Pearl Jam always seemed to be one of those bands who would never recreate the magic of their early days. Their 1991 debut album, Ten, was the soundtrack to the so-called Generation X, as celebrated in films like Singles or practically anything else starring Winona Ryder. Even their most hardcore fans would admit that their last couple of studio offerings weren’t exactly vital(ogy). However, the release of their eponymous eighth album proves that they’re not quite ready for the knackers’ yard yet, and it seems that it took the current US occupation of Iraq to stir the demons in Eddie Vedder’s soul into life again.
The Iraqi war looms large throughout the album, nowhere moreso than the powerful ‘Army Reserve’, which comes from the viewpoint of a wife and son left behind while their husband/father is serving a tour of duty in the Middle East. Eschewing the usual ‘war is hell’ sloganeering, it’s a more human affair, as they try to convince themselves that he’ll be one of the lucky ones to make it home.
The classic anti-war ‘World Wide Suicide’ could be an out-take from Ten or Vs, not that it sounds particularly dated, but it does sound as far removed from a jaded 40-something quintet as it’s possible to get. Young pretenders to Pearl Jam’s rock throne could do a whole lot worse than spend some time with this song, from Vedder’s desperate rasp to Mike McCready and Stone Gossard’s frenetic fretwork.
But long before that, it’s clear that this is the sound of a band back at the top of their game. Indeed, Pearl Jam roars out of the starting blocks like a Formula One car whose engine has been tweaked to perfection, via the ferocious mule-kick of ‘Life Wasted’, a four-minute riff-and-scream-fest that sees the quintet turning back the clock for a slice and a half of vintage scuzz-rock. “I have faced it/A life wasted/I’m never going back again” howls Vedder on the chorus and something in the serrated timbre of his vocal chords suggests that he screams the truth. I can see this being a sweat-monster during their upcoming European tour in September.
It’s also something of a statement of intent. The band sound re-energised, re-invigorated, as if they’ve rediscovered the spark that catapulted them out of Kurt’s shadow and turned them from grunge also-rans to stadium superstars a decade and a half ago. ‘Comatose’, for example, is something of a misnomer: this is a frantic, almost trash-metal dash towards the finishing line, complete with the twiddliest guitar solo this side of Kirk Hammett.
The stoned poetry of ‘Severed Hand’ is the first time we hear Vedder singing, rather than bellowing, and he proves that time has broadened his vocal talents somewhat. The frontman has matured from the Jack Daniels-and-20-Major rasp of ‘Alive’ and is capable of Springsteen-esque world-weariness when the mood takes him, which it does on the bittersweet hopefulness of ‘Come Back’ or the gentle music-hall shuffle of ‘Parachutes’, an extremely beautiful ballad that, to these ears, sounds like it’s about growing old disgracefully, realising who your friends are and what’s important in your life.
Indeed, sometimes Pearl Jam sound like the missing link between Springsteen and Rage Against The Machine, from the Boss-esque blue-collar rawk of ‘Unemployable’ through the stunning late-night road music of ‘Gone’ to the incredible Hammond-led ‘Wasted Reprise’, a 53-second interlude so fragile it’s almost transparent. That’s not to say that they can’t shake their hair down and indulge in the good-time surf-n-mosh of ‘Big Wave’.
Emotive, melodic, angry and exhilarating, this is Vedder & Co.’s most important album in years, and their most listenable. Ladies and gentlemen, Pearl Jam have re-entered the building.