So few left standing … The early '90s alt-rock revolution, which spewed from the underground like a geyser and saved rock 'n' roll from hair bands, exacted a heavy toll. Band break-ups, career nosedives, sell-outs and drug deaths are as much a legacy of that meteoric period as the music.Pearl Jam is still standing — arguably the only band from the era that still matters. "I'm totally excited about still being around," said PJ guitarist Mike McCready during a recent phone interview. "It's really a huge thing for me. We're very grateful that people continue to be into us."
While the band is still blessed with a sizeable legion of diehard fans, Pearl Jam's overall popularity has declined over the years. Their 1991 debut, Ten, sold nearly 10-million copies; 2000's Binaural logged about 750,000.
When Pearl Jam lifted a veritable press embargo to promote the release of last year's Riot Act, music scribes couldn't resist taking jibes at the band's sinking popularity. Perhaps it was all those years of being shut out of interviews.
But their take was way off. Except for maybe Ten, PJ has always made the music they wanted to make, without much consideration of market forces. You only need to listen to make this assertion. Through the years, their sound has become less and less commercial, more introspective (at times self-indulgent) and experimental. Away from the band, members have each taken free rein in seeking out whatever esoteric side projects may interest them.
"I think a lot of it is not hanging around each other when we're off the road," McCready says of the band's longevity. "We talk some but don't really hang out. When we get back on the road we're excited to see each other."
The white heat of early fame really fucked with Pearl Jam, especially charismatic frontman Eddie Vedder, who got slapped on the cover of Time and was heralded as the voice of a generation. As a result, much of Vedder's coping involved hiding. Hell, Pearl Jam stopped doing video clips when video clips were still an essential tool of the trade.
To further short-circuit their celebrity, Pearl Jam undercut the commercialism of their sound. What began as big and raging became lean and seething, or reflective and acoustic, or just plain odd. And while hip-hop and electronic influences have permeated rock in the last decade, Pearl Jam has proved particularly resistant to fads, preferring instead to stick with its muscular guitars-bass-and-drums attack. The X-factor, of course, is Vedder's brawny, passionate baritone, the most imitated voice in rock.
Like just about any band that's been around a dozen years, there were times when Pearl Jam almost fell apart. "In '95 we didn't know what Eddie wanted to do," McCready says. "There was real tension within the band. We were traveling by plane and he was traveling in a van doing a radio show in his van after the shows. We had to sit down and reevaluate. Did we still wanna be a band? Did Ed wanna be in the band? Fortunately, he did."
Another near-breaking point happened in 2000, when nine concertgoers were killed in the crush of a general admission audience at Denmark's Roskilde Festival. After considerable sorrow and soul-searching, Pearl Jam decided to continue on.
These days, it's fashionable to refer to PJ as an act that's reached comfortable middle age. Drummer Matt Cameron turned 40 late last year; the youngest member is guitarist Stone Gossard, who turns 37 in July. These allegations of comfort and maturity do not so much result from the members' chronological ages as the band's aura of stability. McCready admits falling prey to the drug and alcohol excesses of the Seattle scene, unceremoniously adding that he's now "clean and sober."
Vedder, especially, seems to have outgrown his tortured introvert phase. "Early on he was definitely not ready for the explosion of fame," McCready says of the PJ frontman. "Neither was anyone else in the band, but he was the focal point. That was a real burden to him. I think where he's at now, he's a lot more mellow now."
McCready adds that Vedder's reputation as a brooder was part reality and part media exaggeration: "He has always had a humorous side to him. Being angst-ridden and all that, some of that was true, but he had a funny side to him that was never explored. It would just come out. No one is all one thing. I think at this point he's just a lot more comfortable."
Middle-aged or not, the five members had to grow up to make it over the long haul. "What we had to do to create the longevity was have meetings … about communication," McCready says with a slight chuckle. "We realized that we had to communicate with each other. 'I'm pissed at you for this reason and I've been holding it in.' If there was weirdness, we had to talk and see what was going on. With any band, communication — with management, with the label, and most importantly with each other — is so important. Otherwise you end up on a Behind the Music episode. 'Whatever happened to those guys?' I will say, though, that sometimes it's hard to act like an adult."
Pearl Jam has reached a point of genuine collaboration in their creative dynamic. This is touchy stuff. Most of the songs are co-written by band members. No one has final say. Adam Kasper co-produced Riot Act with the band, but it's likely he was more facilitator than dictator. In the studio, "there's a push and pull, a lot of compromise, to get to what you hope is the best thing for the song," McCready says. "I wouldn't say making the albums is like pulling teeth, more like brushing your teeth with everyone else's toothbrush."
One senses that Pearl Jam doesn't sweat a sub-platinum album too much. With 40-million records sold, and a solid place in classic rock radio just a few years off, financial security would seem assured for the guys. And they have an ongoing ace in the hole: Pearl Jam continues to be a highly regarded live act, still a strong arena draw.
In Tampa Bay, they built their live rep from the get-go. It was late spring of '92. The Ten album had slowly percolated to the top of the charts over several months, coinciding nicely with their local debut at Jannus Landing. I was not yet a fan of the band but had heard the buzz and joined 1,500 other folks to see what all the fuss was about.
Pearl Jam assaulted the stage, bounding, leaping around, and combining pandemonium with tight ensemble playing. Vedder began coyly; his curly locks tucked into a baseball cap. A song or two in, he whipped off the hat and turned into a banshee. At one point, he shimmied up the center-stage pole that holds up its canvas roof; he steadied his raggedy boots on a couple of bolts and then launched backward into the crowd. Mayhem. The set, which lasted less than an hour, was pure catharsis. The crowd walked away stunned. The show has become legend — regarded as one of the best concerts to ever take place in Tampa Bay.
It didn't take long for the unbridled physicality of Pearl Jam's shows to taper off, which has also contributed to the band's survival.
These days, PJ generally turns in two-hour-plus shows that span the band's diverse, seven-CD catalogue, along with rarities and surprise covers. While not as cataclysmic on stage, the quintet refuses to flog their newest "product" or become predictable. "I still run around and get crazy," McCready says. "Ed doesn't climb around anymore. There's more songs; we play longer sets. In the early days, there was a lot of excitement about starting to have a career. The main thing these days is Eddie's really kicking ass live. He has to carry the whole show. His singing is better than ever. I told him, 'It astounds me; I don't know how you do it for two hours.'"
Eric Snider can be reached at 813-248-8888, ext. 114, or by e-mail at snider@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Apr 9-15, 2003.
