During my Freshman year of college, I camped out for Pearl Jam tickets. By the time I arrived outside the Pensacola venue, people were already lined up. An hour later, with so many of us in line, we came up with the Sharpie system so we could wander around. Upon arrival, everyone would check in with the Sharpie guy, he would write the number of your place in line on your hand and then off you’d go into the night. What could have been a run-of-the-mill line for 12 hours, became an all-night party. Freshman year and full of optimism, we were ready to see what the night would bring. I made friends with the Sharpie guy who in turn was friends with the guy who would become one of my best friends, my soul brother. We wistfully tell people of the story of the night we met, ‘under a bridge camping out for Pearl Jam tickets.’ That friendship was written in the stars.
After mere months of discovering this new friend, this obvious soul mate, we made it our mission to stay connected even as we moved about the South East. I’d visit him in Pensacola, drink too much at house party, say amusing things, do a wall slide and pass out. I’d visit him in Savannah, drink too much at club, say amusing things, do a wall slide and pass out. I’d visit him in Athens, drink too much at bar, say amusing things, do a wall slide and pass out. We finally reunited in New York and again, more recently, in Los Angeles, where a poster of the original Pensacola show now hangs. Two Florida kids with only one mission–get out. And it all began under a bridge camping out for Pearl Jam tickets.
In the morning, we all sluggishly gathered, gripping our coffees to reclaim our places in line. It was shockingly orderly and peaceful. Perhaps that was due to the nature of the show–a Rock for Choice concert marking the one year anniversary of the death of Dr. David Gunn, a local doctor who was gunned down for performing abortions. Or maybe it was simply good-natured folks who were grateful to be surrounded by like-minded people–be it activism or musical taste.
I don’t remember much about the show itself, I think the magic of meeting someone who would become a permanent star in my life eclipsed whatever Eddie Vedder and company could come up with onstage. It was more about that time, those years that were teeming with possibilities. Grunge wasn’t about flannels and Doc Martens, it was about breaking from complacency, it was about awareness, standing up, and coming together. It was about finding your voice and taking action. Our actions tended to find us road tripping to New Orleans for concerts including Lollapallooza and Beastie Boys. Our actions found us at a Smashing Pumpkins concert on the night Kurt Cobain died and crowd surfing in his honor. Moreover, our actions were unwaveringly about dedicating ourselves to one another.
All that passion, that action, was ignited by our soundtrack–the one that we sang along to at the tops of lungs. And that was Pearl Jam. That feeling of being larger than life, unstoppable, and undeniable is forever intertwined with Pearl Jam.
So this week, when fangirl saw that Pearl Jam was finally inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I had to calm her down, ‘easy does it,’ and keep her on a short leash. Though one friend cracked wise, ‘Drop the Leash.’ Still, I am doing everything in my power to prevent from going full fangirl–of epic, stage-diving proportions–I could easily lose weeks. And while everything meant so much, it makes it that much harder to look back. I will simply say this, no band had a greater impact, be it in their musical artisty and talent, their cultural influence, their activism, their answer to the call to lead the way–however begrudgingly. I never sing louder, or with everything that is in me, than I do with Pearl Jam. It’s about the passion, and the people, and about the action and voices that could no longer be contained. Pearl Jam is a life force and that’s all this fangirl has to say.
