I remember reading an interview with Ezra Keonig around the time of Father of the Bride's release, and he said something that made an impression on me (no, no, not that again, don't worry). He talked about a band's "songbook," and how he viewed each album release as a way to add to that songbook, add to the available songs that could be reassembled into a concert setlist at any given show. It makes sense from a certain standpoint, to want to add pieces of your art to the display of that art, more and more over time. Another part of me sees that way of viewing art as a little too close to commercialization for my tastes, or at the very least mildly disrespectful of the album as the ultimate artform. (The easiest way to explain Koenig's comments is to say that Father of the Bride was Vampire Weekend in jam band mode, and "having a songbook for concerts" is basically a jam band's whole ethos.)
I think about this theory when I listen to Pearl Jam, and move on to another album of theirs, on which I discover that there are again at least two or three songs that are so embedded in American rock listener's consciousness that I am already familiar with every nook and cranny of the thing. It's uncanny how many of these types of songs Pearl Jam has in their songbook. It's weird to slowly come to the realization that there's a band that you already know so well just from constant exposure and it turns out after all this time that the twelve songs you know are just some of the best goddamn songs ever.
The irony is that there's a close to zero-percent chance that Eddie Vedder views his art as "a collection of songs in a songbook." I'm not saying that this isn't how Pearl Jam as a live entity operates—if they have a dozen all-time classics on the radio, then I'm sure at least ten of them are played at every concert—but I'm saying that this is not something that Vedder could have possibly been concerned with at any point in his long and storied career. The man is an artist, and he takes his role as a creator and torchbearer of rock 'n' roll very seriously.
And performs his duties very humbly! Pearl Jam exists now as basically a cult band, selling out shows to the same 40,000 people every time they do the rounds, and releasing new albums every so often just to fuel the fires and give an excuse to tour. They aren't the first band to do it and they won't be the last. I have plenty of bands that I came up with through my formative years who operate in this fashion now, and just because Pearl Jam's songbook was already crystalized before I made it to those formative years doesn't mean I can't appreciate the craft. Eddie Vedder knows his place. He makes introductory speeches at the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. He was gracious in the fact that his only rival died of suicide after besting Vedder. He has a songbook, but you don't hear him talking about adding to that songbook, as if that would ever even be a thing.
Okay, so how does Vitalogy add to the songbook, if we choose to look at it in those terms? The simple answer is by featuring "Corduroy" and "Better Man." These are songs you know if you have access to a radio and to ears. You might not know you know them, but you do. I feel like I was that way with "Corduroy" this week, even though it was featured in YSC. The title is not as immediately recognizable as "Better Man," whose chorus you can sing in your head when you're reading it. For my money, "Better Man" is the winner, but only because it's a head-to-head. More generally speaking, both are very much worthy of inclusion in the Great American Songbook.
The other Vitalogy song that I was familiar with prior to this week was "Bugs." That is not because it's in the Pearl Jam songbook, but because it is in the Puke on Your Birthday songbook, having also been featured in Yearlong Song Challenge, but for a prompt questioning whether it was even a song. There was some healthy discussion (most of it internal, inside my own warped mind) about why an artist would do something like this. The conclusion (from Gilson, though I'll concur) was that this is an artist bucking against his own fame, by making art that is intentionally difficult. It is a weird song, but I'd defend it on the premise of it being art in very specific ways—a self-laceration, a poem, and not anything that could in any sense of the word be considered "catchy."
I could do the research into all those detailed Pearl Jam setlist archives if I wanted to, but I don't, so I'll only guess as to which deep cuts on Vitalogy made the songbook. "Spin the Black Circle" is interesting in how far it leans into punk territory, and would probably be fun to play live. "Whipping" goes medium-fast tempo and basically cements the classic '90s alternative rock sound. "Satan's Bed" is my personal favorite deep cut, something that isn't breaking the Pearl Jam mold but simply affirming their bonafides.
All of this leads up to the idea that Vitalogy could possibly be my favorite Pearl Jam album that I've acquainted myself with so far. Ten has more songs in the Pearl Jam songbook but the deep cuts aren't as memorable. Vs. goes a little shaggier, but doesn't commit to the "we're gonna tear this shit down" manic energy of Vitalogy. And neither of them have the balls to end on eight minutes of bullshit noise like Vitalogy does with "Stupid Mop." That concluding song makes it so that Vitalogy does not have the makings of Best Album, but it does have the makings of a Favorite Album.
I don't think I'm going to go much further into these Pearl Jam weeds, but we'll see where the songbook takes me.
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