It was a bigger thrill than I honestly thought it was going to be— the reissue of Ten, remixed, repackaged.

I am aware of how drastically tastes can change over time, and I thought this was going to be nothing more than a dutiful purchase by a longtime fan. I have learned to distrust my memories. I used to think C + C Music Factory was the future of music. And so I doubted Ten was what I remembered; it has always been a touchstone album in my personal music collection for what it stood for— an entry into strident adolescence and the sudden realization that music could be dangerous— but over the years it’s become something of an artifact as opposed to a breathing experience; a venerable memory gathering dust. Remember when “Evenflow” was new? Me too– barely. Remember when, one day, MTV– Music Television, mom, they show videos and stuff– became something more than a subtext to catch a glimpse of a scantily clad Madonna? And remember how quickly MTV seemed to fade from relevance, and we were back to scoping for Madonna?

Maybe I don’t revisit these albums because it forces me to make those leaps into back story; how can you revisit the music without the baggage?

You can. In a way. As has been well touted, the album’s been remixed by Pearl Jam’s on again/off again producer Brendan O’Brien, responsible for their most vibrant work. His remix packs a punch. I’m too much of an amateur to know the specifics, but the immediate change from whatever black magic he’s worked is that the ocean of reverb— the Soup of Echoes— has been totally mopped up, and how much of a difference that alone makes: this doesn’t sound like a grunge band trapped in hair-metal production anymore; this is sharp, intimate and lethal. Now that you’re able to actually pick out individual performances, it’s evident for once outside a live performance how dynamic a song like “Once” actually is. Each song gets a makeover that probably amounts to only a few significant changes, but the cumulative effect is pretty stunning. Where the impact was blunted there is now a knife edge, and it’s brought a joy of discovery back to an album that was probably all but depleted. Even “Jeremy” sounds new, and for a few months there in 1992 “Jeremy” played in your dreams.

Along with the remix and the original, reverb-tastic mix of Ten comes a DVD of Pearl Jam’s previously unavailable (YouTube doesn’t count) Unplugged appearance. Again, it’s hard to revisit the performance without being zapped into your former self: this was when music was raw, just like the emotions that became so inextricably attached to it, and you are in a sense scarred with it. I can’t speak for anyone else, but whenever I hear a new Pearl Jam album or see a performance, it’s being silently measured against this performance of “Porch.” It’s tough to explain to the uninitiated. Or, maybe it’s not so tough– I just don’t actually want to explain it. Watching Eddie Vedder fuck around with a stool, flying in the moment. Watching the band just gel, watching them enjoy the experience. The arrangement of the song was different too– no doubt practiced that way, but in my adolescent mind they were jamming, pulling the changes out of thin air. “Porch” seemed to be outside the script when I was watching it back then, and it was alive, and I was alive, and everything felt like more than it was, a blood rush of sound and feeling. It’s an unfair standard. Totally unrealistic. And a selfish pleasure.