All Those Yesterdays OR Off He Goes

One fall, when I was 15, knowing full well I was too young to even dream about getting in, I somehow got my hands on a ticket to see a new upstart band (Pearl Jam) at an 18-and-over venue (DV8). Their debut album Ten was weeks old and, thanks to my cousin Mark who- with his brothers- has always been a year or two ahead of me musically, I'd heard it months before. Earlier that summer, we split logs in Montana to the sounds of a 3-song demo of "Alive," "Wash," and a cover of The Beatles' "I've Got A Feeling." We must've turned that tape over about 400 times. The opening riff on "Alive" was like nothing I'd ever heard: creative, crunchy, a smart combination of riff-like stuff and chords. To this day, I love that riff. BAIROoooowh, buh-na-NAAH, mer-na-na-NAH-NAH, buh-na-NAAH, mer-na-na-NAH-nah-MAH-na-na-na-nah...

I couldn't get into DV8, probably due to a combination of my age and the fervent prayers of my father. I fancied myself the FIRST & BIGGEST PEARL JAM FAN IN ALL OF UTAH* (and probably, I conjectured, in all of Idaho/Wyoming/The Dakotas/New Mexico/most of the midwest because COME ON...I was. I was) and was sure that, if the band only knew that their most fiery proselyte who shoved their music on everyone was sitting dejectedly outside, they'd usher me in and give me a spot at the side of the stage, sign my t-shirt**, want to talk at length about Mookie Blaylock and The Beatles and...stuff, make fast friends, all that. But somehow word of my distress failed to reach them. And it was not to be. I later read a review of the show in SLUG , praising it effusively and talking about how lead guitarist Mike McCready sprained an ankle doing some high-flying leap, a leftover from his roots as a Kiss/Blue Oyster Cult fanboy. Yes, I remember all of that.

A year later, the Pearl Jam bandwagon was more crowded. And I was no less of a fan. This time, they were coming to the Utah State Fairpark. And I had tickets. I believe the reason was "tour fatigue." Though, rumor has it, they cancelled the dates to go open for Red Hot Chili Peppers. Either way, I was soooo bummed. I even saved the show's ad in City Weekly for ages.

Years (and two solid albums) later, my brother Andy and I scraped together to buy 3rd row seats–Pearl Jam & Bad Religion @ Wolf Mountain/Park West/The Canyons. It was an ugly day for the middle of summer- rainy, cold, one might say it was Seattle-esque. But we bundled up in warm rain gear, sure that the "Rain Or Shine" printed on our tickets actually meant something. My then-girlfriend Katie, Andy, and his friend Mike drove up, parked, and started hiking up the hill. Imagine me, the (again, self-proclaimed) biggest Pearl Jam fan violently getting his heart Temple Of Doomed upon witnessing hordes of people in their late-90's duds, heading DOWN the hill.

"Cancelled."
"Eddie himself came out and apologized."
"Risk of electrocution..."
"...promised they'd be back."

I was inconsolable and rage-y in ways that only a family-stable, socioeconomically-stable white kid who hasn't seen much true heartache in life*** can be and, as Holly can attest in such situations, Katie probably deserves a medal for hanging out with me for the rest of a miserable evening. In my defense, I knew I wouldn't see them because, in just about a month, I was going on my mission.

While I was in Brazil, Andy wrote me a letter, telling me how great our tickets were for the re-scheduled show in the Delta Center, the set list, his highlights. I later, in a fit of masochism that I wouldn't even be able to totally follow through with (aka, listen to) for another year and a half, purchased a bootleg of "the show that I would've attended" at a cd shop in Sao Paulo. I believe it was called The Delta Tapes. They opened with "Release," Eddie rode around on a bike. Yeah, I heard.

They came back to Salt Lake after my mission on the Yield Tour. (Still one of my favorite Pearl Jam albums) But I was living in Boston.

They came to Boston on that same tour, but I was back in Salt Lake by then.

Finally, a couple years later, my friend CWWV and I went to our second (now annual) Bridge School Benefit and I half-broke the Pearl Jam Curse: I saw them acoustic. Since then, Pearl Jam has played about half of those benefit concerts, so I've seen them maybe 5-6 times. ACOUSTIC! Now, they are very very good acoustic, but a big Chunk of the story with Pearl Jam is electricity.

So tonight, High School Me and Pre/Post Mission Me can finally rejoice, because I will finally be putting that demon to rest:

me, friends, Pearl Jam, the rest of the E Center.

Oh and I love the unintentional comedy of this screengrab.

* This would be a good time to confess. I have to admit that my friend Ryan is the real, loyal, longtime, rabid, card-carrying (literally) Pearl Jam fan. He's never wavered. He's continued buying the records. He's seen them a gajillion times. He will argue with our drummer, Pat, about The Grunge Cher all day long. And interestingly, Pat is receptive. Ryan, this post is not meant to insult or otherwise impose on your fandom.

** Because I didn't get into this show, I never bought a Pearl Jam t-shirt. Not because I was bitter against the band or the venue or my age or my praying father, but because- after this show- my only chance to get a Pearl Jam t-shirt was on the bandwagon with everybody else. As soon as their shirts were in whatever the Hot Topic of my era was, I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. It's like the Red Sox. Holly had to buy me a hat this year because I couldn't bring myself to doing it after their two World Series wins. Either this totally makes sense to you or you are Holly's friend.

*** This description actually helps explain the influx of really crappy, pseudo-angry bands in the late-90's/early 00's: white/mad/not sure why. Luckily, I was way out of the market by the time the Limp Bizkits of the world hit.