My Life in Pearl Jam / last-second Wrigley post

***WARNING: VERY LONG***

For a while I've been writing notes and thoughts about my memories associated with Pearl Jam, slowly forming them into a personal essay. As today is the Wrigley show and I am one of many without a ticket and hoping against hope that some altruistic 10c member has a spare they would let go at face value, I felt that would be a good kick in the ass to get my writing finished up. So instead of posting "10c member needs 1 ticket. message me plz" I thought I'd share with you, my 10c family that I silently stalk, what I've written, not only to share myself with all of you who already seem so close-knit, but to try to express what the band has meant to me through my life. So if you have some time to kill, feel free to read on :corn:



It's nearly two years after PJ20 at Alpine Valley and I'm still riding the high. I've realized that, more than any other band, I have specific memories of times and places associated with Pearl Jam. While my bookshelves are lined with more Bowie and Iggy and Cobain biographies than anyone should own, and I've always been rather compulsive in devouring ever last detail of art and artists and creators I love, Pearl Jam has been different. Aside from knowing Eddie Vedder's name by the media's early plastering of it everywhere when they hit the scene, I never sought out any books or rumors or trivia nuggets. For me the band has always been about the music and associated art. Truth be told, I couldn't match names and faces of band members until the Riot Act era, and Mike McCready's look changed so damn much I didn't know he was the same guy. But now, having seen them live, having gone on the emotional rollercoaster they delight in taking us on, I've come to realize just how much Pearl Jam has meant to me.

Back when Ten came out I was nine years old, but my high-school-age cousin was my music gateway. In 4th grade I got my first Metallica shirt. In 5th grade, the Alive shirt. I loved that thing to death. Before a world of stickman tattoos and message boards and even knowing that the Ten Club mentioned in the booklet was a real thing, and not a worthless mailing list I assumed such things were back in the day, that shirt meant the world to me. Alive. It was how I felt when I listened to Pearl Jam and Metallica and Nirvana. It was something so private and personal, unearthly sounds that a pre-pubescent child of divorce drowned in, off-brand Walkman and shitty spongy headphones taking him somewhere else, anywhere else, reflecting his pain and frustration and disillusionment. Eventually a loosely-capped bleach bottle in the laundry basket destroyed it, despite my effort to Sharpie the lightened spots and tiny holes.

I never bought Ten on CD. It was all cassettes for me back then. My brother, three years younger and more influential than I realized, began to listen to the tapes I buried myself in. There was a Christmas we stayed with our out-of-town family at a nice hotel when my aunt overhead him, headphones on and oblivious to his own voice, singing “Why go home? Why go home?” With a concerned look she asked me, “Does he want to go home?” In my already-depressed pre-teen mind I was always certain the words had been, “Why go on?” Years later, when our age difference meant we were going to different schools, my brother and I listened to Ten over and over on weekend nights at my dad's, laying in our parallel beds, wordless.

I remember how visceral the Jeremy video was, the boy screaming at his unfazed parents, mirroring my growing frustration with being ignored. In my youth I misconstrued the ending of the video as Jeremy murdering his classmates, a cold, cautionary tale of childhood pain gone unacknowledged. Then there was Even Flow, this madman swinging from pipes and rafters like I did the monkey bars. Were all concerts like this? Is that what a mosh pit looks like? To this young boy, whose life had just been forever altered by such songs, the video became the de facto mental association with the word “concert”. The look Eddie gave before dropping back into a sea of fans, an expressionless resignation to whatever the outcome may be, will forever be engraved in my mind.

Months before my 11th birthday came the 1993 MTV Video Music Awards. Pearl Jam came out and ripped the shit out of everything with Animal. It was the same knockout punch I received the first time I heard their music, but I had gone in expecting one of their singles. Instead there was this heavy, angry, ferocious attack that left me dumbstruck and wondering why I hadn't heard that before. In those days I had MTV news, rock magazines at the grocery store to keep me up-to-date on my favorite bands but I never knew how to find release dates for albums. I would just go to K-Mart and look at the same few bands again and again until something new showed up. And then there was this black-and-white cassette spine that just said “pearl jam.” The actual tape called the album Five Against One, but I would later know it as Vs.

Like Ten I listened over and over, trying to make sense of all I heard. Most of the songs made sense in a storytelling sense, but some ripped at my heart. I already had best friends who had moved away that I longed to see again (Elderly Woman), a broken home (Daughter), and a strong sense of individuality and growing disdain for authority (Leash). I took my own personal meaning with each song, something I wasn't able to do with all the other bands I had started listening to. Rats was my first introduction to satire, but more than anything Vs really opened my eyes to the fucked-up injustices of race relations and women's rights. It was my first exposure to music that addressed issues I, until that time, had only known as taboo conversation topics that are best left unsaid.

Vitalogy was my first Pearl Jam CD, though I recall the commotion about the vinyl version being released two weeks earlier, on my 12th birthday. Unfortunately I grew up in a home without vinyl, and the rest of my family had abandoned the dead format for cassettes and then compact discs. Alas, it would not be until the Ten reissue that I had my first PJ vinyl. Vitalogy became as influential to me for its booklet as for its songs. I had never seen such a strange, anachronistic collage as the booklet offered, and it led to my lifelong fascination with pseudoscience and late 19th/early 20th century medical guides and books. It was always something I took an odd amount of pleasure in going back through again and again.

On the disc there were tracks, Aye Davanita and Stupid Mop, that were (again my first exposure to) something more like snippets or experiments than full-fledged songs, and that changed the way I thought about music and what people can do. Something akin to seeing cubism or surreal art for the first time, a curious realization that maybe the rules that we thought existed were just one way of doing things. Then there were songs like Better Man, which I have trouble remembering whether it was the cause or realization of my worst fear-- that an expression of love is not always truth, and someone can lie to you forever if they want to. Last Exit, as much a blunt idea as an amazing song, became part of a suicidal motif in my life. Perhaps ironically Immortality has recently become my favorite Pearl Jam song. I don't know what it is about me personally that has changed (besides marriage and fatherhood), but out of the blue it became this overwhelming cocoon of a song that I find comfort resting in. It's not hard to find Pearl Jam songs that deal with death or other means of escape and I've come to realize this is probably one of the biggest reasons I stick with them.

No Code, like its predecessor, challenged all the things I thought I was learning about music. Polaroids? A jukebox tracklist? And who the hell is singing on Mankind? But with the acquisition of the cheapest Discman at Sam's Club my music had become more mobile and thus more constant than ever, and PJ had the favorite spot within. More than the previous three albums I really loved listening to No Code from start to finish. There was no aggression in the opening track. The drums on In My Tree were something new and unforgettable, to the point where sometimes I wouldn't even notice the vocals (and lyrics have always been my main draw to a song). Lukin was something insane and endlessly repeatable, and Present Tense helped me a lot at various times through my life. On my last radio show as a college DJ I dedicated Around the Bend to my daughter, at the time still an infant, because I felt so guilty being away at school and work all the time. It still breaks my heart to hear it. Until really getting obsessed with Yield after PJ20, No Code had been my favorite Pearl Jam album.

But I missed Yield the first go-round. Pearl Jam missed my critical time between middle school and high school, and my attention had drifted elsewhere. I got more and more into Nirvana (and the world of bootlegs), The Smashing Pumpkins, Foo Fighters, Nine Inch Nails and more heavy metal and some mainstream alternative. I remember the excitement of Todd McFarlane directing the Do The Evolution video, and how amazing it was, and I even purchased the Given to Fly single. Years later I discovered Leatherman which quickly became one of my favorite b-sides, and led me to YouTube documentaries on the strange character. But at the time, pre-drivers license and first job, money was scarce and I somehow didn't pick up Yield. The same went for Binaural. During these “lost PJ years,” also known as high school, I discovered and fell hard for so many different kinds of music, all the while trying to go to at least a concert a month. My closet is still almost solely concert shirts, mainly from that era. I still listened to my Pearl Jam CDs, but I could never afford concert tickets when they came around. At the same time I was too enthralled with each new band I found and PJ had a smarter head on their shoulders than the shit I was into.

It wasn't until a year after I graduated high school, when I moved down to Champaign to share an apartment with my best friend, that Pearl Jam reentered my life. It was the release of Riot Act, just before my 20th birthday, that was like meeting up with a former best friend like not a day had passed. I had been out of my home for three months when it came out. Tentatively starting my first major relationship, working and going to school, it all somehow came together with Riot Act. I listened to a ton of music during that 10-month period of my life, but Riot Act is the album I associate with it.

I knew about Roskilde and what the band had been through, but that was the extent of my recent Pearl Jam knowledge when the CD came out. It was the way so many songs dealt with the ownership of self while acknowledging the power of love that really made me feel in touch with the band again. Like them, I had gone through life changes and everything seemed different, but we were on the same page again. I was disappointed that I couldn't afford tickets when they played Assembly Hall. It would've been my first PJ show, and a friend at work spared no heap of praise in her review the next day.

The love of Riot Act led me to a used music shop in town where I found Yield and Binaural, both of which worked their way into my music rotation. Light Years, which I loved but had no emotional tie to, took on new meaning after my grandma died. MFC was another I listened to over and over and I still hold dear, deep in the false hope of my brain where I'm certain that just another change of scenery would mean I could finally reach my potential. And since PJ20 I've found that Push Me, Pull Me, which I considered a standout song, is now one of my favorites. And there have been too many times when, driving to or from work, Slight of Hands has tears rolling down my cheeks and completely throws off my whole day.

I was living back at home and working my favorite job ever, at a used CD/DVD store in a mall, when Lost Dogs came out. Some fool traded in their copy and I instantly bought it. To me it was two discs of virtually new Pearl Jam material, since I had been fairly oblivious to the b-sides and lost tracks from the band. I loved the track notes that seemed to be the first thing that popped into their heads, and the use of Polaroids brought my love of No Code to the rarities before I even heard them. Some of the tracks that I instantly fell in love with, Down and Sad and Hard to Imagine, still hit me in the same taught heartstrings each time I hear them. Once in a while I'll hear other songs from those discs, like U or Alone, that will suddenly hit me in a new way and suddenly I find myself playing them constantly.

The day Avocado came out was the same day Tool's 10,000 Days came out. I loved the intensity off World Wide Suicide, a 180 from the somber songs of Riot Act and a better fit for my developing relationship with my future wife, and counted the days until release. I grabbed both albums at Walmart, excited for a double-dose of new music, and the insane packaging led me to listen to the Tool disc first. It was so boring and repetitive I'm not sure I made it through the whole thing. Then I put on Avocado and was blown away. My first impression, which I hold to this day, is that Pearl Jam's self-titled album is the most cohesive, sonically and thematically, that they've done. The influences of our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the downturned economy were evident all over the tracks. In my mind the songs all added up to one big story, and when I later learned that the band had realized the same thing but made a conscious effort to not make it a concept album, I knew exactly what they meant.

This renewed love and interest in their website finally led me to becoming a 10c member. It only lasted a year (during which time I bought the Gorge box set and almost any other exclusive I could afford), but I remember how impressed I was when I first received a Deep magazine. It wasn't some black-and-white fanzine, but a full-color beautiful zine with touching stories and great photos. This was going into 2007, the year they played Lollapalooza, the world-renowned festival in my hometown that I still have never been able to scrape together $200+ to attend, even when Pearl Jam was there. But then they announced the Vic show, just for 10c members, and I suddenly got this feeling, unshakable and certain, that this was meant to be my first PJ show. That was the reason I was never able to see them before, because this special, rare event was what I was meant to witness. I was at work trying my best to refresh at just the right time and grab a pair of tickets, but before I knew it they were gone. Just like that. And the instant heartbreak, the sure belief snapped in two, brought me to embarrassing tears, however silent, and I had to walk away from my desk and recompose myself. The show happened without me, and it wasn't until years later, once again a 10c member after PJ20, that they released the show as Vault Series #2 and I was able to hear it over and over again.

August 23, 2009 was my first Pearl Jam show. My brother managed to score tickets for this perpetually poor duo, only moments after the first show had sold out. We had pretty shit seats, 300-level, halfway up the section, near the right corner facing the stage. Didn't matter. I knew about the 10c meet-up nearby before the show but was/am too shy and introverted to go talk to fellow fans. Instead we went straight into the United Center, speculating about what they would open with and what we might hope to hear. As soon as Hard to Imagine my heart exploded and it felt like every wish I had ever had came true at once. It was nothing like the shows I'd been like that opened with a shot of adrenaline, storming the stage and everyone starts jumping around like maniacs.

I've seen so many PJ setlists from so many shows, and some seem incredible and others would just have been a really good show, but what I got was perfect. It was just fucking perfect. The bond I've always felt to the band became surreal as they tore through so much No Code and Vitalogy, albums I knew inside-out as pieces of myself. I wrote the setlist down my arm as they played, taking (correct) guesses on forthcoming Backspacer tracks, forming my own memento. After the main set finished with Alive I was blown away and felt like it would have been more than enough had it come from any other band. But this was Pearl Jam, and we were getting two encores that others simply could not pull off in any comparable way.

The boys came back out and introduced a local veteran returned home from Iraq and played No More and a few other songs in the same protest spirit, followed by The Real Me and Porch. Unreal. And then came the second encore. Life Wasted (Reprise), Better Man w/Save It For Later tag, and Crazy Mary. I was absolutely certain at that point we would get Yellow Ledbetter and the impossible night would be over. Then they started playing something else and I went fucking berserk. For whatever reason leading up to that show State of Love and Trust had been consuming my stereo and was one secret wish I had been dying to hear, though I had zero expectations. And they played it. There was some feeling in me, in the air, in the crowd that I had never experienced at a concert before, if ever. Like a beaten boxer getting up at the 9-count again and again. And then Ed introduced the last song of the night, Fuckin' Up, whose rarity I recognized and I loved it completely and absolutely could not believe what was going on in front of me. It was like I hadn't been able to catch my breath for ten minutes. My heart was in my throat, my insides a giant mess of emotions that I could not possibly begin to unravel. Then, like the most perfect, longest kiss goodnight, the houselights came on and I finally saw the band play Yellow Ledbetter. As I left I felt so fulfilled that a part of me didn't want anyone to speak to me or make another sound until I was ready to speak, which I think would have been days if not weeks. It had all really happened.

Backspacer found me married and in college, my daughter just two months old, and as ever made instant emotional attachments that I will never escape. The first time I listened to the album was on the drive to and back home from school. The disc was almost over so I sat in the car and listened to The End. I broke down in a way I have not done since. It was Ed, once again, singing the words of my story, my heart, so plainly and without fear or shame that it destroyed me. It was months before I even tried to listen to that track again, and I still skip it on live bootlegs.

I anticipated the coming of PJ20 as much as anything I ever have, and thanks to a friend who bought several tickets for both shows I was able to go (again with my brother). We showed up mid-afternoon, tailgated and went inside to see The Strokes, Queens of the Stone Age, and Pearl Jam. I remember using the port-o-potty just before Pearl Jam came on and somehow became engaged in speculative conversation with those in line about what the band would open with, something not at all in my personality but it made me feel a part of something bigger. The first night was so chock-full of rarities that I was in disbelief, song after song. Push Me Pull Me, Help Help, In The Moonlight, I was almost too dumbstruck to soak it all in. From the wet lawn I watched the giant screens as much as the tiny dots of band members in the distance but it didn't matter. They were as amazing and full of surprises as I had remembered. The second night was viewed much closer from pavilion seats where I got to see Leatherman and Sonic Reducer, two of my favorite non-album tracks. It was, start to finish, one of the most incredible weekends of my life.

I have to write so much because there's not a Pearl Jam song that doesn't have an instant association in my mind and heart. They've never been a band whose albums I put on in the background; they always have my attention. Since I discovered music Pearl Jam has been there, helped shape and guide me, and now that I've seen them live their music has taken on a new level of importance to me. I've been listening to Pearl Jam now for more than two-thirds of my life and it's become apparent to me in recent years that they are a part of who I am and I will follow them, my heart full of love and gratitude and amazing memories, wherever they go.