We were separated right after the music started. Or maybe we scattered. It was hard to tell at the time and even harder to remember now. The plan was always to stick together. We were Tucson boys, out of our element in downtown Phoenix. The Ramones, um, excuse me: THE RAMONES!!! had hit the stage as the opening act. But truth be told (and much to my everlasting shame), I didn’t really care — I was there for Pearl Jam.
The fact that Pearl Jam was even playing this show was a minor miracle. It was originally scheduled for June, but then postponed as Pearl Jam dealt with the crazy logistics of running a tour outside of the Ticketmaster machine. The concert was eventually rescheduled for September. It was a change of only a few months, but in our world it made a huge difference
A June show would have been a celebration of where we were, not where we were going. By September, our final lap of college had started. Our uncertain futures were looming on the horizon, like those dark monsoon storm clouds that swagger into Tucson on summer afternoons.
The storm that Pearl Jam was fighting meant that this show was at Arizona Veterans Memorial Coliseum. There were definitely fancier venues that the band could have filled — the nearly new American West Arena was just 2 ½ miles away — but Veterans seemed a better fit for Pearl Jam’s personality. It was a no frills affair. Luxury boxes? Fancy lighting? Fuck that shit. The music is what mattered and when Pearl Jam finally came on stage with gigantic candles burning behind them, they were spitting fire.
We quickly lost track of each other on the floor of the arena, so I decided to work my way to the rail. I’ve seen Pearl Jam more than a few times after this concert and even with my fan club seats, I’ve never been any closer. And I’m totally fine with that. I couldn’t imagine a better location for a first time Pearl Jam experience. Especially when they launched into “Go”, “Animal”,” Last Exit”, and “Spin the Black Circle” to kick things off.
I had never experienced anything like what was happening around me. The crowd was super intense, singing along with each song, jumping and dancing. That energy wasn’t just matched by Pearl Jam — it was greatly exceeded. It was my first time seeing Ed in person and I remember thinking how tiny he looked. Then he started singing and he might as well have transformed into a 50-foot giant. Mike was jumping around, Jeff appeared to be steering the entire earth with his bass, Stone was, well, Stone, and that new drummer Jack Irons didn’t seem to miss a beat. I didn’t know where to look. It was almost too much to take in. At first, I didn’t even mind all the kicks to the head.
That was the one drawback to where I had positioned myself. While crowd surfing wasn’t at it’s peak in 1995, it hadn’t gone away either. Every few minutes I was passing some surfer over the rail and into the awaiting arms of security. I finally started to look back so I could see when one was coming and I’m pretty sure I saw my friend Robb floating around in the waves of people behind me.
The show’s tempo finally shifted down a bit with “Tremor Christ”. Ed spoke to the crowd after that (“You made it. We made it. Thanks for changing your plans for us.”) before playing those first few chords of “Corduroy”, my favorite Pearl Jam song. I lost my mind at that point. It was the first time that music just skipped my ears completely and went straight for my soul. That’s a feeling I’ve been chasing ever since. It’s why I still go out to clubs and see bands play live. I don’t always find it, but when I do, nothing compares to it.
The rest of the opening set was equally amazing. “Elderly Women” was sandwiched between “Lukin” and “Whipping” (and yes, the crowd screamed “hello” back to the band even then). “Dissident” and “Glorified G” led into a great version of “Daughter” that Ed tagged with “The Real Me” and “I Believe in Miracles”. They picked the pace back up with “Habit” and then jammed through an instrumental (due to technical difficulties), “Rearview Mirror” and “Immortality”. Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, they settled into the 1927 Yankees equivalent of “Alive”, “Black” and “Blood”.
I don’t remember it now, but thanks to the magic of YouTube you can watch Ed attack the stage with his mic stand near the end of “Blood”. I think he hit the stage 27 times. This wasn’t the only time that he decided a stage would look better with a hole in it, but I like to believe this one was different. This was their first show back after postponing their tour. Watching it again, I could feel Ed taking out his frustration with that ticket company.
That frustration was definitely justified. Pearl Jam seemed to be alone in this dispute. There weren’t a bunch of other bands rallying to their side. They were fighting for their fans like me who didn’t have much money to go see bands play shows. It became clear all too quickly that it was a losing battle. But in the end, just by standing up for what was right, they actually won so much more.
During the break between sets, I decided I had enough of passing people over my head and decided to try to find my friends. I looked around and was lucky enough to spot Marc behind me on the right side of the stage. I swam through the crowd and made it over to him before the second set started.
Of all my friends, Marc was, and still is, the biggest Pearl Jam fan. As cool as it was to be in the very front, I enjoyed the show much more standing next to him. The intensity of the crowd and the band didn’t change, but it suddenly felt like we were in a different space. Everything seemed just a bit slower and more relaxed. Given our vantage point, I was able to notice things I hadn’t before, like Dennis Rodman (who was about to embark on a 72-win season with the Chicago Bulls), sitting on the side of the stage.
Seeing that second set of the concert with Marc was one of those moments I knew was special, but it took years to truly appreciate just how special it was. We were completely engulfed by the music. Nothing else in the world mattered and we couldn’t have been happier.
At the time, I probably figured that would happen 100 more times in my life. I didn’t know that moments like this one would become increasingly rare as I grew older. I didn’t realize that we would go our separate ways and see each other once a year, twice if we’re lucky. I didn’t have a clue that while I would experience so many other incredible things, that moment of being the perfect age, watching the perfect band, with the perfect friend would be one the most perfect moments of my life.
Ed dedicated the first song of that second set, “Not for You”, to that ticket company they weren’t using on the tour. When Ed got real quiet and sang “All that’s sacred comes from youth,” we believed him and sang “This is not for you!” louder than him through the end of the song.
Next up was “I Got Shit” or “I Got Id” as it would later be called. This song hadn’t even been released yet and was a great surprise. I’m sure very few people knew “I Got Id” back then (hearing new songs was so much fucking harder before the internet really took off) but everyone knew “Betterman”. Even back then, this song was a total sing along and we belted out each word.
At some point during the show, Ed took a shirt that was thrown on stage earlier and threw it back to the crowd. I was lucky enough to catch part of it before it was torn to shreds by the other hands who snagged a piece. It wasn’t like catching a guitar pick or a drum stick, but to us it was an incredible souvenir. When we got back to our apartment, we hung that dirty scrap of cotton on our living room wall like it was some sort of holy garment.
After “Betterman”, the band slowly started into an unreleased/improve song that the fans have named “Open Road”. If Vitalogy hadn’t convinced you that Pearl Jam was going to approach their career in a different way, this song was a sign. The biggest band in the world was voluntarily retreating from center stage. It’s still amazing they even stayed together. The song ended like this:
So here I go,
I’m finally on my way,
Once I said goodbye,
That was my last wave,
Here I am on the,
On the open road,
I’ve never felt better,
Than when I am alone
Listening to it now, you expect Ed to drop the mic at the end and walk off the stage. Instead, they careened into “Porch” (which as usual featured a wicked McCready solo) and you knew everything was going to be okay. Ed even sat down and addressed the crowd like Mr. Rogers (“I like you just the way you are”) before the final verse. Jeff also displayed some serious jumping ability as the song and the shorter second set came to an end.
The show ended with “Yellow Ledbetter” (as all Pearl Jam shows should) and Ed made an announcement that they were allowing people to tape their shows going forward. I still paid $50 for a bootleg a few months later, but it was just another example of this band doing things their own way.
After two hours of non-stop adrenaline, “Ledbetter” was a great way to bring things to an end. The crowd sang along sloppily (since no one really knows the words) and Mike delivered that Hendrix-inspired solo at the end before the lights came back on. Marc and I managed to find the rest of our crew pretty quickly and we all agreed that we had witnessed something incredible.
Pearl Jam’s 1995 tour would end eight shows later. Eight months later, most of us had made it through college. Some of us got jobs, some of us went to grad school, and some of us, like me, moved far away. We were separated again. Or maybe we scattered. It was hard to tell at the time and even harder to remember now.
©2017 Benj Vickers