2 of 3
In the meantime, Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder (who, like Cobain, came from a broken home) unabashedly claimed a father-figure in, of all people, Pete Townsend, and perhaps overcame grunge's navel-gazing, woe-is-me tendencies by switching the intro to outro with "Jeremy," a meditation on teen suicide turned radio hit ("Daddy didn't give affection. … And the boy was something that mommy wouldn't wear"). Still faithful to the grunge penchant for melancholy and horror over record label executives and moshing floor fans who appear to have neither hearts nor brains, Pearl Jam nevertheless managed to turn their gaze toward the holy mundane and marginal with such unlikely singles as "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town." And songs like "Better Man" and "Nothingman" took the rock genre in the direction of generational self-criticism by shining a light on multiplying villainies in so-called personal relationships.
And it isn't a cynical bent that seeks to acknowledge and illumine the darker corners of our nature. Pearl Jam's "Glorified G" lampoons our tendency to excuse our murdering mindsets with self-satisfied assertions that we love God. The indifference associated with the grunge label is the last accusation one could now level at Pearl Jam, whose work includes an effort to overcome Ticketmaster's hegemonic hold over live performance and a longterm commitment to social action. Eschewing the desensitizing powers of mass media, they've opted out of most publicity-seeking work save the occasional appearance on David Letterman, benefit concerts, and a grassroots-following reminiscent of nothing so much as the Grateful Dead phenomenon. Recently appearing in public with a Taxi Driver-style mohawk, Vedder remarked, "I'll keep the mohawk until we stop killing people abroad. … You don't have to read the paper, you don't have to pay attention—but if you happen to see a picture of me and the mohawk's still there, you can just go—oh, yeah, we're still killing people." (Vedder has since grown out his hair.)
Nirvana t-shirts proliferate worldwide, Pearl Jam keeps on rocking in the free world, and their imitators (listen for the thinly veiled, Vedder-style vocal in Creed, for instance) sell millions of records. When Soundgarden disbanded, lead singer Chris Cornell remarked that the band's music reportedly had a way of making their fans feel strong and he expressed his hope that it would continue to edify and admonish the right people. Something of a reprimand/confession concerning our tendency to sell ourselves short shows up on Riot Act when Vedder proclaims, "I've lived all this life like an ocean in disguise." Is it any surprise that the shoe-gazing high-schooler is still invigorated by this sort of thing?
Whatever we make of it, something once unarticulated has been given form, and it is more than the "Attention Shoppers!" sound of the latest Justin Timberlake song. It isn't indifferent or blissfully unconcerned with anything beyond its own gratification. As Prince Hamlet asked rhetorically, whereto serves mercy but to confront the visage of offense? Can one listen and be offended at the same time? Is being offended a way of avoiding being awake?
share this page
RSS Feed
