A strange question occurred to me as Backspacer drew to a close for the first time on my stereo; it was about halfway through what is certainly the band’s most mature song yet, the cinematic and winsome “The End,” a song both about death and the presence of life: what would Kurt Cobain be doing right now, at this very minute?

It isn’t stealing Eddie’s moment. And it isn’t a question that has occurred to me during any other Pearl Jam song to this point. Maybe it was the subject matter that got me thinking. Or maybe it was that this song seems to be a sort of coming of age. This is Eddie Vedder’s song, and he commands it through an elevated sense of craft he probably was not capable of up until these past few years. Many times I’ve felt that Kurt Cobain had a similar future, but the thought had never occurred to me so forcefully, and never inspired directly by a piece of music. These two men shared a moment in music history and, as such, they seem to be inextricable in many ways. If Eddie Vedder remains in the spotlight as long as, say, Mick Jagger has, he will still be dogged by the nineties, and the voices left behind– among them, Cobain’s, and his own. On “The End,” Vedder is virtually alone on the track, backed by a string arrangement you would scarcely believe was possible if you were listening to the band back in the early nineties; back then, Pearl Jam was like a star at critical mass. Who would’ve thought they’d outlive their angst?

They did, but there was a long period of mourning. Even with an above-average number of great songs, their body of work since No Code— the album where most agree they martyred themselves to the radio gods— was clouded with a morbid sense of self-awareness and second-guessing. Even if they found themselves squirming under the limelight in 1995, at least Pearl Jam still had an identity to rail against. Once they ducked out of the party and the door locked shut behind them, that identity was gone and they found themselves staring into a void. Backspacer, at last, sounds a new chapter– turns out a damn good party was just a short walk across town.

The shortest album in their catalog, Backspacer is also their most dynamic, a birthday bash for a band embracing its middle age with all cylinders firing. The album in turn showcases a vulnerability and liveliness we’ve probably not associated with Pearl Jam before: traits like humor emerge. Humor! “Johnny Guitar,” for example: a short, raucous, song written about funk icon Johnny “Guitar” Watson— purportedly inspired by nothing but a picture hanging above a urinal— is nothing if it isn’t fun; a funky, freewheeling word game. Compare it to a song from their previous album that’s similar in spirit, “Life Wasted;” a good song that could have been better, if it only bought what it was selling. “Johnny Guitar” isn’t selling a thing, on the other hand. It doesn’t need to shout its philosophy; you just dig it.

There is a real sense of community on this record, a looseness of style that calls up so many different influences. At times it feels like a festival set; varied, jubilant, and crowd-pleasing to the extreme. Consider: the instant, easy appeal of “Force of Nature”— a gnarly marriage of Neil Young crunch with U2 grandiosity; the lush and beautiful “Just Breathe,” with its road-trippin’ vibe that makes you want to have a cigarette and just look up at the starry night; “Supersonic,” a new wave punk dynamo, taking a page from both The Cars and The Ramones; “Amongst the Waves,” with an epic build that takes its cue from Pearl Jam circa Ten, and comes pretty damn close to recreating the hugeness of past anthems like “Alive” without retreading the material or the mood. All of this under one roof makes for a truly full and satisfying soundscape.

To see the band— who may be swiftly growing into our youngest rock immortals— find comfort in their own skin at last is a welcome development. Angst can only take you so far, and sometimes you can’t come back. This question that occurred to me about Eddie’s lost peer as the album was coming to a close did so because the last song on Backspacer does not play safe. It’s a loaded gun. For all the band’s declarations that love is the answer, there is still a very real restlessness to be dealt with: something that remains, despite how much we kick or how hard we punch. Pearl Jam’s knuckles have been bloody for years, but with Backspacer it’s time for a truce. Will it last? Time will tell. For now, they don’t want a fight; they wanna rock.

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.