E.M. song (Ignoreland) that goes “I feel better for having screamed, don’t you?” and that seems to be the case for Pearl Jam, at least for a while. No Code, the most meditative moment in their catalog, dials back the rage and sees the band move away from asking the questions to providing the answers (or trying to). Eddie in particular moves away from a lyrical perspective that privileged solidarity in an uncertain world to one that strives to be a source of wisdom—someone who HAS experienced what you’re going through and knows what to do, rather than someone who has no answers but promises to experience it with you. Yield is a more complicated record. It continues down the path begun on No Code, but there is something slightly unsettling or uneasy about Yield, despite the seemingly sunny disposition on the record. Yield is an album about acceptance and escape, and while they try to make this process as active as possible, there is an element of disengagement to it that runs counter to the previous direction of the band. It probably makes more sense to understand Yield as an aspirational record, one that aims at a target it never quite manages to hit.

I’d argue that absent some clear cut trauma a group of artists that had actually experienced the serenity Yield promises could not have made Binaural two years later, a record that can perhaps best be described as haunted. While there is a placidity to Yield, Binaural is categorized by its claustrophobia—it’s sense that something is wrong, that walls are closing in, and its inability to figure out precisely what is causing it or what to do about it. Binaural is the first time Pearl Jam surrenders the sense of agency that had animated all its previous records (even the escapism of Yield had an active component to it).

It is not surprising that, coming off the sense of creeping, impending doom that runs through Binaural the response to the trauma of 9-11 (or, more concretely, the way 9-11 hijacked the American conscience and the way its moment of transformative desolation was exploited)would be the defeatism of Riot Act, where, despite the occasional glimmers of hope (front ended on the record or consigned to b-sides) Pearl Jam finds itself, if not quite giving up, wondering whether the fight can be won, and whether it is even worth engaging in the first place. Riot Act t is easily the low point in their catalog (thematically, not necessarily artistically), and the place where the process of disengagement that is begun, however subtly on Yield, ends up bottoming out.

If Binaural and Riot Act are the sound of someone drowning, the triumphant harshness of S/T is the sound of that first aggressive breath you take after surfacing. It’s not fair to call S/T a midlife crisis, since it’s far too concrete a record for that (an embattled response to a very real problem), but it certainly sees the return of an anger that hadn’t really been present since the days of Vs( although with a thematic focus the previous record lacked). It’s not necessarily surprising that they chose to self title this record, as it attempts to recapture the fighting spirit that is at the heart of what the band stands for. But the effort is imperfect. There are moments (parachutes and the wasted reprise come to mind) that come close to synthesizing the anger of the younger pearl jam and the wisdom of the old, but they never quite manage to strike the balance, and Inside Job, the track that needs to tie it all together, clearly falls flat (the first time the band ever really failed itself on the critical thematic track of a record). But it certainly signals where the band wants to go—the realization that anger only gets you so far, that solidarity has to be grounded in love, rather than opposition, and that one can simultaneously struggle while still being at peace—that you can accept the world (and yourself) for the way it is while still trying to change it.

Backspacer picks up where Inside Job leaves off, and accomplishes over the course of a record what Inside Job failed to do at the end of S/T. For the first time Pearl Jam doesn’t just glorify struggle—it celebrates life. For the first time we engage not because the struggle grants meaning, but because there is something precious that we need to defend. There is no narrative arc to Backspacer. It doesn’t try to tell a story. Instead it tries to capture a feeling, or even better a moment—that moment of liberation where you realize how blessed you are that you have both something to give and something to lose.


Gonna See My Friend

I cannot listen to Gonna See My Friend without thinking of Breakerfall—in part because of the reckless, loose, go for broke energy, and in part because they are two sides of the same coin. Whereas Breakerfall is in part about pushing away, Gonna See My Friend is about drawing close. I’m drawn to that somewhat awkward but nevertheless striking lyric in Breakerfall “It’s like she’s lost her invitation to the party on earth and she’s standing outside hating everyone in here.” Gonna See My Friend is a song for a person who, after standing outside for so long, finally comes inside—and the cathartic release they find in doing so.

GSMF explodes right out the gate with one of the most joyful and exuberant riffs in their entire catalog, galloping along to Matt’s furious drumming (he’s the real star of this song, and one of the heroes of the entire record). It’s full of celebration and familiar discovery, like we’ve just finally seen for the first time something momentous and wonderful that’s been right in front of us this whole time. I also love the revving up slide around 12 seconds leading into the first verse that gives you the ‘strap yourself in, we’re going for a ride’ feeling that the song manages to sustain for its entirety. I’m not sure there are any Pearl Jam songs that make me want to move quite like this one.

Eddie’s vocals match the fearless energy of the music and it gives the song a sense of importance that doesn’t feel overwrought or affected. Instead Eddie sounds excited, like he’s just experienced something amazing and cannot wait to share it. Despite the raggedness in his voice there is an innocence to the delivery that is quite compelling, and he sustains it for most of the song, with a the notable, but deliberate, exception of the chorus.

A good chunk of Gonna See My Friend is, if not self-parody, satirical. The lyrics sound heavy and freighted, like the singer is struggling with some heavy burden “do you wanna hear something sick, we are all victims of desire” but the delivery is playful and enthusiastic, even optimistic. It’s like he’s exploring dealing with old familiar feelings in a new way, and rather than focus on the burden his emphasis is on its release.

The choruses in this song (with the start/stop cadence and the vocal delivery) are some of the ‘grungiest’ moments in their entire catalog, and if this is appearing 18 years into their career long after they’ve left that sound behind (and on a record that is hardly a grunge revival) there’s something else going on here. If this song was 13 years older and he talked about ‘gonna see my friend , make it go away’ the board would be lit up with thoughts that this was about drugs or alcohol at best, suicide at worst’, especially with the dark, foreboding delivery in that first chorus (or the frantic, desperate intensity of the final chorus). Yet they’ve made clear in interviews (and the overall performance confirms this) that this is a song about confronting your problems—via leaning on actual friends, or music, or whatever—but it’s about finding strength in healthier places, rather than finding strength in your own misery. There’s a rejection of the nihilism that shot through so much of the grunge movement, and even the darkness of their own past. That they convey this by using that old sound, inverting its meaning in the process (turning it into a victory cry of sorts) is a pretty clever move. Gonna See My Friend takes what was always implicit even in Pearl Jam’s darkest moments and finally brings it to the fore.

The second verse picks up where the first left off, with the same playful exhausted energy (but it’s a satisfied exhaustion, the kind you have after an intense and meaningful experience that leaves you bone tired and totally charged at the same time) and the bright guitar parts offsetting the primary riff. Again the lyrics are seemingly dark, with lines about needing to get away, about seeking oblivion, as if the only way we can escape ourselves and our desires is through self-negation (the language of retiring, making things go away, snuffing candles), but the performance clearly rejects the initial, obvious gloss on the lyrics. If the overall tone of the song doesn’t make that clear it certainly comes across in the bridge, with its sloppy, reckless determination and statement of purpose. Unlike previous songs that dwelt in darkness and cried out for release, this time there’s someplace worth going to, someone or something capable of helping. What that thing is vaguely defined (left for the listener to fill in as they see fit, based on their own needs and experiences), but it’s a source of strength and permanence—a rock to ground ourselves on in a sea of uncertainty (a theme he’ll return to in Force of Nature).

This determination runs through the final verse, and while the last chorus returns to the traditional grunginess of the chorus but the exuberance of the outro, and Eddie’s playful little woot makes it clear that this song is in the end an emphatic rejection about the need to retreat to those old dark places when things are rough. We finally have someplace better to go.

Got Some

Got Some picks up right where Gonna See My Friend leaves off. When Eddie sings that he’s ‘got some’, he’s referring to the charged sense of purpose and electrifying sense of personal satisfaction discovered at the start of the record. Got Some tries to make public what was, for all its energy and intensity, the private moment documented in GSMF. It’s pretty successful overall, but it’s not perfect.

Musically they nail it. The song rockets out the gate with a sense of frenzied commitment that matches GSMF, and is fitting for the pleading urgency of the song (they cut it off suddenly, but this makes sense given what the song is trying to do). The brassy sound of the guitars give the start of the song an aura of self-importance, and the way the music rises and falls between its puzzled verses (reflecting the confused and lost state of the person the song is being sung to) and the urgent declarations to lean on the singer, to find within him the strength to carry on, is pretty masterfully done (with quick, well done transitions between the two that reflect the emotional journey in the song). Other than the initial start there is an understated quality to Got Some that is designed to both create a kind of interpersonal intimacy that is unusual for a song like this, and of course to build up to and highlight the explosive climax (starting with the foreboding bridge and moving into the extra energy during the final verses and climax, and the terrific outro. My only issue with the music is that given how the song holds itself back for so long its final thoughts deserve to be longer—another 20 seconds of music after Eddie’s final Let’s Go would have been perfect.

Had Eddie been a bit stronger here vocally the ending might not have felt like such a tease, but after the fire and fury of GSMF he sounds flat here, almost weak. I think he’s going for weathered survivor, but it’s a little too weak to work here (it’s more effective in Force of Nature). Maybe he has trouble mixing that approach with the fact that he’s essentially begging here, but regardless I was hoping for something that hit harder. In a lot of Ways Got Some is a sister song to Save You, and it has some of the same vocal problems. In Save You Eddie sounds weary—like he’s had this conversation a million times before and can barely be troubled to have it again (one of the things that makes that song interesting is the tension between the understated vocals and the more aggressive music). He doesn’t sound weary in Got Some, but he does sound thin—exhausted even. It’s possible, even probable that this was a deliberate choice (I’d assume it was given the energy in the 3 songs that surround it)—as if his commitment is measured in how much of himself he’s given (the return of the martyr Eddie of Given To Fly). Given the pleading tone of the song this choice is understandable. The singer in Save You spends much of the song singing to himself, steeling himself for what is likely to be yet another fruitless confrontation. The singer in Got Some is clearly addressing the song to someone else—they’re there in the room with him, and he’s gripping them by the arm begging them to be strong, and to find that strength from within him if need be. The subtle backing vocal harmonies nicely color in the sense that there’s someone there, someone listening, and that they’re in this together.

But while this approach makes sense artistically it’s also somewhat underwhelming. Save you has the same problem. Though the vocal choices are what the song may need they’re just not as much fun to listen to. Had he really gone for broke vocally during the final moments of Got Some (as he does at the end of Save You ) it would have been worth it—the restraint pays off with the release of the bottle up intensity—but that doesn’t really happen here. At least not as much as I’d prefer. When Eddie screams ‘Please let me help you help yourself!’ through gritted teeth you celebrate him finally breaking through his own reluctance. The ‘carry on, lets go!’ at the end of Got Some just doesn’t hit as hard, especially coming on the heels of GSMF.

If Got Some was more interesting lyrically this might not be a problem, but the lyrics to Got Some are probably the weakest Eddie’s ever written (and a noticeable step down on an album that is otherwise pretty solid in that department). Part of the lyrical simplicity is to keep drawing attention to the offer and promise ‘got some if you need it’ but the stuff that surrounds it is just not that interesting. I could probably try and dig some deeper analysis out of the ‘precipitation verses, but it’s hardly worth it. Fortunately this isn’t a song that pauses long enough for the lyrics to ever really matter. Some songs need to be well written and this is not one of them, but it’s still a little disappointing, especially since Eddie’s performance could use the boost that a well crafted line provides.

Having said that, Got Some is still an effective song—my criticism is that while Got Some is a good song, it could have and should have been a great song. The music is strong the message is clear, and this forms an important part of the initial trilogy of songs that define the mood and tone of the record—finding peace and satisfaction within yourself and turning it outwards—using it as fuel for a fire rather than a blanket against the cold.

The Fixer

Since there’s no narrative to Backspacer it’s hard to call The Fixer is the centerpiece of the record. Each song on Backspacer explores a different aspect of the same moment in time, so it’s not like The Fixer is the end point of a particular journey. But it is probably the high point of the record in a literal sense—it’s a pure and unaffected moment of joy—if Backspacer is a triangle, this is its apex. Songs like Got Some, Unthought Known, GSMF all recall in some tangible way where the subject was coming from. But The Fixer has a perpetual immediacy to it. Even though The Fixer references its own memories, its low places, the song exists purely in the now. I can’t think of another Pearl Jam song where this is the case, and it might be what is off putting about it to some people. All of Pearl Jam’s music is burdened by their past. The force that runs through and lifts up their music is the struggle to overcome that past. It’s muted on Backspacer (the past is actually the past here, rather than the usual past as present), but nowhere more than on The Fixer, and this gives the song a strangeness that may not be for everyone. The fact that it’s such an accessible song makes this feeling even more disconcerting. This also makes The Fixer dependent on the band’s back catalog. The freedom celebrated in this song isn’t earned within the song itself, but in the 8 records and 150 songs that preceded it.

Musically The Fixer is compelling, with a deceptive level of depth (recall its origins). It starts out strong with another great ‘get up and move’ opening sequence (the first 3 songs on Backspacer are all similar in that regard). The fuzzy guitars and the bass give the song a warm, blanket like feeling; the tinkling guitar remind me of the end of Inside Job—the sound of peace and freedom; the guitar accents in the second verse have this cool wistful daydream sound to them; and the occasional sharp drum cracks (softened on occasion by the handclaps) and the main riff have enough bite to them to ensure the whole thing isn’t syrupy sweet. The bridge has this circular sense of movement to it, like it’s orbiting something really important. Hopefully someday we’ll hear what the 7 minutes sideways art piece would have sounded like, but I love what Eddie and Brendan turned this into. The Fixer sounds like mature, unaffected (or innocent, to use McP’s term), freedom.

For the most part Eddie sounds really good here. The opening yeahs and uh huhs do sound overly processed, almost insincere, and I can’t quite figure out where they’re going with it. I wonder if this is the same part of O’Brien’s brain that saturated the Jeremy remix with unnecessary ‘spokens.’ But from there forward it’s a strong performance (except for the repetition of the opening vocals coming out of the bridge). The Fixer has another winning vocal melody (overall this is probably Eddie’s finest record on that score) and Eddie manages to make the vocals sound just lived in and weathered enough to give the song a spark of triumph—like The Fixer is a reward for a hard fought struggle that, in this moment, is behind you. There’s a slight sense of wonder to it as well, not only at the gift of freedom, but the shock at finding it again after so long. The way the vocals are layered also gives the song the sensation that there’s multiple people signing along—it makes The Fixer less intimate and more inviting—it welcomes the listener in and asks them to sing along, rather than just bare witness (which most pearl jam songs do in the studio—they usually don’t live, which is why the live versions almost always turn into celebrations).

Backspacer is a political record, only insofar as the absence of any overt politics is kind of shocking given the content of the rest of Pearl Jam’s output this decade. I can easily imagine the band sitting down to write this song after hearing that Obama was elected. It reflects the sense of new beginnings and new possibilities, of a bright and clear dawn emerging suddenly after a long and dark night. The politics in The Fixer, and Backspacer in general, are found in the freedom of, after so long, not having to be political.

I always found the way The Fixer’s lyrics were structured interesting, barring one or two particular couplets I didn’t care for. I wondered if there was a name for the style they were written in (it seemed like there should be), so I asked a colleague in the English department. I sent him the lyrics and this was his response.
This is interesting -- the form, I mean, is interesting. I don't know of any term to describe what's happening, but what's happening is interesting. The second line of each stanza gives a kind of verbal antonym (opposite) to the adjective in the first line.
I am mentioning this just because I don’t think The Fixer has casual, throw away lyrics. Instead we have 10 lyrical couplets that together present, through their stylistic repetition, this overwhelming desire to repent the past, to put it behind you, to move forward. Eddie could certainly have picked some better antonyms in a few cases, but just because something is simple doesn’t mean it is unintelligent. In fact, if these lines were more involved it’s possible they would have tripped up the momentum of the song and taken the listener out of the immediate moment The Fixer explores. It also might have taken away some of the fun the song wants to have (the exciting couplet doesn’t work but he’s clearly being playful with that lyric and the ‘put a bit of fixing on it’ which I like). Regardless, it’s clear, through the resolution of these simple yet serious conflicts, that there’s a rejection of what’s come before, a desire to look ahead, and above all else an overpowering need to act and celebrate the ability to do so—all culminating with the promise and declaration that when something’s gone or lost we need to fight to get it back again. The fact that there is such a serious message in such an upbeat presentation is also striking, and after years of saying this in songs like Alive, Given To Fly, Grievance, and Present Tense (all songs that are better than The Fixer to be sure) it’s nice to see that they found another way to articulate Pearl Jam’s mission statement.

In another unusual move for the band, the song culminates in its bridge, with its ringing promise to free us from our burdens, to do whatever needs to be done, provided we find a way to make the most of what we have right now. The problem is that the song continues for another minute without giving us anything new—just asking us to live in this singular moment. That is not necessarily a problem, but the quick musical restart (and the over processed uh huhs) both undermine the moment and lead the listener to expect the song to go into a final verse. When it doesn’t we’re left wondering what happened. I’m not sure a verse NEEDS to be there, but if there isn’t one The Fixer would have been better served with a different transition out of the bridge. So interestingly enough, The Fixer’s weakest moments are its end and its beginning, two places where Pearl Jam is usually at its best. I wonder how much of this is due to the fact that The Fixer was adapted from a much longer song. Hopefully we’ll find out someday.

Other songs on Backspacer will explore the part of ourselves that looks back on where we came, or the part of ourselves that fears the future because it is afraid of losing what it has right now. Some songs will explore the promise of our newfound freedom, or celebrate being liberated from our burdens. But The Fixer inhabits a singular moment where we breathe clean air, bathe ourselves in pure water, and know that we can do anything.

Johnny Guitar

Although it’s another fast moving, high energy song , Johnny Guitar explores a different aspect of Backspacer’s emotional and thematic space. Johnny Guitar celebrates not taking yourself so seriously, and in that respect it’s one of the more mature songs in their catalog—despite , or possibly because of, the juvenile lyrics.

With a handful of exceptions Pearl Jam’s approach to fun could probably best be summed up as FUN=SERIOUS BUSINESS. It’s like they were people who looked the word fun up in the dictionary, were aware of its technical definition, and were going to attempt to reproduce it without actually ever having had experienced it. There were moments in the past that came close. Who You Are becomes a much better song if it’s not meant to be taken so seriously. Black Red Yellow and All Night want to let themselves go, but they can’t quite manage it. It’s like there is a part of themselves that’s watching them, prepared to judge if they enjoy themselves too much . And the No Code attempts were probably the best of the bunch. They’re clearly having a great time with Johnny Guitar, and like a few other places on Backspacer the apparent simplicity in the crude lyrics and the puerile story told can make it easy to miss that the song has something important to say, critical to the overall message of the record.

Although this may not be obvious at first, Johnny Guitar is a companion piece to a song like I Got Shit—the opposite side of the same coin. The subject matter in both songs are the same—the main character’s response to a heart breaking, life shattering, unrequited love. I Got Shit plays it straight (there’s no way Pearl Jam could have played it any other way in 1995, and it’s not a problem that they did. These are emotions and experiences that demand voice), and so we’re left with this devastatingly sad portrait of a wasted, pathetic life thrown away in pursuit of someone who has no idea how this person feels, or even that they exist. It’s a totally emo song in the hands of someone else, but the sincerity of the delivery and the credibility earned from the previous records turn it into something more moving and profound.

Johnny Guitar takes this same set of circumstances and goes in an entirely different direction. It tells the story of a life long obsession about a girl—a fantasy in the most literal sense since she’s not even anyone real. She’s just an image on a poster, and so the subject can basically make her be whatever it is he wants her to be. This guy focuses on her innocence—the fantasy is about all the things he’s going to do to her when he awakens her sexuality—Sleeping Beauty being awoken by her handsome prince but filtered through ZZ Top instead of Disney.

He’s jealous of Johnny Guitar, who possesses the woman (any woman he wants it would seem—this guy is in awe of Johnny’s secret, seemingly forbidden knowledge—the ability to get a girl to sleep with you) and he’s envious of the ease with which he does so, but he has faith that someday she’ll be his. He hopes for the future even as he despairs in a present that extends on for decades. The little details in this song are sharp, like the image in the bridge of the guy sleeping with the lights on. Ostensibly it’s so she can find him (although what kind of fantasy can’t navigate the dark), but it’s probably more that he just falls asleep starring at the poster. And the bridge transitions into his dream (I picture him nodding off to sleep as he extends the second ‘in case she…’ going out of the bridge.

But finally, after thirty years of failing to even dream about this girl (that’s how pathetic this guy is) he has the moment he’s waiting for. Like the subject in I Got Shit the dreams are more real (or more important, anyway) than the reality since this is the one place their love isn’t unrequited. And his moment finally comes—after thirty years of patient devotion he has his reward. She slinks over to the bed in her red dress, leans over…and asks (almost certainly in a husky voice) if he’s seen Johnny Guitar. This guy is such a loser he can’t even win in his dreams.

But what makes the song work is that there’s no judgment here. There’s no warning. Johnny Guitar is not the cautionary tale that I Got Shit is. Instead it’s playful and celebratory, full of double entendres and filthy innuendo delivered in a rapid fire and extremely accomplished vocal melody that doesn’t give us time to take any of this very seriously (and without the awkwardness in a song like soon forget when Eddie trips himself up over the word horny). The faux desperation in Eddie’s voice gives the song a ridiculous sense of self-importance that’s poking fun of itself at the same time.

Musically they set the scene perfectly, with the muscular swagger of the guitar the soundtrack for how this guy no doubt WANTS to see himself. If the mournful guitars in I Got Shit sound like a heart breaking here we have the sound of guy trying frantically to strut since that seems to be what gets Johnny Guitar his ladies. The filthy guitar in the bridge encapsulates this best, but it’s present throughout the whole song.

Pearl Jam often ends their emotionally intense songs with a cathartic breakdown, and like everything else in this song Johnny Guitar ends by spoofing this tendency within their music. The singer is trying to stay strong “I hide my disappointment” but he can’t quite manage it and loses it at the end. But the music can’t keep a straight face and instead of suffering with him it affectionately cheers on this pathetic loser and his hopeless fantasy.

The song is ridiculous (or as ridiculous as Pearl Jam can ever really get) and that is in part the point. It celebrates our silly dreams and recognizes that a life without play, without nonsensical ambitions, one that cannot laugh at itself and its occasional ridiculousness, is not a life that’s really worth living. One of the key milestones in really growing up, really maturing, is learning how to be able to take life seriously and laugh at yourself at the same time. Pearl Jam knew how to take life seriously from the very beginning. It’s nice to see them get comfortable enough in their own skin that they’re able to laugh too.

Just Breathe

Yes yes yes, Just Breathe sounds like it was written for Into The Wild. That doesn’t matter. Musically it takes the ideas in Tuolumne (which was a very pretty little instrumental that I really wanted to see developed further) and turns it into a full fledged song. If not for the fact that Into The Wild really has no space for a love song in it this would have fit in there perfectly. But it fits in here too. Not counting a song like You this is really the first pure love song pearl jam ever wrote ( I went with an REM song when I got married just because Pearl Jam didn’t have anything I could use yet. If only I had waited 4 more years). This is probably not a song Pearl Jam could have written prior to Backspacer. There’s a sense of spiritual calm, certainty, and stability to it that reflects the peace of mind that comes from a long standing, healthy relationship—the realization that love is as much the small quiet moments as it is white hot fire, and that while it’s easy to miss those moments, when we stop and notice them they take our breath away.

Musically this song almost immediately relaxes me, transports me someplace quiet and secure, the gentle finger picking moving me along without actually taking me anywhere—it’s a pretty cool combination of movement and standing still—and the organ accents color this beautifully. The do a great job phasing in the rest of the band here—the bass comes in as Eddie turns to weightier thoughts, as he starts to reflect on the moment, rather than live in the moment itself. It gives his meditation here a bit of urgency without overpowering the song.

At least until the chorus. I’m not sure what to make of it. It might have been necessary to really have the chorus differentiate itself from the verses, and certainly there’s a pleading element to the vocals that requires the music to hit a little harder, but the transition here is a bit too jarring. It’s like going from sometimes into hail hail (well not that bad, but on the same scale) and it’s too much. I think my problem here may just be the volume. The strings are perhaps a little melodramatic, but its’ also a melodramatic moment and there’s nothing necessarily wrong with melodrama used sparingly.

The transition out of the first chorus (vocally and musically) is excellent, and the music reflects the weightier thoughts without really overdoing it. It’s much busier than the first verse, but the chorus does prepare us for this. The second chorus is still a little jarring but it’s not as bad as the first time, and the song swirls away underneath eddie’s vocalizations and final thoughts. It’s impressive how this song manages to sound so busy and so simple and delicate at the same time. R.E.M. could write a song like this in their sleep. It’s nice to see Pearl Jam take a stab at it and be so successful.

Eddie is surprisingly nasally on this song. He doesn’t sound like this on the rest of the album, so it’s clearly an artistic choice. I’m not sure why he made it. He’s going for delicate and vulnerable, but he’s done that better before (see Into the Wild, for instance), and they make the aw huh’s at the end of the line too prominent—those are meant as punctuation and they turn into statements. These are certainly not my favorite vocals of his, but again another accomplished vocal melody, the way the words just glide so effortlessly over the music, goes a long way towards cutting the impact of the vocal choice. Plus his voice is full of the nooks and crannies , the cracks and the warmth, so that the overall effect is still compelling.

Lyrically this one is going to rise and fall on the sincerity. If you believe him it’s compelling. As stand alone lyrics divorced from the performance they’re not bad, but they’re not great. Other than ‘I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love’ which I think is just a gorgeous lyric there’s nothing too memorable here. But the approach he’s taking to love is interesting. Like I mentioned earlier this is a mature love song—mature in that it’s speaking to a love that’s long past the initial stage of discovery where everything is white hot and exciting and new. It’s writing from the perspective of a love that, while cooling (as it inevitably will), has plugged all the cracks and settled in the foundations of these people’s lives—the way in which it becomes impossible to live without even as you cease noticing it all the time.

Just Breathe is a quiet moment of reflection—the singer is taking the time to remember, to consciously remind himself, just how fortunate he is to have the gifts he has, and how empty he would be without them. There’s a maturity to this song, a sense of peace, a willingness (a need even) to live in a moment outside of time which isn’t possible until we become comfortable enough with ourselves and the world around us to realize that there are times it is okay to just shut it out and exist for ourselves—that it is within these spaces we find the strength and purpose to fight again. The fact that this moment is shared is also significant. It speaks to the self confidence needed to leave oneself so vulnerable, so dependent on someone else. There are undercurrents of death in this song (every life must end, hold me ‘til I die) but I doubt very much either character is dying. Instead the references to dying and to departures are a reflection of how utterly dependent the main character is on the other person in his life, how lucky he is to have it, and a promise to himself to remember that this cannot last forever and so he must not take it for granted. It’s clear that the person he’s signing to is his rock, his refuge and certainty in a violent and uncertain world, and that this is the most precious thing she can be for him. And so the most romantic line in the whole piece may be the ‘stay with me, let’s just breathe.’ There may not be a purer expression of love than the desire for that person to just be there, to demand nothing more of them other than that they exist.

Amongst the Waves

Amongst the Waves is one of the centerpiece tracks on Backspacer (I’d say alongside The Fixer and Unthought Known). This is not to say that these are the best songs on Backspacer (I certainly do not think so) but they make the most important statements on the record. They anchor the themes, in the same way that Corduroy and Given To Fly anchor Vitalogy and Yield. So it’s really important that they get these songs right. I think they’re successful (not perfect, but successful) on Unthought Known and The Fixer, but after a very promising start they come up a little short on Amongst the Waves—one of the few moments where I think Backspacer stumbles a bit.

I keep referencing Yield in this review, and that’s not surprising, since Backspacer reprises and develops more fully the potential and promise of Yield, promises that get cut off on the record itself and then come to a full stop on Binaural (I’m talking thematically here, not necessarily in terms of the quality of the songs themselves—I prefer Backspacer to those two records but that’s just a subjective preference). And so, with that preface, Amongst the Waves strikes me as the song (again thematically) that In Hiding wanted to be. Musically the songs sound somewhat similar to me (although In Hiding is structured better, with the crucial pre-chorus that Amongst the Waves needs—more on that below). Both are songs about personal salvation, with the crucial difference being that in In Hiding the singer can save himself only by retreating into himself, by admitting defeat. It’s a song about isolation, about being unable to deal with the world. It’s implied towards the end that through this retreat he is able to resurrect himself, but then the song goes right back into celebrating the fact that he’s in hiding. As we’ll see Amongst the Waves is also about salvation, but absent the moment of retreat. It may not be the better song (I like them about the same), but it’s more consistent with the core of who the band is and what it stands for. Amongst the Waves is the song Pearl Jam wanted In Hiding to be, and it celebrates the fact that they’re finally able to write it.


Amongst the Waves accomplishes a great deal during its verses. Musically it sets the scene perfectly. The gentle buzzing and quiet electricity of the melody, the bright coloration, the deep bass and gentle drumming all create the image of a man overlooking a dark lake at midnight with the slight wind rippling the water (I hear a lake more than an ocean, but I’m more drawn to lakes than oceans). It’s a perfect backdrop for peaceful reflection, for feeling grateful about the life you’ve fought for and the fact that you can share it (and the opportunity to share it may be instrumental in the creation). The music sounds like a living memory, like past and present coming together and lifting you up in the process.

Lyrically I’m a big fan of each verse, and each compliments the music well. In the first he’s clearly signing to someone else. It makes sense to assume it’s the person in Just Breathe, given the placement on the record and the same lyrical themes, the way in which love and commitment has finally granted him the peace (just you and me and nothing more) and stability he’s spent so long desperately trying to achieve (what used to be a house of cards has turned into a reservoir—a lyric that would be clunky if not so expertly delivered—as is the case on pretty much all of the record Eddie is masterful here). The quiet moonlit night overlooking the water is a gift, and he’s giving thanks for it. Having struggled so long for it he’s well aware of its valued. His is a peace earned through struggle and resistance and achieved ultimately through surrender, but by surrendering to someone else, not the world. Freedom and love are found through dictating the terms of your submission. This was the promise at the end of Faithful, the hope of Given to Fly, lost during In Hiding, finally achieved AND sustained.

In that sense the second verse is a flashback—rather than addressing his partner in the first verse he’s addressing himself, his past, his struggle, and while the flashback may make more sense for a reflective song, I wonder if having this verse come first—giving the song a narrative arc—would have made more sense, especially given some of the concerns I have with the bridge and chorus (more on that later). I like the loss of innocence in nameless violence described in the second verse. It’s possible there is a statement to be teased out of the television reference, but it does feel a little out of place. This isn’t Ghost, and this song is too internal to really make room for social critique (TV as hyper reality, TV as a filter to block out reality, etc—lots of things you can do here, but not necessary for the song). I like that he sticks with the blood metaphor (cut to later/bled yourself) and the way the verse conveys that sense of being the last man standing after a long and grueling struggle, having found the strength needed to endure and even triumph over constant struggle (this also makes me wonder if Force of Nature, which chronicles this struggle without a resolution, should switch places with Amongst the Waves).

It’s the chorus where Amongst the Waves loses me. Lyrically it’s fine. Waves and water are Eddie’s go to lyrical inspiration, and it’s been done before, but I have no problem with the usage here. I’ve never surfed, but the sense of release and freedom and possibility and salvation found in that moment is clearly conveyed. The “gotta say it now, better loud than too late” lyric is interesting to, especially the way he unexpectedly juxtaposes loud with late—the recognition that life is not only about seizing the necessary moments, but doing so with a full bodied and totalizing commitment, holding nothing back, surrendering to that moment.

Convey this asks more of the music and the delivery than the song gives. The chorus doesn’t provide the exclamation mark it needs to. The delivery sounds more like a pre chorus—like Eddie’s ramping up for a pay off that never actually happens. In Hiding is a good parallel to draw here—you can’t go from the verses to the ‘I’m in hiding’ chorus without the pre chorus, but the pre chorus itself would not have been sufficient without the release. Maybe if they repeated or developed further the ‘gotta say it now’ part of the song (like they do at the end of the song) that would have helped. But even there Eddie needs to push more. His brilliant performance in Hard Sun makes moments like this fall flat. He can clearly still hit those notes and he’s not. At his best no one soars quite like Eddie, and this song needs to soar here (this kills Love Boat Captain as well). It rides its waves, but it doesn’t rise above them. The music doesn’t pick up the slack here either—it carries Eddie along but doesn’t lift him up. I like the atmosphere in the music, stormy and purifying at the same time, but it’s not enough. It’s possible that too stark a difference between chorus and verse would have sounded out of place, but if that’s the case the song really needs that transitional pre chorus that it lacks. Given to Fly has it. In Hiding has it. Amongst the Waves needs it. There’s a little more energy for the second and even for the third and final chorus—more is at stake each time, but it’s never enough. Even the final chorus has a certain sameness to it—a song about surviving, triumph, and salvation needs to ascend in its final moments, and Amongst the Waves doesn’t.

Backspacer is a record largely devoid of Mike solos, which for me are almost always a highlight of any song that features one. It’s nice to hear one on Amongst the Waves, and it’s pretty good (not great, but pretty good) as far as solos go, but it feels out of place. Some of this is the way the song is structured. It’s a flashback solo—it’s the musical accompaniment for the actual events that Eddie remembers in the second verse, but with a chorus between the two of them it’s easy to forget why it’s happening. Sandwiched between the two choruses it lacks context. A few bridge lyrics to transition into it would have helped. Stronger choruses (musically and vocally) might have helped the solo seem less out of place by providing the struggle with more of a payoff than Mikes gives the solo itself. Someone who can write such cathartic pieces like Alive and I Am Mine (or even the outro of Force of Nature, which pulls off what Amongst the Waves fails to fully do) can do better here. It’s a shame that after the vocals and music compliment each other so well on the verses they each fail to come through for the other when they need it.

And so in the end Amongst the Waves fails to sustain the incredible energy and first rate run of songs that precedes it. The momentum falters here. Unthought Known picks it back up but now we’re starting over, and the record never quite fully recovers since there isn’t enough time to rebuild the lost momentum. Tracklisting could have helped here. You don’t necessarily want to have all your fast songs and then all your slow songs but moving Amongst the Waves to later in the record (which is more reflective and less immediate than the first half enables you to go from Just Breathe to Unthought Known, which is a better musical transition and fits in better with the immediacy of the first half of the record (Just Breathe makes a bit more sense later but you usually don’t want to stick all your slow songs next to each other). Amongst the Waves would be better served following Force of Nature towards the end. There are other songs I’d move around (it’s always fun to play the retracking game) but this is the placement I have the most trouble with.

This is a pretty unsatisfying way to end this review, but I suppose it’s appropriate given that Amongst the Waves ends up being something of an unsatisfying song.

Unthought Known

Alongside The Fixer and Amongst the Waves I’d argue that Unthought Known is one of Backspacer’s critical thematic moments—one of the songs that defines the record. Whereas The Fixer celebrates the moment of action, and Amongst the Waves rewards its subject with the blessing of a spiritual peace earned through a lifetime of struggle, Unthought Known is a song about promise and possibility, about not just experiencing the world as an agent, but of appreciating the world for what it is—a stage on which we are able to act, and through the process of action, define meaning, fulfill potential, and create ourselves. In this, Unthought Known is a more reflective exploration of the moment captured in The Fixer—it gets caught up in the same emotional space, but it takes the time to stop and look around, to marvel at the gift of agency.

The start of Unthought Known immediately brings to mine Wishlist, and while some of this is superficial similarity (the palm muted beginning) the tone is similar as well—the quiet determined desire to think about the world and your place in it, and follow those thoughts wherever they lead. As in Wishlist, this simple foundation is given its weight and gravity by the way the rest of the band colors in the empty spaces and gaps left by the melody—as if the melody is the act of thought and the musical flourishes the content. But where Wishlist (one of my favorite songs on Yield) stays in a quiet and sober place, Unthought Known quickly finds itself overwhelmed by the majesty of the universe, and the certainty that, for at least this moment, we belong. The band does a wonderful job here conveying this sense of wide eyed wonder and cosmic liberation with the rapid fire build and sustained climax—the way the instruments pile onto each other (the chiming guitars whispering their promises and 33, the sense of purpose conveyed by the drums at 48 seconds, the liberation offered by the piano at 1:05, and the way it all comes together to celebrate the joy and possibilities found within existence at 1:20. Even a year later my heart beats a little faster as the music sweeps us up into an expansive celebration of life itself and essentially maintains this high for essentially the rest of the song—we come down after the bridge, but only temporarily, and simply so the song can lift us up again.

In some respects it’s an exhausting ride. Unthought Known attempts to maintain a climax for basically the entire song (minus the brief build in the beginning and the cool down at the end), with little time for the listener to rest or come down. This is a surprising approach for a reflective song to take, and the music is not always up to it (or perhaps it is the production). Once the song reaches its high (the gems and rhinestones lyric) and plateaus there isn’t really a whole lot of variety and so the high has to sustain itself primarily on what is already there. It works great the first few listens, but once it’s familiar it starts to feel a little thin, like it exhausts itself. Given how much energy this song has to consume to occupy its space what we’re given needs to sound richer than it does. The simple production aims to capture the clarity and purity found in the moment of epiphany that Unthought Known chronicles, but it needs more. It’s at about 1:45 (after the ‘path cut by the moon lyric’ where the song enters what I suppose passes for its bridge) that the song starts to feel slightly empty. Not starved, mind you—but it definitely needs to sound fuller than it does.

Vocally and lyrically this is one of Eddie’s stronger performances on the record and, interestingly enough, one of the weaker vocal melodies, although the later isn’t as necessary because the former is so stronger. Eddie commits to the song right from the beginning, with a child like sense of wonder, enthusiasm, and joy, filtered through the experiences an older, wiser man returning to a place he never expected to see again. This is what Amongst the Waves (the chorus anyway) needed to sound like. Usually I find Eddie less persuasive on his advice/wisdom songs, where he tries to impart the listener with the lessons he’s learned from his own life and his own experiences. But it works quite well here because, unlike a song like Life Wasted or Love Boat Captain, he isn’t pleading and he isn’t telling us something he half expects us to reject. Instead he’s asking us to share a moment with him, and since Eddie’s power as a vocalist comes from his empathy, his willingness to commit to the experience he’s describing and invite us to do the same, this approach, and the final product, ends up being much more persuasive.

Lyrically some lines here are better than others (Eddie has always been an inconsistent writer, even when he’s on the top of his game) but the key lines here are great, and capture and communicate in provocative lines and stunningly simple images the spirit of the song.

It’s a slow start for sure, with the first four lines (‘all the thoughts you never see’ through ‘yeah this is living’) being pretty unmemorable, almost like he’s rushing through them to get to the parts of the song that really matter (it’s not surprising that the song takes off musically, vocally, and lyrically at the same place). But since this song (unlike most pearl jam anthems) captures a moment instead of telling a story the introduction isn’t as critical as it is on a song like Alive or Given To Fly.

The call to ‘look for love and evidence that you’re worth keeping’ is perhaps a little syrupy, but it’s a wonderful sentiment that cuts to the heart of what Pearl Jam’s music is about. They had always rejected the nihilism of their peers and believe that there’s a core within just about everyone that’s worthy of love and salvation. It’s easy to lose sight of that in a world full of institutions and social arrangements that separate us from the world, each other and ourselves, and so we need that reminder.

He does a great job running with his nature metaphors (and thankfully they aren’t all water based), capturing the mystery and majesty of our world (this song might not have been out of place during some of the landscape montages in Into the Wild), reminding us that we’re blessed to be a part of it, and that within it are unlimited possibilities if we’re prepared to reach for them. Obviously this is oversimplified and the band knows better, but at the same time this is the only way out of the dead end of Binaural, Riot Act, and even S/T—the moment of critique can show you what needs to change, but it cannot inspire you to actually make the change—that in order to act there needs to be both a way forward and a belief that this way points to a better world. And the images in Unthought Known are pregnant with that empowering sense of hope and possibility—the beauty of a pool of blue sky, the way in which love takes a void and fills it with light, the sense of oneness with the world that makes you think that the moon shines down to light YOUR way, that within the sound of the waves is secret knowledge only yu can understand, that the world holds its breath for you. The gems and rhinestones lyric is my favorite in this sequence—in part because it’s delivered with such ecstasy but in part because of the juxtaposition between the two—the way in which the world is going to offer you its gems, its tokens of objective value, and its rhinestones, it’s potentially valueless moments that we can make priceless by assigning value to them ourselves, and that the meaning the world has is up to us—that there may be no difference between gems and rhinestones. Again we can argue about whether or not this is true in reality, and it’s an important conversation to have, but it’s also important that on occasion we truly believe that there is no difference.

The nothing left bridge is a little tricky since it’s not clear what he’s talking about. Given the way Eddie exults in the delivery I take it that there’s nothing left of our burdens, nothing between us and the joy of pure experience and limitless possibility, especially given the lyrics that bookmark it.
The other high point of the song (and Eddie’s delivery draws attention to this) is the ‘dream the dreams of other men/you’ll be no ones rival’ lyric which, with a slight change, Eddie delivers twice in a row. It’s a great line, in part because of its ambiguity. What does he mean by rival? This is not the only way to interpret this line, but given the surrounding context I think of it as a challenge to build relationships with other people like the relationship with the universe that the rest of the song celebrates—that if we bind ourselves to each other, if we commit to the lives of the people around us, if we’re prepared to love them and learn from them, the barriers between us fall. We free ourselves from the artificial restraints that keep us from each other, and in the process, from ourselves—that we really discover who we are through this sense of communion with the world, with each other, and with ourselves. We complete who we are through the merging of the three.

The song comes down from its extended high to end on a sober note. This is the ideal. We’re not there yet. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if we were. Unthought Known lays out the possibility, at an emotional level, of a richer, fuller world—one that we belong to rather than stand in opposition of, and asks us to commit to that vision.



Out of main post space:
Supersonic: p.4
Speed of Sound p.5
Force of Nature: p.5
The End: p.7