Pearl Jam

Alive….Encore Break

/ Deb / 2 Comments

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.

Watch It Unravel, I’ll Soon Be Naked

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In my kitchen yesterday, my husband shot me a sideways, slightly disgusted glance as I put on my sweater.  “What?”  I said.  “It’s my favorite sweater”.  I don’t blame him for looking at me disgustingly — the sweater is old and gross.  It zips up the front and has a hood, has pilling up and down the arms, and probably has holes somewhere.  But it’s comfy and cozy, and putting it on requires no decision-making.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.  “You’re like that Weezer song about the sweater”.

Now, here’s where it gets weird.  (And I just love this kind of stuff).  I haven’t heard that song in probably ten years, easily.  On my way to the gym today, what comes on the radio other than…..The Sweater Song by Weezer.

AND, as if that isn’t enough, here’s the kicker:  the name of that song is actually “Undone”.  I got back in the car after my workout, only to hear “Undone” by Pearl Jam.  Spooky Monday!   Not enough to make me stop wearing the sweather, though.

Drop the Gyro and Run

/ Deb / 3 Comments

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.

The Sweatiest Music

/ Deb / 1 Comment

I was thinking yesterday about what makes a good workout playlist.    What works on any given day is always up for grabs.  The lawyer in me, though, can distill it down into these essential elements:

1. VOLUME.  The music must be mind-numbingly loud, creating an audio cocoon that drowns out any peripheral noise.  I don’t want to be talked to when I have on headphones, so whether I can hear what anyone is saying is immaterial.

2. CONTENT.  Live recordings are best, but studio versions will do.  The perfect tempo is one that coincides with your running pace, resulting in a sweaty bliss as if you are dancing in the summer sun at The Gorge.   I have a recording of a really hot Pearl Jam show at The Gorge, and when those songs come on, it’s almost — almost — like being there again. And I’m usually just as sweaty, considering the temperature at that show was 110.

3.  TRANSPORT.  Creative visualization is a nice bonus.  If a song reminds me of a funny memory, it shifts my focus from thinking about how tired I am.  That being said, some songs have inexplicably made it onto my playlist, and I have no idea why.  Crosby, Stills and Nash only remind me of late nights in law school, and thus have no place on a workout playlist.  I can’t hit “skip” fast enough, yet I have been too lazy to remove them.

4.  CONTEXT.  And finally, of course, the music does not have to be music that you listen to at any other time.  Do I ever listen to Public Enemy or Soundgarden while I am making dinner?  No.  But are they a mainstay in my workout playlist?  Absolutely.

"Oh, You Like the Banjo, Eh?"

/ Deb / 3 Comments

……asked John Butler of the Moore Theatre crowd, when we all cheered as a stagehand brought one to him.  “Well then, let’s have a little hoedown”.  Best line of the night; totally cracked me up.  My sisters and I have called his shows ‘hippie hoedowns’ for a long time.   It seems to be the only way to describe  their concert scene.

Recently I was popping off to some friends about how you shouldn’t go to a concert if you intend to sit down, and how it irritates me to see people sitting like deadbeats at a show.  I think my actual words were, “if you intend to sit down, you don’t deserve your ticket.  Go home and listen to a CD”.  This is mostly true, but of course I don’t really have that extreme a view on it.  I fully support sitting down when it’s a really shitty song or as a form of social protest, such as when DMB plays any of their new crap.

I just want everyone to have their Concert Moment.  That’s what I’m in it for — the one moment in the concert where you say to yourself- YES, this is why I am here.  I usually get that Moment, and if I don’t, I never go back to see the band again.

So at the John Butler Trio show, my sisters and I had the requisite group of ex-frat boys in front of us.  A small price to pay for otherwise awesome Row 6 seats, I must say.   And watching those dudes was almost as much fun as watching the band.  They danced, they sang, they did fist pumps and high fives for songs they liked.   They were having their Concert Moment, and I loved it.

My sisters loved watching them too, but more as spectacle.   Together, we have been known to wreak some havoc on fellow concert goers.  Two that come to mind are 1) the Gum Butt incident, and 2) the pelting of a couple who were making out during an entire Pearl Jam show.  Lucky for the frat boys, however, we all behaved ourselves this time.

And the hippie hoedown was a blast for all three of us, even with our differing views of the Perfect Concert.  While I love standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty, dancing strangers, my youngest sister would really prefer not to.  She’d like to sit down, and once proclaimed that anyone standing and dancing should be banished to a “designated dancing section”.

Given that she’s entitled to her Concert Moment too, she might actually be on to something.

"Buttercup! Buttercup!"

/ Deb / 2 Comments

My sister dubbed it a “90’s Love Fest”, and that’s exactly what it was. Complete with Doc Martens and long shorts, worn with a long flannel, slyly shouldering a vintage “Drop in the Park” tee shirt.

I’ve been to lots of Pearl Jam shows over the years, but have never seen the grunge look out in such full effect as on this evening. Perhaps Brad’s first show in years, and the potential of a (surviving members of) Mother Love Bone reunion, were enough to bring them all out. At any rate, The Showbox was packed, and we were all ready for a little walk down Seattle’s musical memory lane.

And what a walk it was. I lost track of the number of different musical collaborations up on stage….various versions of back-in-the-day Seattle bands, culminating with a reunion of the surviving members of Mother Love Bone that blew my mind.

I never again saw the dude that I had seen in line with the “Drop in the Park” shirt, but it hit me at some point during the evening that he could not have been at that show, unless he was about 10 years old at the time.  A free Pearl Jam concert at Magnuson Park, three weeks into my law school career — I was at the show, instead of in the law library, which kind of speaks for itself.   I bought one of the shirts but never wore it and ended up giving it away…..(so who knows, maybe my old shirt was at The Showbox with me,  on someone else’s body?)

It was refreshing to see the ubiquitous Seattle drink-in-hand head-nod: that disinterested method of rocking out that I only see from vintage Seattle concert-goers. And no cell phones taking pictures; it could have been 1992 all over again. Except for the fact that I now have two kids (and an awesome husband who offered to stay home so I could have a night out with my sister).

The cab dropped us off at 2:30am, and I spent the next day paying for it. Totally worth it though; as my husband quipped, “that’s the life of a rock star, man”. Exactly.

Eddie and Me on the Farm

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I have not written anything in awhile — here or anywhere else. Truth is, the holidays suck every last bit of energy out me, both physical and otherwise. At times I love the whirlwind, but I am usually glad to see the holidays end, and get back into a routine.

Occupying my time these days, predictably, is Pearl Jam. I love the new album. Actually, “love” might not be a strong enough word….I am completely obsessed. I bought it when it was released last summer, and liked it, but more recently it seems to have taken on new energy. Regardless of the true motivation behind the songs, they have felt like the theme songs to my life for the past few months. If I were a musician, that’s what I would want my music to do….so kudos to PJ for that.

My latest favorite is “Unthought Known”. I really wish I had written these lyrics:

Feel the sky blanket you with gems and rhinestones…
See the path cut by the moon, for you to walk on.

I don’t know for certain, but I am pretty sure that Eddie might need to move to Walla Walla too.

Pantry Blues

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Ever had a song that convinces you that you are a good singer? Well, let me tell you that if Eddie and the boys ever need a backup singer for “Nothingman”, I am their girl. On the Live on Two Legs version, I sound awesome. I do the harmonies, and I can belt it out with urgent conviction.

Of course, that’s how it sounds in my head. The key is to have the music loud enough that you can’t actually hear yourself very well. If I had a set of those headphones that real singers wear, I would probably be horrified.

In my car though, I sound great. And in my kitchen, I’m at the top of my game. Must be the high ceilings – acoustics, you know. Then I walk into the pantry, and the dream is over.

Call Me Randall

/ Deb / 2 Comments

Today I re-discovered a gem hiding in my CD collection. How had I forgotten about The Black Crowes? I don’t know what inspired me to grab it today, but Southern Harmony & the Musical Companion was the perfect music for a grind-it-out, errand day in the car.

I’ve always liked their bluesy, southern rock-ish sound….and this album has a bit of 70’s funk to it as well. In 1992, in the midst of grunge, they were so different than every other band. Right before I started law school, I moved home for the summer, and I devoured this album. (My other musical memory of that summer: listening to Pearl Jam, my dad walking in and proclaiming, “Geez, that’s depressing music”.  Dad, I love you, but don’t diss Eddie.)

So today, in my minivan, I got to feel a bit funky and (almost) 21 again. And on my way to Ballard Market, what did I see? That’s right, a huge flock of crows. I love it when stuff like that happens.

We’ve Got a Thing, and it’s Called..

/ Deb / 2 Comments

Radar Love. In the car coming home from Costco today. One of the best driving songs ever, hands down. But what it really reminds me of, instantaneously – 1992 Apple Cup, Pullman. The Drew Bledsoe year.

Freezing cold in butt-deep snow, we ended up in The Cavern, which, if memory serves, was a bar…on campus(?)

By the second half, the game was of no interest to any UW fan.  We danced, we spun, with the game on in the background.  A Coug stole my Husky hat and probably did unspeakable things with it.

The game wore on…we lost, convincingly. By this time, the jukebox was playing Pearl Jam, and in our Seattle-centric, drunkenly superior mindset, we taunted the Coug fans: yeah, you cowboy hicks, you might have won the game, but we’ve got Eddie Vedder.