Danny Clinch
Pearl Jam: from left (front row) Stone Gossard, Mike McCready, Eddie Vedder; (back row) Jeff Ament and Matt Cameron.
Danny Clinch
Pearl Jam: from left (front row) Stone Gossard, Mike McCready, Eddie Vedder; (back row) Jeff Ament and Matt Cameron.
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Where were you in '92? If you're from Seattle, of course, it's a ridiculous question; everyone knows what was going on back then. Leave the inquiry to nosy outsiders—like me. Now, I've never set foot in Seattle. In fact, the closest I've ever gotten to your city was a darkened movie theater, watching Cameron Crowe's Singles, or maybe that awful hankie wringer with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in it. But in 1992, around the time that Pearl Jam's debut, Ten, was picking up serious momentum en route to landing at No. 2 on the Billboard charts exactly one year after its Oct. '91 release, I was working in a Tucson, Ariz., record store. And I got to witness the impact the group's massive success—along with Nirvana's and Soundgarden's ascents and the arrival of the so-called "Seattle Sound"—had upon the national music consciousness.
Nowadays, the mental image of what we at the store used to disparagingly refer to as "the baby grunge brigades"—all kitted out in regulation Vedder flannels, below-knee baggy shorts, and black Docs or army boots—may seem a tad quaint. But even after malls had replaced thrift stores for one-stop grunge gear shopping, I sensed that whatever these kids were feeling, it was every bit as valid and real for them as when I underwent my own consciousness shift back in the late '60s. This was the first genuine, fully formed underground-to-mainstream phenomenon to grip the collective teenage American imagination since the days of Woodstock—I felt the tingle of d骠 vu. That, and the visceral, sonic whomp of Ten, a classic by any standard.
Cut to 2000: Nov. 6, backstage at KeyArena. Pearl Jam has just played the final show of the Binaural tour. For band members Eddie Vedder, Stone Gossard, Mike McCready, Jeff Ament, and Matt Cameron, teeth-gritting relief mingles with bone-deep exhaustion. It's not the usual end-of-tour vibe. For the band, it's more like an era has come to an end, both figuratively (the Oct. 22 show in Las Vegas had marked the 10th anniversary of their first gig) and literally: Roskilde, June 30 in Copenhagen, where people got hurt, people died, and some in the international press tried to blame Pearl Jam for the tragedy.
Vedder recalls the group's darkest moment, saying, "The days following [Roskilde], we were all pretty inconsolable. I'm sure that the families and friends have had to live with it in much rougher ways than us. But our own personal experience was that we were practically in the fetal position over the reality of what had happened. Pete and Roger from the Who both called, and the one question I asked Pete was, 'What does this mean karmically? Why did it happen to us, since it seems we had worked so hard to maintain safety for the people who came?' Because it's always been safety first and respect for the people who come to see us. And he actually turned it around: 'It might have happened to you because you could handle it.'"
Not everybody was confident they could survive the tragedy, however.
"When we still weren't sure what had happened or how it went down, I think we all thought at the time, 'This could be it,'" observes longtime band manager Kelly Curtis. "We came back home [from Europe], and after a month or so passed, we realized we hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to the crew and all that. So the night before the tour was to resume in America, we had this big dinner for everybody that was there in Roskilde. A lot of people I hadn't seen since then. And I think it really re-bonded everybody in a way. Even the audiences were really respectful, like they understood. The first couple of shows were really scary for the guys. But they came together, and I think the audiences had a lot to do with that. Did I think there was a chance [of splitting up]? I probably felt that way more right after Roskilde. But still. . . . " Curtis' voice trails off for a second, then he quickly adds, "You know, this band has been through a lot together."
"I WAS THINKING about U2," says guitarist McCready, "how they did a huge amount of press for their last record, and how if we could do even one-tenth of what they did, it would be beneficial for us—to get back into the public eye a little bit. I don't think as a band we would ever say [as U2 did], 'We want to be the world's greatest rock 'n' roll band.' But we want to be a really good band. It's also because we feel pretty great about the record, too. We're excited to talk about it. And this time we decided to do a lot," he adds, laughing, "by our standards!"
McCready is explaining Pearl Jam's newfound accessibility to the press. While doing a week of interviews in Seattle with international journalists and another week in New York with the American press corps doesn't have quite the same razzamatazz as, say, Bruce Springsteen's nonstop media blitz this past summer, compared to prior PJ album kickoffs, this was fairly unprecedented.
