![]() ![]() Like U2, Pearl Jam have been able to sustain their legacy even without vital new studio work. Both records indulge an influential band’s artsier side in mostly superficial ways-longer songs, pasted-in ambience, grand attempts at state-of-the-union philosophizing-while backing away from the actual subversion that made them exciting in the first place. ![]() In that sense, it reminds me of U2’s No Line on the Horizon-another late-career attempt at experimentation after a series of back-to-basic statements. The artistic rejuvenation that Gigaton aims to provide still seems somewhat out of reach. For all the record’s studio experimentation, the moments that cut through are the subtle choices he makes as a vocalist: his anxious speak-sing in “Seven O’Clock,” the way he mimics the wordless refrain of the eerie “Buckle Up,” the seething cry of the chorus in “Quick Escape.” With songs contributed by each band member, Gigaton is an undeniably democratic statement, but Vedder remains their guiding light-the voice that allowed this particular band to outlast an entire generation of imitators. And if his lyrics occasionally come out jumbled (“They giveth and they taketh/And you fight to keep that what you’ve earned”) or totally miss the mark (a reference to the title character of Sean Penn’s novel), his performance is as keyed-in and comforting as ever. To unify this sprawling material, Vedder offers wordy, zoomed-out lyrics that directly address Trump, the climate crisis, and a growing sense of apocalyptic unease. For the first time in a while, the winning moments are the slower cuts: songs like “Retrograde” and “Seven O’Clock” that evolve patiently into their atmosphere, as opposed to pro-forma ragers like “Never Destination” that never quite find their groove. Co-produced by the band and Josh Evans, it’s filled with all the markers of cerebral, studio-born rock music: drum loops and programmed synths, swirling keys and fretless bass, wide dynamics and spacey textures. After records like 2009’s Backspacer and 2013’s Lightning Bolt combatted their dearth of ideas with low-stakes thrashiness-a throwback to the rowdy garage band that they never actually were- Gigaton attempts to reinstate their ambition. ![]() It’s hard to imagine this process leading toward a unified statement from any band, let alone one that’s already been having trouble finding inspiration. In context, it’s more of an outlier: a reminder of their underdog mentality, that they have some fight left in them.įrom the sounds of it, Pearl Jam pieced Gigaton together from various sessions over several years, with Vedder adding vocals to the choice bits after the fact. From the curveball disco-rock of first single “Dance of the Clairvoyants”-a portal into an alternate universe where David Byrne produced the Who to soundtrack an ’80s action film-the band immediately forecasted an attempt to revitalize its sound. The ballads stretch out slowly, and the uptempo numbers are derailed by meandering build-ups, like stopping for a chat while running in place mid-jog. You feel the weight of both durations throughout. At 57 minutes, it’s their longest album, as well as the one that took the longest to complete. Communal goodwill is the saving grace of Gigaton, their eleventh studio album and first in nearly seven years. ![]()
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