Mid-day sanity break, across from my office. Headphones and Eddie ought to do the trick, then I’ll be back to my To Do List.
Vedder the Taskmaster
Eddie Vedder
Goin’ Home
Mid-day attitude adjustment on the sunny courthouse steps,
joined by #DanAuerbach and #EddieVedder.
Time to Release
A little over a year ago, in August 2016, I traveled to Chicago for the Pearl Jam show at Wrigley Field. The trip began to take shape as a restorative getaway . The timing was perfect — it fell just a few weeks after our wedding anniversary, the kids would be away at camp, and I was much in need of some recharging and soul searching.
My husband had things to wrap up at work, so I flew to Chicago a day ahead of him. Other than picking up our tickets and wristbands for the show, I had nothing on the schedule. I went for a run along moody Lake Michigan, watching a storm that was threatening to move in any minute. As always, the shuffle gods got it right with their music selection — Pearl Jam’s “Save You”, and Eddie Vedder’s “Far Behind” and “Rise” all showed up to greet me and remind me of the true agenda for the weekend. A sign along the path warned: Slow Down…..followed by Detour Ahead. Clearly, the universe was aware of all that was rattling inside my head.
The rain started, slowly and familiarly at first, and then the skies opened, dumping hard rain with thunder and lightning directly overhead. I sought shelter in an underpass with several others, and couldn’t help but giggle at how perfect it all was. Seattle rain just mists, trapping everything in like a damp flannel shirt. Chicago rain washes you clean.
Taking the hint, I sat later that evening at the bar of a pizza place, ordered deep dish for one, and resolved to make changes when I got home. I would be less stressed. I would find time to run more. I would return to writing my blog. A sign behind the bar read, “A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life”. That seemed like damn good advice.
My husband arrived, and finally so did the concert. While I’ve seen Pearl Jam plenty of times since 1992 (“Ten”), this show was magical. We were only five rows from the front rail, on Stone’s side. As the band took the stage, I exhaled and let the night in — it was lovely, and I was ready, and I would return home revitalized. They opened with “Low Light”, and then fell into “Release”. It all hit me. By the time they reached my favorite line and I raised my arms in the air, I was too choked up to sing along.
But back at home, my resolutions quickly took back-burner to a home remodel, work deadlines, and the usual life stuff that always seems to get in the way of real change. As the months lapsed, so did the insights I had gained. Soon it was the anniversary of the show, and then eventually last fall, the premiere of the documentary movie, Let’s Play Two, chronicling the Wrigley shows. I dragged my kids to see it with me. As the movie reached the footage of “Release”, I suddenly felt uneasy, like I couldn’t breathe. I vividly remembered the emotion of that moment in the show, how I had vowed to keep that feeling alive. And as my eyes scanned the crowd footage to find myself, I acknowledged the pit of regret now fully formed in my stomach. I hadn’t kept my promises to myself – again. (“Royal Reminders to Self” ; “Everything Has Chains”). It had been more than a year without writing, with fewer miles on my running shoes, and with too many well-intentioned lists, now languishing in my journal.
I wouldn’t say I’m a slow learner, but I am stubborn and set in my ways. It took awhile, but, finally, the moments of clarity gained alongside Lake Michigan and in the GA pit have made their way across country to me.
And what I knew in those sweaty, rainy moments, and the concert bliss that followed : SHED IT ALL. Hold close the things that matter, and get rid of the rest. I’ve always felt like I am straddling several worlds at once, never fitting squarely into one. There is so much that we carry with us — we claw to get in, to feel accepted, to feel good enough. So much internal questioning — wondering what we did wrong, why we weren’t included, why something didn’t go our way.
But all of this mental conflict is just the baggage of habit — a grubby shirt that no longer fits, but that we never think to replace. We forget the fundamental question of what we truly need. And in the moments when we do remember it, we see that what really matters is moving forward, and letting go of things that no longer serve us.
What matters is being emotionally present. Grateful. Vulnerable. Soaking wet in running shoes. And to give ourselves permission to Release.
The Lessons of Lake Michigan
Nice run along a moody Lake Michigan this morning. And what Pearl Jam songs appeared on my restorative, anniversary, #PJWrigley weekend? Save You, Far Behind (EV), and Rise (EV). The #ShuffleGods always get it right. And then the skies opened up, dumping rain with thunder and lightning, and it was actually quite perfect, as all the Seattle stress washed away. And Scott gets here tonight!
A Barefoot Musician in Your Living Room
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Isn’t that what all music fans hope for? I know I do.
I love music, and I enjoy thinking of my favorites as personable, everyday guys who would be fun to hang out with.
For the most part, this theory has proven itself to be true. Encounters with Dave Matthews around town are commonplace, and we all seem to agree that he’s just your average Seattle dad. I used to run into him at my gym, and my husband chatted with him at the Greenlake soccer fields a few weeks back – no biggie, just a couple of dads joking about soccer. I’ve lived in the same city as Eddie Vedder for 20+ years but have yet to see him out and about, so I savor the stories I hear from people who have. I recently read an article where a local fan referenced seeing Eddie in Target and Bed, Bath and Beyond (love it!). Years ago, I ran into Jeff Ament coming out of Blockbuster Video on Queen Anne. He was carrying two movies. I’ve always regretted not asking him what he was renting. But I digress.
The point of this story is that I recently found myself sitting in a living room with Chadwick Stokes of Dispatch and State Radio. It was so lovely to learn that he is just as friendly, warm, and funny as I had imagined him to be.
The quick back story: last summer, Chad announced a “living room tour” — just what it sounds like, he would play a show in your living room to around 30 fans. They were looking for hosts in the cities scheduled on the tour, including Seattle. I offered to host and sent in pictures of my house, and I made it to some type of final list. They called and talked to me about my space, and said they’d be making a decision in a few days. I ultimately didn’t win, which was OK, really – then I wouldn’t have to try to clean my house. The consolation prize was that I would get early access to tickets for the Seattle show.
Fast forward a month, to the ONE 5-day chunk of summer when I was out of range of decent cell coverage, and was not checking email. You guessed it – that’s when the email went out with early access to tickets, and then to the general public, and then promptly sold out. I discovered this while sitting on a ferry on our way home. I was not happy. The last ditch effort was a show in Vancouver, Washington. It appeared that tickets were still available. To put a finer point on it, ONE ticket was available, because that’s exactly how many I was able to purchase. I bought it anyway and figured that something would pan out in order for my sister to come with me. I certainly didn’t want to drive to Vancouver by myself and walk into some stranger’s house. I emailed, desperately, a few times over the coming months, figuring that an additional ticket would open up. It didn’t. I resigned myself to not going.
Then suddenly the show was right around the corner. Over the course of the next few days, I flip-flopped a dozen times until finally, with a proper nudge from my husband, I decided to go. I knew I would regret it if I didn’t.
And so, off I went to Vancouver. Nearly as exciting as a night to myself was a long DRIVE by myself. I played the music I wanted to listen to, as loudly as I wanted. No one bickered in the back seat, and no one asked me to play Taylor Swift. Traffic was blissfully easy, even through the usual snarl of south Tacoma. I giggled to myself when I drove by the Sleater-Kinney exit, listening to Sleater-Kinney. Everything clicked along as planned, as if the universe approved of my decision to go. About an hour outside of Vancouver, I switched to a playlist of solid Chad and State Radio. Because that is what you do.
When I arrived at the house, the host, Jon, looked up my name on his guest list. “Oh, it’s just you – right?” Yep, just me. By myself. Thanks for reminding me. (And I’m probably the only one who just drove up in a minivan with a Little League sticker on it, in case you want to point that out too).
Chad was standing near the check-in table in his bare feet, wearing comfy pants, a well-loved shirt, and a hat. He looked up and said hi. It was perfect.
The rest of the evening was fascinating. Fans bonded and competed for a respectable level of street cred. You know how it goes: T-shirts from historic shows (in this case, Dispatch:Zimbabwe), requests for obscure songs, show-and-venue dropping: “Yeah, I saw them way back in 2000 in a small club in blah-blah-blah”. I loved it all. The music is personal to each of us, and that’s one of the best things about fandom: how territorial we are about the bands we love. I’ve only seen Dispatch/Chad/State Radio four times, and am therefore not (yet) too territorial. Recognizing my somewhat junior status in the street cred department, I enjoyed eavesdropping. Which, it turns out, is easy to do when you are at a show by yourself.
And of course, there was the music – a great mix of classic Dispatch, State Radio, and solo stuff, infused with all the genuine and personal charm you would hope for in such an intimate setting. He stopped mid-song to tell a story about his daughter’s new haircut. He joked about the bony part of the top of his foot, how it’s a thing that “1 in 5” people have (is it?). (I wanted to kick off my boots and say – hey, Chad – me too! There’s a certain style of shoe you can’t wear, right? With the strap across the top? Come on, let’s be bony-foot buddies!) He answered questions and took requests, and when someone jokingly yelled out “Freebird!”, he actually played it. Hilarious and awesome. The room was filled with love.
When it was over, he got down from his stool to go back stage – you know, otherwise known as the kitchen. Fans stood around and chatted with him in an easy, casual way. I shook his hand, thanked him, and told him what a wonderful experience it had been. Luckily, I had already forgotten my sassy, opinionated rant from a year ago (“Territorial Pissings – Yes, That’s a Nirvana Reference”), so I didn’t lecture him on anything. I admit that I did have occasional pangs of jealousy – I wished I had hosted barefoot Chad in MY house – not just for me, but for my kids, because they love his music too. But I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to see him in such a small venue, and I’ll remember it forever.
P.S. I rarely take pictures at shows, and I never take videos, because I don’t want to watch the show through a screen. But Chad said it was OK and I knew it was once-in-a-lifetime, so I recorded the second half of “Elias”. Simply wonderful:
Territorial Pissings (yes, that’s a Nirvana reference)
You know what’s cool? Offering a free download of your concert for those who went to the show. I saw Dispatch for the second time last weekend, and I loved being able to download a copy of the show on Monday morning, for free, with the barcode from my ticket.
I was excited that they decided to play Seattle on this tour. Last time, (which we thought was a one-time reunion tour), we had to fly to Berkeley to see them. (“A Badger and a One-Eyed Toad”). But a show at the Moore Theatre meant an easy, well-deserved night out with my sister, and their sing-along vibe is just plain fun – which is, after all, the entire point of live music.
Dispatch enjoys the ubiquitous status of being the “biggest band no one has ever heard of”, and maybe they are. They’ve achieved a loyal fan base without any major record deal, and, despite taking a break and various side projects, they’ve stayed true to their roots as an independent band.
Offering a free download of a live show is a great throwback to the days of tape trading and authorized bootlegs. And, while it might just be a publicity stunt, it makes you feel like like they appreciate the fact that you buy their music and tickets to their concerts.
I give these kudos to Dispatch – freely – but as preface to what I am about to say. I’ll keep listening, and I’ll always buy a ticket when they come to town, but I might need to have a talk with my imaginary friend, lead singer Chad Stokes. (“On Sisters and Pineapple”, “The Pixies, Chad Stokes, and Pineapple”). It seems we might differ on one important Seattle music issue.
It was really a great show….good energy, lots of old favorites. And then, it happened. In between songs, Chad made reference to playing at the Moore Theatre. I can’t remember the exact words, but it went like this: “We’ve gotta pay our respects to Seattle……the Moore Theatre…..hallowed ground for those who have played here before us…..bands like Alice in Chains, Nirvana, Pearl Jam…..”
I suddenly got all territorial and defensive. Really? You are leading with Alice in Chains? I liked them just fine, but….really? You are putting them at the front of a Seattle list that includes Nirvana and Pearl Jam?
You can argue all day about who should be #1 or #2 on the list. And even I will admit that’s is probably Nirvana at the top, if for no other reason than, let’s face it – dying young and tragically elevates you to cult status. (And for the record, do I love Nirvana).
But in no universe would anyone ever put Alice in Chains as #1 on that list. Was he trying to be ironic? Make the non-obvious choice? Or maybe he was just naming them alphabetically. Either way, I was now officially on a rant.
To my sister beside me: “Dude, if you are paying your respects, then pay them properly. It’s Eddie Vedder who scaled the damn walls of the Moore Theatre, thank you very much.” (maybe Kurt and Layne did too, I really have no idea. But I was on a roll.)
I couldn’t stop bitching about it, leaning over, again: “AND! CHAD! In case you haven’t noticed, Layne Staley overdosed, and Kurt blew his brains out. Eddie Vedder’s the only one who’s still around”.
My sister considered this, briefly, but then hit the bullseye: “Yeah, but dude….when’s the last time Pearl Jam even played a show here?” Ouch. I hate it when she’s right.
(P.S. It was September 2009 and, since then, they chose to have their 20th Anniversary Celebration Concert in….Wisconsin, and their most recent gigs have included a festival with Jay-Z (?!), and an Oracle corporate event. Not that I am keeping track.)
(P.P.S. You know you have to go and watch the Moore Theatre-filmed video for “Evenflow” now, right? Best line, at the beginning: “This is not a TV studio….Josh! Turn these lights out. It’s a f*cking rock concert!”)
Twenty
My head is still spinning from last night’s “Pearl Jam 20”, the new Cameron Crowe-directed documentary. All day yesterday I was antsy, mostly because I realized that it was the 19 year anniversary of the Drop in the Park show at Magnuson Park. In my head all day, and later to my friends: “Nineteen? Really? NINEteen? NineTEEN!”
I am overly-nostalgic and live in my head a lot anyway, so the intersection of this anniversary with the release of the movie was almost too much. I loved every minute of the movie, and I’ve got to get these thoughts down, brain-drain style:
- It is hilarious, yet somehow fitting, that I could smell weed while in line for the movie. Obviously to some, the event wasn’t too different from a concert.
- I love that I went to the movie with five people who I have known for the entire 20-year run of Pearl Jam and have gone to shows with [including Life Altering Concert #1 (“Drop the Gyro and Run”), and, of course, the Magnuson Park show].
- All of the old footage was priceless. Long hair! Headbanging! Stage Diving! Eddie climbing everything like a damn monkey.
- Best nugget from the movie: Jeff Ament describing how he’s always been stoked to play every show; that they’ve never phoned it in. This was my “hell yes” moment – it is EXACTLY what I’ve always said to people when defending my concert habit — I’ve never seen a bad show from Pearl Jam – always new/different, and they always look like they are having fun. That’s what keeps me coming back.
- Eddie described how, on stage, there’s not much difference between the band and the fans. I can’t remember the words he used, but the idea was that it’s a give and take, drawing off the energy of each other. I’ve always felt that way about concerts, and wondered if the band can feel the energy change on different songs. I love that they understand what the fans’ experience is like, and that they would be out in the pit, too, if they weren’t on stage.
My main take-away: go ahead and mock me for my PJ fandom (and I know you do). I’m not ashamed of it. But it’s not, and never has been, an “ooh, Eddie’s so dreamy” kind of thing. As much as I may worship at the Altar of Vedder, I’ve always said that I would love to just hang out with the band and have a beer. The movie just confirmed what we, as fans, already knew. A bunch of great guys, now 20 years older just like the rest of us, who happen to play in an epic band.
And go ahead and mock me for my concert habit, and the fact that I’m traveling to Vancouver BC this weekend to see, who else…Pearl Jam. If you don’t love live music – have never lost yourself in a show – you will never get it. And that’s OK. But for me, and thousands of fans like me, live music is money well spent. It is timeless, and you are never too old (or too young) for it. How lucky are we, that there are bands who love it as much as we do, and are happy to oblige.
Finally last night, nostalgia gave way to thankfulness, and I left feeling lucky to have grown up with this band for the past twenty years. I happily hopped in the booster seat-filled minivan that the 21-year-old me swore she would never drive, blared “Evenflow”, and rocked home to relieve the babysitter. Bring on PJ30 and PJ40….and count me in.
Alive….Encore Break
Twenty years, holy cow. Pearl Jam’s “Alive” was released as a single on August 2, 1991. In honor, it feels like maybe it’s time to release this one from the vault.
Originally written in 2003, it was, in a lot of ways, the precursor to what would later become Corduroy Notes (figured out the origin of the name yet? Let me know if you have a guess).
And, by way of update, I still can’t believe that I almost broke up with Pearl Jam. The career drama is a now a mere footnote, and I am thankful to be back in contact with my friend — we still talk PJ, and scratch our heads at the fact that 20 years have passed since our first show.
I’m Still Alive
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about music. It’s funny how, while a recording preserves a musical performance, a song also serves to record the events that occur in our lives.
“Dust in the Wind” will forever be a darkened Stevens Junior High cafeteria, and a dance with an older 9th grade boy whom I had a major crush on. Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” = a McMahon Hall lounge, new friends, and the first time I ever saw a beer bong. Likewise, though, other artists have been entirely ruined for me just by their association with bad memories: The Steve Miller Band, Jimmy Buffet, and Hootie & the Blowfish all have found their way into this category (no great losses there).
Which brings up an interesting part of the ending of a relationship: the question of who gets custody of the music. Not the physical CD’s and albums, but the memories associated with them, the ownership of those times. For awhile, I thought that Pearl Jam would find its way into the Steve Miller-Jimmy Buffet-Hootie camp. When a long-term friendship ended a few years ago, I didn’t listen to Eddie and the boys for a long, long time. It was too painful; nearly every song represented some memory of the “us” that was no longer – all the Pearl Jam shows we had attended together, and the Seattle music mania that had gripped us both so many years earlier.
Ultimately, I realized that I could take ownership of those memories and experiences for myself, with or without him in my life. Of course, maybe it was the music that made me do it — giving up The Steve Miller Band is one thing. Giving up Pearl Jam is quite another.
Like many others, I own the entire Pearl Jam catalog, and I love it all. But one song still endures as my favorite. “Alive” was their first song to hit the airwaves, and I was a senior in college at UW — that time in the early 90’s when, as Seattle-centric twenty-somethings, we believed that Seattle had become the center of the music universe (and maybe it was, for awhile).
I remember the first few times that I heard “Alive” – this song, this band – I was hooked right away. I talked to my L.A.-based boyfriend, and asked him if he had heard this new song – from some band named Pearl Jam, and they were from…. Seattle! Where I lived! I tried to sing the song to him to see if he recognized it. He didn’t. At least not yet.
Since then, I have always had a special relationship with “Alive”. It seems to show up when I need it most — little blips on the radar screen of my life. I vividly remember getting off the bus, opening my mailbox and finding my law school acceptance letter – while listening to it on my Walkman. Three years later, driving home on the day my Bar Exam results were to arrive, there it was again. And again, after a particularly bad job interview, while lost in downtown Seattle in my half-broken-down car in the rain, there was Eddie on the radio, singing my song.
These days, the Seattle music craze has long passed, and you really don’t hear old Pearl Jam on the radio very much anymore, even here in Seattle.
Recently, my husband and I were having lunch and discussing my latest career drama: whether I should leave my law firm, do something else, or quit working entirely and stay home with our 8 month-old son. I was stressed out, and questioning whether I wanted to practice law anymore. I realized that I was at a crossroads — with not just my needs to consider, but that of my son and our little family.
On my way back from lunch, my husband called me. “Turn on 107.7”, he said.
There it was: Eddie Vedder, belting out the anthem of my youth, all at once giving me a glimpse of the girl I was ten years ago, how far I had come, and reminding me that, as always, things will work out as they should.
I turned up the stereo, rolled down my window, and sang along.
Drop the Gyro and Run
I recently saw The Black Keys in concert. They totally blew me away. When others have asked me how it was, I can only describe it by saying that it was the most life-altering show I’ve seen in a long time. This is not a designation that I award lightly. In fact, only two other times.
The first Life Altering Concert, and really the only one that matters in the grand scheme of things: the first time I saw Pearl Jam. Lollapalooza 1992, Kitsap County Fair Grounds. The lineup, even then, was phenomenal: Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Jesus and Mary Chain, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Ministry, Ice Cube (who dropped more F-bombs in a sentence than I had ever heard, then or since — he had been stopped at the U.S./Canadian border, and barely made it in time for his set. But that’s another story).
Come to think of it, these life-changing concerts have always occurred at the intersection of a major life change. The Pearl Jam show was a month before I started law school. DMB (Life Altering Concert #2) was around the time of my wedding. The Black Keys show came right before the Big Birthday. Skeptics would say that it’s not really the music that is life-changing, it’s just the timing of the concert. But of course I know differently.
On that July day so long ago, my main reason for coming to Lollapalooza was Pearl Jam. I was a huge fan, but hadn’t seen them live yet. My friend and I thought they were taking the stage later, but as we sat eating lunch, we heard the roar of the crowd and…..Eddie. We literally dropped everything (the gyro was terrible anyway), and sprinted over.
It’s funny that in a concert setting, your concept of personal space is miniscule. Standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty strangers is not only acceptable, it’s preferred. We got pretty close to the stage, and while I couldn’t tell you the playlist, I do remember very clearly thinking: these are my people.
That is what concerts are all about. Live music is collective yet private, public but intimate, all at once. And aren’t we all, throughout life, just looking for our people? Our village? We are lucky to find it in different contexts along the way – in friendships, in our profession, in our kids’ schools – people who share a similar world view, and make our daily lives better.
But a love of live music bonds us in a way like no other. To the dude at the Gorge with the Pearl Jam tattoo, and the guy with the tattered “Drop in the Park” t-shirt (“Buttercup! Buttercup!”), I say: I get you. You are my people; you are my friend, even if I don’t know you.
And the friend who was at the Pearl Jam show with me that day — that life-changing show cemented our friendship, forever. He’s always been my friend, even when we didn’t see each other for nine years. That’s just the way it works.
Namaste, Eddie
I am not mature enough to be a yoga person. I am too fidgety, and I can’t clear my mind, and, most of all, the trippy new age music either annoys me or makes me giggle.
Lately though, I’ve been doing hot yoga, and I have to say that I really like it. I think the stench of the sweaty guy next to me is distraction enough from the music, and the heat makes my non-flexible body feel stretchier.
I found my musical soulmate at a coffee house once. The playlist was perfect, and this is not something that happens everyday. But I took that poor barista for granted, and paid for it by sitting through hours of bad coffee house playlists later on.
Therefore, I intend to cherish the yoga teacher that I have found, who just might be my yoga music soulmate. I am loath to reveal her location for fear that the class will become too crowded. Let’s just say — Jimi Hendrix, Radiohead, Eddie Vedder – now that is music I can Downward Dog to.
Corduroy Notes 