Dear Eddie Vedder:
I think you'll agree that we've been growing apart for some time now. In the 1990s, we were the best of friends. I would listen to "Nothing Man" or "rearviewmirror" in my car and wallow in sentimentality. Your soaring vocals, stories of alienation, and big, swelling power ballads were the soundtrack of my single, living-alone-with-my-cat years. That time I saw you in concert was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life.
To put it plainly, I ate that shit up.
But now, as I careen toward 40, I'm sorry to have to tell you that I've found someone new. He likes to wear tight red clothes and pretend that his ex-wife is his sister. He doesn't dabble in rock star politics or play benefit concerts for the Democratic party. His lyrics don't talk about young women escaping smothering relationships. He writes playful songs about losing his manners, or settling down with a nice girl. He plays the blues and the marimba. He moves effortlessly between projects and always comes up with something new.
You and Pearl Jam, however, haven't really made the transition to the 21st century with me. I bought your most recent album and felt like I was back in 1995. (That's not a good feeling, trust me.) I didn't get choked up at any of the songs. I didn't feel any teenaged angst or righteous anger. Actually, I felt kind of bored.
Songs from the other new album I bought recently keep ringing in my head. I've only had the CD a couple of days now, but I find myself humming phrases from it in the grocery store. "You're making me hungry...." "My blue veins..." "You've got to learn to give and wait your turn..."
It makes me happy, and gives me hope. Sorry.
Good luck with that whole comeback thing,