Aging grunge-heads and flannel-shirted coffee nerds have been waiting for this moment since “No Code” smothered Pearl Jam’s hard-rock with a wet blanket of meandering spirituality in 1996. Pearl Jam is back. The band has officially returned to its rock ‘n’ roll roots with its latest, self-titled release. Unfortunately, Pearl Jam’s triumphant return comes as a decaf nonfat mocha to its early ’90s heyday of caffeinated grunge rock. The pieces are there, but the now-middle-aged rockers seem to have lost that musical ass-kicking step, sacrificing banging heads and jumping off balconies during concerts to concentrate on their message. Pearl Jam is pissed about war, and the band wants its audience to know it.
Eddie Vedder is the growling Vedder of yore. His lyrics are sharp and biting as ever, even if they’re nearly impossible to understand as he snarls them between his uh-huhs and yeahs. “Army Reserve,” a song about a father who has gone to war and left his wife and child home, reads like poetry but sounds like prototypical Vedder gibberish. At least the band had the common sense to neatly type out its lyrics in the album booklet.
The album’s beginning is the best part. “Life Wasted,” “World Wide Suicide” and “Comatose” are vintage jam, but the rest of the album sounds more like marmalade. The low point is “Parachutes,” a lilting lullaby of a song that threatens to kill whatever buzz the album has going for it.
While hardcore Pearl Jam fans will undoubtedly adore the album, it doesn’t provide enough energy to keep the rest of the post-grunge audience awake for more than a token listen.