In 1994, my father bought me my first stereo, a small Sony unit with a dual tape deck and CD player. Having not entirely grasped the idea of music as stand-alone entertainment, I accepted the gift with a tepid smile and placed it on my dresser. I had, in fact, only just stumbled into adolescence on a criminally unhealthy diet of Phil Collins-era Genesis and Talking Heads albums. (Pink Floyd’s A Momentary Lapse of Reason was tossed in as ambiance during my early readings of Tolkien, nerd that I was-er-am.) This somewhat decrepit early mix may have exerted some influence on taste later in life, as you might note in some of my reviews. David Byrne still presses hard on my palette. Is that so bad?

A few days after receiving my gift, Dad placed a CD on the dresser next to the Sony as I sat reading the latest Spider-Man comic. He looked down at me, and I looked up. The CD case was only slightly visible, but Dad had the actual disc in his hand, its bright orange label shining down on me.

“I heard a song on the radio, and I bought it. Good song. But the rest of the album is just too loud. Figured you might like it.” He placed the disc in the unit’s tray, and walked back out down to his bedroom to change out of his BDU’s. Before the record played, I knew that something about this music that my father hated, I would love. The inherent rebellion alone would resonate enough to make an impression. I hadn’t actually known rebellion before 14. But from the first smattering of guitar on “Go”, I had fallen in love and would never, ever be the same. Pearl Jam’s Vs. was a watershed moment in my adolescence. It was audio puberty. A violent, insatiable lust for more followed, and very quickly, Pearl Jam became My Band.

Now, that may sound a little over the top. But my father (and most of yours) have stories similar. Bands like The Who, Led Zeppelin, and, well, the Beatles… these are the bands that changed lives in their day. It happens. We should accept it.

I bring this up now for a couple reasons. First off, it’s relevant. Pearl Jam have set off on a 12 date summer tour that included, recently, a stop as a headliner with Metallica and Jack Johnson in Manchester, Tennessee, at the renowned Birkenstock and granola convention known as Bonarroo. In the mud and sweat of the Tennessee night, Pearl Jam played an hour over their allotted time well into the night, stretching their 18 year catalog across an audience of more than 70,000. Before the tour started, lead singer and heir apparent elder statesman of rock and roll (think Neil Young circa 1990) Eddie Vedder completed a sold out West Coast tour, showcasing material from his first release sans-Pearl Jam on the Into the Wild soundtrack. That album, which at first garnered Oscar attention and was later disqualified on shoestring regulations, has further earned Vedder an audience with the indie-folk crowd, a line he had teetered on in the early 2000’s making here and there appearances with a small ukelele and fedora.

But, hey, I’m just a fanboy with a debilitating obsession. Possibly worse is the fact that I have a point (maybe several) to make about the actual relevance of this aging workhorse band, its fanbase, and the impact their decisions have made on the music industry. From the decision to take on Ticketmaster, to the lofty, almost self-indulgent release of every single live Peal Jam show since 2000 in official, pressed record release. Pearl Jam matters. Absolutely, it matters.

Pick up any interview with any member of the band, and you’ll read about Mother Love Bone, Green River, the Seattle movement, Nirvana, etc. It’s rehearsal for context. Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard were born of Green River with Mark Arm from Mudhoney. Then, they formed Mother Love Bone with Chris Cornell’s roommate, Andy Wood. Andy died from an overdose after the completion of what was to be Bone’s debut album. Meantime, Cornell, Ament and Gossard picked up Mike McCready to assist on Temple of the Dog’s only album with drummer Matt Cameron. Eddie Vedder is, of course, surfing somewhere when Jack Irons introduces him to a cut of Ament, Gossard, Cameron and McCready’s demo tape. The material would later form Pearl Jam’s latent hit debut, Ten. And that’s the short version.

It’s a fun story to tell. Pearl Jam was, for some time, the model Seattle band. You can’t read history any other way. To say Nirvana was the quintessential intersect of musical talent in Seattle is a common error. Nirvana’s Bleach did terrible upon release. Nevermind was a glitzy follow-up record spawned from producer-cum-musical-makeover-artist Butch Vig. (Vig took similar treatment to the Smashing Pumpkins.) They weren’t even from Seattle; Kurt Cobain hailed from Aberdeen. (Splitting hairs. I know.) Dave Grohl, who didn’t join the group until after Bleach was released, was from Washington, DC. (Though, if we’re talking drummer history, Pearl Jam has nothing to brag about.) The point I make is that, because of its emergence as the premier music city in America, Seattle quickly became about street-cred. Though it’s interesting to note bands like Tad, the Melvins, and Mudhoney were ultimately those left behind. Street-cred or not, commercial appeal gets you the check.

This… is an admittedly long and possibly unnecessary intro to what I plan on being a spanning document. Forgive me. But like I said:

Fanboy.

Last 5 posts by James V. Mitchell

• Why Pearl Jam Matters - Part 2 - July 25th, 2008
• Bodies of Water - A Certain Feeling Review - June 9th, 2008
• Message in a Bloggle - May 9th, 2008
• [Podcast] Always Willing to Listen Ep. 3 - April 15th, 2008
• [Podcast] Always Willing to Listen - Episode 2 - March 26th, 2008