Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged 'pearl jam'

January 8, 2010

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“The Fixer” – Pearl Jam
(Words: Eddie Vedder, music: Matt Cameron, Stone Gossard, and Mike McCready, available on Backspacer, Monkeywrench 2009)

I wasn’t surprised to find out that “The Fixer” started with a riff Matt Cameron wrote, as Cameron’s compositions are among the most compelling on the last few Pearl Jam albums. While Pearl Jam made their reputation with stadium sized riffs in the 1990s, their recent output tends toward more nuanced compositions. Not surprisingly, the drummer’s songs tend to play with rhythm and time signatures, stretching rhythms out and inverting figures just to see what happens. “The Fixer,” for instance, shifts between measures with five and six beats in them and again to measures with the standard four beats in the chorus.

While the guitars and drums navigate these changing meters, Vedder’s vocals play the role of his foundation. With a riff that squirms more than it settles the rest of the song, Vedder’s call and response vocals give the song a clearer sense of structure. The simplicity also makes sense not only for grounding the music but also for giving Vedder’s lyrics directness. “The Fixer” is rhythmically interesting, yet most of it is under the hood; as a whole, it’s razor sharp and focused, largely because of the way Vedder arranged the verses. Even if he’s singing about, well, fixing things, Vedder sounds resolved more than alarmed. This determination spills over into the rest of the song, making it one of the catchiest Pearl Jam singles in ages.

More on Pearl Jam: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

November 12, 2009

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“Chloe Dancer / Crown of Thorns” – Mother Love Bone
(Words: Andrew Wood / Music: Mother Love Bone, available on Singles - Original Soundtrack, Epic 1992)

40% of Mother Love Bone went on to form Pearl Jam, so it’s appropriate that “Chloe Dancer / Crown of Thorns” sounds like a cousin to the Pearl Jam catalog. I only point out the percentage (the shared members being Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament) because it gives a rough estimate of the shared DNA between the groups. For as theatrical as Eddie Vedder was in his early days (see the band’s performance of “Porch” on MTV Unplugged), Andrew Wood made Vedder look like the shy kid in the back of the room. Wood’s friends spoke about his magnetic personality, and he certainly pumps it into “Chloe Dancer / Crown of Thorns.” Of course, the same theatrics that made him “magnetic” to some make him unbearable to others, particularly in the lyrics. Wood strives for heartbreak in his story yet often relies on some questionable images (that substitute teacher line is particularly weird).

Still, the correlations lie in the arrangement. In some ways, this is the predecessor to “Black” – a swelling power ballad fueled by heartache. The “Chloe Dancer” might be mostly Wood’s craft (and if it is, it’s a testament to his strengths), but as soon as “Crown of Thorns” starts, Gossard’s supporting riff immediately bolsters the arrangement. Even the breakdown near the end, with Ament’s bass sneaking out front, gives the necessary momentum to push the final chorus over the top. It’s only appropriate that Pearl Jam, starting in 2003, occasionally include the song in their setlist. Even without the lovely “Chloe Dancer” introduction, Vedder keeps Wood’s lines intact yet sings it with his own natural cadence and emphasis. Whether it’s Vedder’s personality or just the luxury of aging a bit, he doesn’t sound as overactive as Wood does near the end of the song. In short, it’s a way of Pearl Jam, Vedder included, paying tribute to their heritage.

More on Mother Love Bone: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

September 20, 2009

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“Even Flow (Live – San Diego 2006)” – Pearl Jam
(Words: Eddie Vedder, Music: Stone Gossard, originally available on Ten, Epic 1991)

Eddie Vedder’s singing style, once dubbed a “yarl,” remains a dealbreaker when discussing Pearl Jam. Fans of the band embrace his gruff baritone and point to his growth as a vocalist over time. Still, some can’t get past Vedder’s voice and how it obscures his lyrics. This, along with an incomplete set of lyrics printed inside Ten, only made it more difficult to understand a song like “Even Flow.” Sure, “Even Flow” has a lot more going for it than just its lyrics, but those who prioritize lyrics that stand up to scrutiny might be frustrated by the song. It’s possible to embrace the ambiguity too – either by making up words, projecting meaning upon the song, or just singing along with the stereo up. Still, if determining meaning on a line-by-line basis is a priority, “Even Flow” won’t be near the top of your list.

However, in the case of “Even Flow,” line-by-line meaning isn’t as important as the song’s meaning shifted over the years. In the live setting, “Even Flow” became a feature for guitarist Mike McCready, offering him one of numerous moments in the spotlight during a concert. On any given tour, “Even Flow” remains one of the most played songs (and easily the most played song from Ten), in part because it’s a feature for McCready, but also because it keeps evolving. Take this 2006 version – the band pushes the tempo, features McCready, and then lets former Soundgarden drummer (and Pearl Jam’s longest tenured drummer) Matt Cameron take a solo. While the song shifted from a three minute yarl to an extended jam, it remains one of the essential moments of a Pearl Jam live show – one of the few expected pleasures in an ever-shifting setlist. Even if Vedder seems to modify the lyrics (which he more sings than “yarls” these days), the crowd waits, ready to sing that final chorus right back at the band. In a song’s meaning goes further than the notes and words in it – it can grow into something bigger. In the case of “Even Flow,” it’s become one of the band’s trademark live songs, for its evolving arrangement, blistering performance, and enthusiastic crowd response.

More on Pearl Jam: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: pearl jam | 2006 | 1991 | 2000s | live recording |

July 17, 2009

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“Betterman” - Eddie Vedder and the Walmer School Choir
(Words/music: Eddie Vedder, available on The Molo Sessions, Ten Club 2007)

It’s easy to write, yet it’s very difficult to write with “voice.” I’m a teacher in my “day job” and helping students write with voice remains the most difficult part of the writing process yet the most important; “voice” separates the average writing from the spectacular pieces, whether it’s a poem, a play, or an academic paper. It’s difficult because, unlike grammar, it can’t be taught through a formula and it usually only develops through repeated attempts. I still struggle to find my own voice every day as I write about songs – sometimes I agonize for an entire evening trying to decide what I want to say or how to say it. Then, on other days, it comes to me clearly and quickly. Sometimes it’s through lots of conscious and subconcious thought (yesterday’s post was an example of that), but other times it comes out of nowhere. It’s almost like the story takes control and dictates how it needs to be told; there’s time to polish it up after the fact and time to tinker with it under the hood, but the main essence – the voice, if you will – screams out as clear as day.

My friend Mike (who I hope will plug any holes I leave in this entry in the comments section) and I have spent a lot of time discussing Pearl Jam (and much more on them another time), and I’ve argued that in a decade or so when Pearl Jam becomes anthologized into whatever will be “classic rock” at the time, “Betterman” will be the song. I’m not saying it will be the only Pearl Jam song that will survive nor is it “the best” or my favorite Pearl Jam song. It is, however, the song that resonates the strongest with fans and non-fans alike – crowds at Pearl Jam shows will hijack the entire first verse and chorus from Vedder, and pop stations will occasionally let the song creep out during ’90s retro programming. I’ve struggled to figure out why exactly this will be the band’s lasting legacy, but I’m starting to think it has to do with this nebulous “voice” idea. Vedder wrote the song as a teenager, drawing on his own personal experiences, and through all its different permutations – solo demos, recordings with his previous band, and the final Vitalogy version – some of the details changed yet the essence of the song endured. Even though he’s writing through a persona, Vedder still radiates through the song, whether written about his own family or not. The plot isn’t as important as the theme – the idea of love’s warm embrace becoming a smothering blanket and struggling with ideas of self-assertion, self-worth, and self-empowerment. As a teen, Vedder’s song became the vehicle for him to tell his truth – to share his feelings with the outside world. Right now, I’m attending the Brave New Voices festival in Chicago with some students, and over the past few days I’m watching young people searching for and finding their voices through spoken word poetry. Looking at this remarkable week of self-actualization, it’s even more incredible how Vedder could compose this song (or the song’s core, at least) as a teenager. Even if it needed more work, Vedder found his voice and will be heard for decades to come. “Betterman” will just be the gateway into what else he has to offer.

More on Eddie Vedder: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

May 16, 2009

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“Eddie Vedder” – Local H
(Words/music: Local H, available on As Good as Dead, Island 1996)

Both in sound and spirit, Local H typifies the “modern rock radio” era of American alternative rock. Sonically, the band squeezed as much sound as possible out of the guitar and drums duo. By adding bass pickups to his six string, Scott Lucas created a dense and heavy guitar sound that filled the space between Joe Daniels’ bashing percussion. Like many of their contemporaries, their songs draw on grunge’s sound, yet Local H have more in common with the slower, Black Sabbath-leaning bands like Alice in Chains and Soundgarden than the more popular sounding bands. As for their lyrics, Local H played up to the mid-90s “slacker” stereotype, writing songs about suburban frustration and boredom. There’s a unified front in many of Local H’s songs – Lucas’ words match the tone and feel of the band’s music (or vice-versa, I suppose). However, Lucas approached his songs with a touch of self-deprecation, arming himself with sarcasm to ward off an entire song built around gloom and doom.

“Eddie Vedder” finds Lucas’ protagonist asking if being the Pearl Jam singer would make him better liked, and it’s hard to tell exactly how he’s using Vedder in the song. It seems easy to hone in on Lucas’ reference to Vedder the Rock Star, asking if fame and fortune would make him more attractive. However, by 1996, Vedder was well into his second act as a reclusive personality. Pearl Jam was between Vitalogy, the last of their insanely popular albums, and No Code, and album that began Pearl Jam’s shift away from their platinum selling sound. Aside from the Vedder lyric, the song describes the rejection of superficial friends, with Lucas (ham fistedly) declaring that those types of people are “as good as dead.” Vedder made a similar retreat inward around this time by shunning the spotlight, so maybe Lucas sees that part of himself in Vedder. Still, it’s hard to hear the lyric and not think of Vedder as one of the giants of the era, and regardless of Vedder’s personality, some people might be more attracted to his celebrity than the protagonist’s bland anonymity. The song’s “I don’t give a shit” mantra serves two purposes – it’s the slacker’s rally cry and in 1996 this helped bring Local H to the radio. I still can’t help but think of it as a statement of personal resolve as well – Local H’s declaration to “be themselves” rather than try to make a Pearl Jam record. The band continues on, still plugging away with their same sound, refusing to be Eddie Vedder, or (in the ensuing years) Fred Durst, Jack White, or Brandon Flowers. They may not be as popular as these men (or as they were in Durst’s case), but as Lucas keeps insisting – they don’t care.

More on Local H: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

January 28, 2009

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“Crazy Mary” – Victoria Williams and Lou Reed
(Words/music: Victoria Williams, appears on MTV’s 120 Minutes Live, Atlantic 1998)

To know Victoria Williams’ music is to know her story too. In 1993, Williams was diagnosed with MS and because she made a living as a singer/songwriter, lacked health insurance. Thus the Sweet Relief Fund was born, and through two compilations (the first consisting of covers of Williams’ songs) and other efforts raises money for musicians who cannot pay their medical bills. Having endured a gap in health insurance coverage myself, I can attest that it’s not cheap for a healthy person, let alone someone with something like MS requiring plenty of treatments. Still, what seemed like a tragedy became a triumph as Williams still writes songs and performs over fifteen years after her diagnosis.

Still, it’s the story in her song that’s more important. “Crazy Mary” reads like a character sketch or a barebones short story. I’m somewhat reminded of the oddball characters Flannery O’Connor created in her stories (although I’m still not 100% satisfied with that comparison – help me out in the comments if you have a better match). The title character is the strange hermit woman in her town - if she lived in your town, she’d be the subject of childhood legends and dares to go knock on her door. Unlike the stereotypical urban legend, the narrator has seen Mary and even met her on a few occasions. Still, Mary’s voice is silent in the song – she waves her arms frantically and has “wild eyes” but never utters a word. We don’t know what drove her to the outskirts of the town or rendered her silent (and if it was a story, we’d have a slight back story at least) and we don’t quite know what happens to her at the end.

I’ve always been struck by how Williams sings the song in this version (from a compilation of live performances on MTV’s now defunct 120 Minutes). Like many, I first heard Pearl Jam’s version from the original Sweet Relief compilation and they do an admirable job with the song, but Williams tells the story like she lived it first hand. There’s the clever turn of phrase spelling out “loitering” followed by “a-llowed” and how she enters into a Crazy (Mary)-like shriek near the end of the chorus. It’s the first verse after the chorus where Williams’ performance makes the story; she quickly speaks the first two lines of the verse (kind of like her duet partner Lou Reed might have done) before leaning into the word “dreaming” just for a split second longer than any other word. Her voice lifts slightly higher just at the part where the narrator shares her dream of flight into Mary’s home. At the end of the verse, Mary’s “rising up above” her run down shack, and after hearing how a car crashed into her house in the final verse, it seems like Mary’s ascended from life into the afterlife. I might be reading too much into the biblical connotation of her name (which would strengthen the O’Connor comparison), but there’s a certain collapsing of the story onto itself at the end as the dream and reality blur. The lines repeated right after the discovery of the accident – “that what you fear the most / could meet you half way” is vague enough to refer to Mary (who despite her exile from town met her demise from one of the citizens) or the narrator (who empathizes with Mary and thus probably sees something of herself in the demise) but pointed enough to pierce the song open, leaving the scars as a reminder of Mary’s story.

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PS – I can’t decide if Lou Reed adds or subtracts to this version. I like the lead guitar he’s playing throughout the song, and at times it sounds like whimpering or wailing. His lead part sounds like a strange mutation of the blues – distorted, disoriented, and slightly disturbed. Still, his spoken (and sometimes out of time) backing vocals are kind of distracting. I almost wish they turned off his microphone and just let him play the guitar solo.

January 26, 2009

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“Hunger Strike” – Temple of the Dog
(Words/music: Chris Cornell, available on Temple of the Dog, A&M 1991)

I grew up on “modern rock radio,” so there’s certain songs that immediately grab my attention. “Hunger Strike” is one of the songs I can identify from the first note, even if I haven’t heard it in months. When I first found my way into music, I fell hard for grunge (late to the party, of course, but more on that next week) so I played through my copy of Temple of the Dog, a one off collaboration between Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell and Matt Cameron and all of the future non-drumming members of Pearl Jam (ironically, Matt Cameron became Pearl Jam’s drummer almost a decade ago, and has become the longest tenured drummer in the band) enough times to recognize the key songs pretty quickly.

“Hunger Strike” is an odd song because it doesn’t really fit into either Pearl Jam or Soundgarden’s cannon (by default, it’s become a “Pearl Jam” song, as they’ve performed it a dozen times or so over the last five years). The riff sounds like some of the other songs on Ten, but played at a much slower, less dramatic pace than songs like “Oceans” or “Garden.” Still, it’s not heavy enough to be a Soundgarden song, and Chris Cornell even sounds like he’s trying to sing like Eddie Vedder on this song. Still, that guitar riff has a circular, hypnotic quality to it; it kind of sounds like waves slowly ebbing and flowing (and, to a lesser degree, has the circular quality of a fugue in classical music, like counterpoint played by a flannel quintet). It’s soothing in a way that distorted guitars and booming drums could soothe ones’ soul. As for the lyrics, well, it’s best not to think about them. The lyrics seem to be a very literal take on going hungry in order to quell financial inequality in the world. Of course, while the fat cats are eating, Cornell and Vedder just keep getting hungrier and hungrier (and they remind us of that for about 20% of the song). Just like that circular riff, the lyrics keep repeating; however, while the guitars build on each other, the words go nowhere. Still, it’s given us that call and response chorus – Vedder takes the low rode and Cornell rides in on the high road soon afterward. It’s very fun to sing along to – my old college roommate Mike would sing Vedder’s part when he wanted to go eat in the dining hall, and either myself or my roommate Jim would join in with our best Chris Cornell impression (be glad you didn’t live with us during these moments). Needless to say, I never change the radio when I hear it these days.

Then there’s the video. The song makes me nostalgic for those moments eating rough pork chops or listening to the “Flannel Five” on a Rhode Island modern rock station during summer vacation, but the video is a relic of a very specific era. The hair, the clothes, the sullen looks off camera – they all tie this video to the early nineties and would make a pretty good “time capsule” description of that era’s aesthetics. It’s also, almost two decades later, kind of unintentionally hilarious. Thanks to Mike for uploading the version I remember (and as he pointed out in the comments section, the saddest beach party with Eddie Vedder’s strange downbeat swat at the 2:30 mark).

More on Temple of the Dog: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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