Five against the world perl jam
Five against the world - perl jamFive Against the World
There are two Eddie Vedders. One is quiet, shy, barely audible when he speaks. Loving and loved in return. The other is tortured, a bitter realist, a man capable of pointing out injustice and waging that war on the homefront, inside himself. On a warm and windy late-spring day in the San Rafael, Calif., it's easy to see which Eddie Vedder is shooting baskets outside the Site, the recording studio where Pearl Jam are finishing their second album. It is tortured Eddie, the one with the deep crease between his eyebrows.
"Your shot, calls Jeff Ament, the group's bassist. He bounces the ball to Vedder, who takes a long outside jumper. It rattles into the basket and rolls away. By the time Ament retrieves the ball, Vedder has already disappeared into the studio. His mind is on a new song, "Rearviewmirror." This is the last day of recording at the Site, and the track's fate hangs in the balance. It's a song about suicide . . . but it's too "catchy."
The choice of the studio seemed perfect back in February, when the band decided to record the new album here. This idyllic studio compound in the hills of outside San Francisco offered privacy and focus. Keith Richards had recorded here; his thank-you note to the studio framed on the living room wall. This is gorgeous country, where locals look out at the expansive green horizon and say things like "George Lucas owns everything to the left." This is where Pearl Jam would face the challenge of following up "Ten," one of the most successful debut albums in rock. There was only one problem.
"I f---ing hate it here," says Vedder, standing in the cool blur room where he is about to sing. "I've had a hard time." He places the lyric sheet in a stand between two turquoise-green guitars. "How do you make a rock record here? Maybe the old rockers, maybe they love this. Maybe they need the comfort and the relaxation. Maybe they need it to make dinner music."
Frustrated, Vedder shakes his head. He pulls at his black T-shirt, uncomfortable in his own skin. A long moment passes. Finally, producer Brendan O'Brien speaks over the intercom. "Ready to give it a shot?"
"Sure," Vedder says quietly, turning his back for the vocal. He slips on the headphones, and for a long time the only sound in the room is his tapping foot.
"Took a drive today," he sings. "Time to emancipate/I guess it was the beatings/Made me wise . . ." He holds a shaking hand to his head. "But I'm not about to give thanks or apologize."
Now listening carefully, his weight shifts from foot to foot. He growls and begins spitting on the floor. "Divided by fear . . ." Louder now. "Forced to endure/What I could not forgive . . ." He's bellowing now,...
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