Pearl Jam, Wrigley Field and the sun at the break of dawn
By NICK TAVARES
STATIC and FEEDBACK Editor
The second night ended much like the first. Not in terms of the show itself — Pearl Jam, over two more nights at Chicago’s Wrigley Field, pulled out all the stops and produce two distinct, powerful shows as their Dark Matter tour races across North America.
No, both nights ended at the Billy Goat Tavern across the street from Wrigley, with a beer and conversation and deep contemplation about everything that led to this moment.
How many times can one person see the same band? When it's a band like this, one that's been one of the more consistent through-lines in my life, it's amazing how deep the web of connection gets. I don't have many interests or passions that have lasted this long — the Boston Bruins, Boston Celtics and the Beatles being the only ones I can think of that exceed it in term. With that, different songs can pin me down to a different point in my life. And at all those points, people enter and fall away, some coming back, some not. But the band is still there, aiding in these connections whether they realize it or not.
In what's becoming nearly an annual tradition, this year saw another Pearl Jam pilgrimage, this time back to Chicago and Wrigley Field, with friends flying in from different corners of the country, along with a few who happen to call Chicago home, of course.
These trips are an excellent excuse to get people together for a care-free weekend under the guise of watching this band for the hundredth time (in reality, more for some, fewer for others and, if we're keeping score, for the 33rd and 34th time for me). There's time for pizza and hot dogs and beer and coffee and record shops along the way, and with it, all the heavy conversations that arise when the frivolities drip away.
But, again, at the surface, the reason we're here is a shared affinity for this band, and they continue to deliver on the highest level night after night.
It's a testament to the strength of their catalog that a perennial closer like "Porch" could slot in right after the shock opener of "Garden" and be just as effective in working the crowd to the point of fury, while still keeping a gem like "Rearviewmirror" in their back pocket to leave them all wanting more before the encore.
There are moments that just lead to melted faces across the field, like when Mike McCready shredded those poor souls to death on the set-closing "Porch" the first night, or his gentler mode of attack on the "Yellow Ledbetter/Little Wing" combo that sent everyone home on night two. Just as on the Dark Matter record, he and Jeff Ament had more than a few moments of scorching playing, and watching the two of them lock horns and lay waste to that crowd on those songs will never be anything but thrilling. All the while, Matt Cameron is a demon behind the kit, and Stone Gossard is forever locked in a groove that quietly drives this band through their peak.
And simply, they keep finding new wrinkles in these performances, like opening with the aformentioned "Garden" for only the second time ever, or teasing the crowd with the opening "Better Man" riff before flying straight into "Corduroy" on the first night. They even rolled the dice during "Won't Tell" on night one, pulling a woman named Abby from the crowd to sing along with Vedder, who seemed to delight in the random company onstage. This goes for the second night as well, when opening act Glen Hansard came onstage for a "Falling Slowly" duet with Vedder and added his own lead vocals on "Smile."
Meanwhile, everything was delivered with purpose and energy. Thursday night's opening duo of "Release" and "Of the Girl" had a weight and intent that would set the tone for both shows. The new songs, especially "Dark Matter" and "Waiting for Stevie," were played with an urgency that would've fit right in with their earliest days. Deeper into the catalog, "Come Back" and "Off He Goes" helped to relay those feelings for those who aren't here to celebrate. "Rearviewmirror" brought the house down on the second night, while "Jeremy" came roaring out of the encore before the appropriately celebratory "Alive." Their efforts across the board just seem to defy time, with the only give-away being the frayed edges of the well-worn Walter Payton jersey Vedder wore each night, proudly displaying it's no. 34 over a blue t-shirt.
Visually, this tour is unlike any they've ever done. Save for the occasional static backdrop or some purposefully placed lights, their typical stage setup had been remarkably spartan for a band on their level. This time around, the show begins with the entire band silhouetted in front of a bright-white, rising sun, with that setting changing and mutating until it reaches the crescendo of "Setting Sun."
The centerpiece of each night, and indeed for most of the tour, has been "Setting Sun," Dark Matter’s closing number. With the aformentioned star collapsing and expanding and exploding behind them, Vedder spins this tale that could be interpereted myriad ways — a romantic relationship? His relationship with the band? The band's own standing among their departed peers? — while Gossard, McCready, Ament and Cameron build to a crescendo behind him, taking the audience along for the ride. Just as they have for nearly 34 years now, as accented by the Payton jersey, they poured everything they had into this one song and moment, their entire career summarized in four minutes of pure emotion and adrenaline.
Is "Setting Sun" a commentary on relationships? I've gone back and forth as I've listened to this song this summer. But this song (and my own advancing age, probably) has led me to step back and take stock of a lot of relationships in my life — current, past, friendly, unfriendly, those I'd like to think are in my life forever, those that are long gone, those who aren't here anymore. All of them. At some point people enter and exit our lives, one way or another, while we turn out to be the ones on the other end of their collective doors. Maybe some come back. Maybe that's an impossibility.
The community, the new friends made over the course of a few hours, the constant surprises, the pure fire on stage every night ... I mean, everyone should have a band like this in their lives. I'm delighted to have this one, and especially happy to have everything that's come along with it in the process. In the meantime, I'm shouting thoughts at friends during the show and texting the others who couldn't make the trip.
These are the thoughts going through my mind as that burning sun disappears, the house lights flip on, and "Alive" rings out through the stadium. To be among those thousands, all throwing up their hands in celebration of this moment, with the realization that this music brought us all here to this moment is just tremendously powerful. And then I thought of all those people that come and go and how I'm standing here in this field among them and with the others in my head, and I started to get emotional by the end of that second night. It's happened before, but it felt especially powerful this time around. I suppose it was the disbelief that got to me. After all this time, I didn't believe in the possibility of certain possibilities.
How many times can one person see the same band? I don't know. I suppose I'll stop going when they stop being good. I'll stop buying tickets when they stop delivering these powerhouse performances night after night. I'll stop standing in lines and running up credit card bills when I stop getting these emotional floods that seem to occur whenever they take the stage. I'll stop going when it stops meaning as much as it does. I’ll stop going when it stops bringing all these incredible people back into this life.
E-mail Nick Tavares at nick@staticandfeedback.com