Lun-y tunes

Eddie and the Crusaders lighten up in Maine

by Matt Ashare

Pearl Jam's timing was just slightly off last Thursday night, September 26, at the Augusta Civic Center in Maine. Frontman Eddie Vedder kept eyeing his watch and reminding the capacity crowd of 8000 that a total lunar eclipse was imminent. "I'm wearing my watch tonight and I don't know if you guys know this," he mentioned between songs with an uncharacteristically light-humored tone, "but there's a moon out there that's bigger than Dennis Rodman. At 10:15 there's going to be a lunar eclipse. If we we're out there," he motioned toward the exits, "then we'd see it. But I still think we'll be able to feel it in here." The band broke into the appropriately dark and mystical power ballad "Black" just minutes before the eclipse. Lighters flickered in the audience as Vedder bellowed the angst-ridden poetry of a song he'd written five years ago, when Pearl Jam were just a speck on the emerging dust cloud of Seattle grunge. And, with lighters flickering in the swaying crowd, Pearl Jam pushed the tempo up a notch and crashed into the final chords of "Black" a little earlier than 10:15.

Not that the convergence really mattered. The crowd did appear to feel that certain something Vedder had been hoping for. But it had less to do with a lunar eclipse than with the emergence of Pearl Jam, perhaps the most worshipped arena band in today's rock-and-roll universe, from their anti-industry cocoon to play 11 US tour dates. That and the way the band sounded tighter than ever made the Maine show more an Event than a concert -- with guitarists Stone Gossard and Mike McCready effortlessly weaving humming power chords and fluid leads into a rich, textured backdrop for Vedder's booming voice, and drummer Jack Irons locking his propulsive beats to Jeff Ament's supple yet muscular bass lines. And an Event is what every great rock outfit, from the Beatles and Stones to Zeppelin and Aerosmith, has always aimed for.

Pearl Jam relied little on fancy props or elaborate lighting. The amps on stage were modestly adorned with burning candles and incense. A large fixture that looked more like an oversized Calphalon pot rack than a chandelier hung above, affixed with small, candlelike lights. Vedder, who made an incognito cameo appearance wearing a silver space suit and mask during a rousing opening set by Seattle's punk-pop veterans the Fastbacks, was, like the rest of the band, dressed in nondescript pants and T-shirt. But the brooding Eddie we've all come to know and either love or loathe seemed noticeably lighter, his brow less furrowed, especially when basketball star Dennis Rodman bounded on stage during the breathtaking version of "Alive" that ended the regular set and put the singing Vedder on his shoulders.

You could, if you wanted, ask why Vedder, the anti-celebrity, was palling around with one of the most overexposed media stars ever. Yet for anyone who's followed Pearl Jam's tumultuous career, it's actually a relief to see Vedder having some unabashed fun. Rock and roll, even the darkest, dreariest goth and metal, is supposed to be, on some level, fun. But a strange thing happened to Pearl Jam on their way to the top. For one thing, Vedder's voice, which felt so open and vulnerable on the band's first album, Ten (1991), tightened up like a clenched fist on Vs. (1993), Vitalogy (1994), and especially the new No Code (all on Epic), which is one reason people are calling No Code a "difficult" album. Vedder and the band fought some real battles, namely the one with Ticketmaster, which did not handle the ticketing for the Augusta show. But there were also times when he seemed to be shadowboxing against imagined opponents, against the elusive trappings of "fame," whatever they may be, and even against himself.

Vedder's still a fighter -- and he's got a loyal following who shouted "Eddie" instead of "Pearl Jam" before the band's five-song encore. "All right, we'll stick around" was his shy response, and Irons kicked into the tribal beat of "Who You Are." It was one of seven tunes from No Code the band played over the course of two hours that were peppered with what are by now classic hits like "Jeremy," "Even Flow," and "Daughter." Vedder didn't jump into the beckoning arms of the crowd during "Even Flow" as he did five years ago in the video. But he lightened up "Daughter" by playfully singing the refrain from a Stereolab song, which was a perfectly timed reminder that like U2's Bono, another rock icon who used to take himself too seriously, Vedder is still capable of opening up his voice and enjoying himself in front of a crowd.