I’ve seen Pearl Jam probably ten times. The first time opening for Red Hot Chili Peppers in Syracuse, NY in 1991. Eddie Vedder was a mere babe. I ended up seeing them a bunch of times in the 90s, but my love for the band and for the experience dwindled to once-in-a-while into the 2000s. Mainly when Ms. Hipster’s second fanclub ticket didn’t have a taker. To be fair, I saw what is arguably the best Pearl Jam show of all time on that ticket at MSG on July 8, 2003. I even have the DVD to prove it. I think I saw one more show in 2006 and then my last show before this one was in 2013 in Philly.
I’m not really sure how I got roped into this show. I think we’ve been busy and it came up quickly and Ms. Hipster had basically exhausted the list of friends and acquaintances she’s invited over the years. Plus, she promised me Eddie had COVID semi-recently and had curbed the runtime of their shows. Plus the dude’s almost 60 and rich as fuck. There’s no longer the need to be a hero to the masses. Especially these masses. Because even in NYC, there are a bunch of conservative dickheads who know how to ruin a good time. Eddie talks about women’s rights, they boo him and tell him to “just sing.” Eddie complains about guns, says he doesn’t want to play “Glorified G” even though a friend (who turns out to be Howard Stern) begged him to play it. Because he “hates fucking guns.” Some asshole boos. And the band plays it anyway. It reminded me of the guy at the Dinosaur Jr. show who complained to Lou Barlow that they were playing too loud. Lou looked at him and said, “What fucking show do you think you’re at?” Eddie has always had the same politics, and it seemed that those earlier audiences shared them. These days, though? They’re the default, touring adult contemporary rock band. The guy in front of us and his dumb face and his sweater and khaki white-guy golf attire (complete with backwards lacrosse hat) just oozed Trump. So when he booed Eddie’s vote! message. I was not surprised. Such a shame.
Something in me also feared that time would catch up with the band. And since I’d seen them so seldom over the recent years I thought it might be like that first shocking site of one of your high school classmates on Facebook after 30 years. Bald, fat, uncool. Instead of seeing them once every couple of years, their hairlines gradually vanishing, their paunch growing slightly with each passing view, you get that whole eyeful all at once. I didn’t want to walk in and suddenly realize that there was a stage of old men up there. In stupid hats. But this is what I saw. And this is what I witnessed. And, look, these are seasoned pros. Probably more than just about any current touring band. But the dynamism just isn’t quite there. I notice it because I don’t see them often. The songs don’t quite hit as hard. Eddie’s voice doesn’t soar the way it did — though it still sounds decent. Nobody jumps around much. The whole thing is just missing the highgs that had the Garden shaking off its moorings in 2003. Which is understandable. And acceptable. Just a little bit sad to those of us who still picture ourselves as much younger than we are.
The thing I was actually pleased by is the new music. Honestly, I haven’t really heard much of their new record, Dark Matter. And usually the thing you fear most is a long-running band playing tracks from the new album. Oh, god, geezer rock. But I gotta say that some of the newer songs were actually decent live. There was one in particular that sounded great. And I have to assume it’s because Matt Cameron must have written some of it and actually decided to play the goddamn drums for once. Yes, the guy can keep a beat. Yes, he’s proficient. I’m sure he’s considered a very good technician. But, man, is he a boring-ass drummer. Just dull. Except, on occasion, on songs that he either wrote entirely or must have some say about what’s going on. Point is, you don’t always have to fear the new tunes — especially when they seem to translate pretty well to a live presentation. While this may not have reached the heights of my early experiences, or even my last experience twenty years ago at MSG, the nostalgia was strong. The dude standing next to Ms. Hipster was gigantic, had sunglasses on the entire time, was both drunk and high, seemed to sample every concession in the place, was wearing board shorts and had this slightly out-of-control kind of Oi! fist pump and body rock thing that he did the whole concert, including to the slow, emotional closer, “Yellow Ledbetter.” All while spilling beer and various other fluids all over the ground, Ms. Hipster’s shoes and just generally being a giant mess of a human. Nice guy, though.
The woman behind us was there with her three or four adult-ish sons and was convinced Bruce Springsteen was going to come out. That seemed to be her goal. Spoiler: The Boss did not emerge. But we got a second best: “Little” Steven Van Zandt! He came out in a leather trench and his purple headwrap thing and rocked out with the band to “Rockin’ In the Free World.” That was cool. I hadn’t seen the dude live since 2002. And before that in 1984. I thought I might get wacked. I did not. I’m glad I went, even if it made me feel old. And miss The Sopranos.
