Pearl Jam's evolution refuses to 'Yield' to time

By Daniel McGarry

Looking forward to it, were you? What if you heard that Pearl Jam was going to try to combine some "Blood"-style Ed Vedder screams, environmentalist lyrics, and stripped fuzz-guitar--all interrupted by a church hymn interlude--into a song named for a dance. You might legitimately question the direction of America's onetime alterna-darlings and radio staple-providers extraordinaire.

But "Do the Evolution" pulls it off. The swerving sounds that make up the song might be radically different in shape, but their edges are shaved exactly to the curves of the bordering pieces. When Vedder joins the choir for the final "Hallelujah," he carries the hymn's energy back into his song, racing over his threadbare guitar even more recklessly, pushing everything to a fiery demise. What else did you want?

Yield is noticeably chunkier than No Code, matches the amazing energy of Vitalogy, can stay in the car for at least as many thousands of miles as Vs., and is seven years wiser than Ten. Still having doubts? Check out the catchy ditty about John F. Kennedy's brain, "Brain of J.," or maybe the little number that drummer Jack Irons recorded at his house, the perfectly titled "*."

All right, so maybe those two songs and all that nonsense about church music aren't Yield's best selling points. Maybe you're scared. Maybe you just want brainless-angst-mosh-fodder--that's okay, we all do sometimes--and not tightly wound über-rock so good it threatens to impose its own unintelligible energy on your most elemental synapses. After all, with the untimely ends of Nirvana and Soundgarden, Pearl Jam is the last left standing of the Seattle Giants that conquered the nation's airwaves at the start of the decade--an epoch receding into memory all too rapidly. But Yield proves that the sun has yet to set.

The skeletal "*" is truly the exception; most of the album is refreshingly solid and quick-footed. "In Hiding" tells the story of four days spent in the wilderness with no human contact. The song starts out pedestrian enough, yet another masterful Gossard pop root with Vedder's golden voice laid on top. The realization of complete separation from civilization surges in on a wave of Jack Irons's drums that carries Gossard, Vedder, and everyone else onto a breathtaking musical vista, from which they will eventually descend on a bank of swooning guitars. "All Those Yesterdays" offers momentary glimpses of a brave reworking of the Beatles' "Yesterday," shows a little leg, and finally reverts to good old-fashioned Pearl Jam chant-along power rock.

"In Hiding" and "All Those Yesterdays" are great, but as powerful as they are, they don't overshadow the rest of the album; they are just two out of eight or nine that could be cited as, once again, proof that Pearl Jam keeps getting better. Faithful to their tradition, Yield refuses to stop at anything near ordinary music. (Epic)

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