http://www.popmatters.com/pm/review/174 ... hicago-il/
“OK,” she says fervidly, as she quickly pulls her iPhone away from her ear. “My husband says they’re all out of posters at the Clark St. line, but they have a few Ames. Bros. posters left at the left field stand.”
Those huddled around her in the blazing mid-afternoon Chicago heat act without regard, pulling out their wallets and cell phones to make the necessary arrangements. I’ve already been standing in this merchandise line for four hours now, having come straight from the airport after arriving in Chicago from Toronto on the first flight out. Though merchandise tables have been open for two days, everyone around me exudes a fervent dedication towards getting their hands on that one elusive t-shirt, collectable package of Pearl Jam trading cards (designed specifically for this event), or in this case, one of the four unique poster designs. I’ve only known this woman from Tri-Cities, Washington for a few hours, but we’ve formed a strong enough connection for me to fork over a $50 bill before she runs off to find her husband and, I pray to the merch gods, a poster sporting a bourgeois-looking purple gorilla. Though I have to keep reminding myself that the concert I flew in for is still happening that evening regardless of any merchandise quandaries, I know the whole event won’t be considered a total success unless I get my hands on one of those posters. And as I look back behind me and see a line-up of easily 200 others, I know I’m not alone.
For an oblivious onlooker on Friday morning outside Wrigley Field, it would have been safe to assume that the hundreds, if not thousands, of fans lining up were waiting for access to the hallowed grounds. But of course, when it comes to Pearl Jam and their legions of fans, those on the outside often fail to comprehend the community that’s been created throughout the band’s 23 years playing together.
One does not simply attend a Pearl Jam concert. While the actual performance itself usually ranges between a weighty two-and-a-half to three hours long, the entire event is a physically and mentally demanding process. When Pearl Jam rolls into town, the dedication of fans is often tested. By the time Eddie Vedder calls out to “Keelie” for the house lights (Kille Knobel, Pearl Jam’s resident lighting technician) on one of their handful of set closers, affirmation is almost always granted. Being present in the company of Pearl Jam isn’t enough, and the energy exchanged between fans and the band is only part of the equation. For Pearl Jam in 2013, a stark reality now dictates their entire existence: so ardent, loyal, and overpowering is their fan base that they function only because of that fan base. Once the most discussed band in rock music, Pearl Jam has carved a path that is rewarding but extremely exclusive.
Their music, at least when performed live, now holds a near-religious importance for fans, as was displayed at their one-off performance at Wrigley Field, one of only three concerts they have scheduled this summer and easily one of the most hyped in the band’s existence. And yet, there is a flipside: the “with us or against us” mentality that haunts Pearl Jam and its fans has manifested itself in a brick wall. If you’re on the inside, each show is a call to arms. From the outside, that very ardor is intimidating enough to turn one off to the band and anything they’ve released post-Ten, including their newest single, “Mind Your Manners”, from their tenth studio LP, Lightning Bolt.
Five hours after first arriving in the line for merchandise, I eventually find the woman from Tri-Cities and she delivers my poster. Other merchandise lines are picked over, but I manage to get my hands on a few stickers and a t-shirt. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The hype and expectations for the evening’s show now at a fever pitch, I can finally turn my focus to the music. It is, of course, the focal point of the day. With only a few black XL t-shirts hanging on the racks and swarms of fans sporting deep red sunburns, I retire to a nearby room, unaware of what the evening will hold. Either way, I’m a part of it and can document the entire event with an array of only mildly overpriced merchandise, which is more than many others can say.
* * *
When it comes to Pearl Jam, the music matters. Largely forgotten by modern critics and bloggers, it is their deep back catalogue, full of b-sides, covers, and one-off rarities, that engrosses fans. Intense personal connections are formed with each of the songs. Fans flock to the concerts, often taking in entire legs of tours in the hopes of hearing “that song” (every fan will have one) and screaming loud enough to achieve their own personal transcendence. These fans can attend in large groups, sure. But each and every fan hunkers down into a zone so focused and intimate that not much can be shared.
It’s a scary proposal. Somehow, the band and its fans have made it work. When the lights go down and the band comes onstage, enough endorphins are released by fans to make their love communal. And it becomes a powerful force, even something beautiful. What the fans at Wrigley Field didn’t know coming into the show was how difficult it would be to maintain this love of five (or sometimes six) people playing stage. Wrigley Field proved to be the ultimate test of strength for fans.
Michael Roffman and Matt Melis, in their excellent examination of the evening at Consequence of Sound, asserted that it was the kind of evening where “you learned to expect the unexpected.” Though a large portion of the evening was out of the band’s control, the group ultimately kept its two priorities front and center: the fans, who were rewarded for their dedication, and the music, which according to respected Chicago journalist Jim DeRogatis took a backseat at a prominent (and much blogged about) festival taking place that same weekend in Chicago.
This is a pretty accurate description.
