Pearl Jam

I found it strange that we were amongst the few women in the cinema. Groups of men kept arriving. I’d had fun in the foyer with G, guessing who would come into our cinema and who was going to see “The Smurfs” or “Friends with Benefits” or the other mainstream offerings. Yes, I was being a movie-snob.

The ratio of men:women was about 6:1. I mentioned this to a male friend on Stalkbook and asked why he thought it so. His reply? “Because chicks generally have appalling taste in music. There, I said it!” I could only snort in derision and make a derisory (is that a word?) comment. I’ll tell you what it was at the end.

Being more an art nouveau kind of movie watcher I’d forgotten that the mainstream cinemas have enormous screens, so huge I wanted to squeal with delight. I waited until the movie started, though, before letting out a discreet squeal. Pearl Jam Twenty, one of only two screenings here – a commemorative documentary of this band that I have loved since, well, they began!

It’s a visual and aural whirlwind. I cried, I smiled, my heart soared with their story, which I hadn’t realised has many heartbreaking twists in it. The sound in the cinema was superb, filling the room and climbing right into my soul. I’m not a huge fan of their really heavy stuff but there, in that dark room, on that enormous screen, it was perfect.

And then there’s Eddie Vedder. Swoon. Double swoon. And his voice that trickles at first and then gushes through me. If I were to have to describe sex in sound I would say, simply: Eddie Vedder. And then there is the rest of the band, each one a genius in their own right. The guitarist that seems to just fly through those riffs, the bassist who always just looks happy, and they all seem to have so much fun!

I left the cinema feeling like I’d been thrown back into my youth, the energy coursing through me, the music filling my head, Eddie talking to me. We stayed until the last credit had rolled. I was interested in the fact that there was a Bootlegologist mentioned. I think I’d like to have that title.

So, in answering my Stalkbook friend’s reply, I said: “I fully expected an answer of that calibre. There, I said it. Of course, being a chick and all, I was not there to appreciate anything about the music. I was purely there to look at Eddie Vedder’s arse.”

I failed to mention the fact that, lyrically and musically, Pearl Jam is one of my ultimate favourite bands and Eddie Vedder’s oh-so-beautiful arse and face and lips and…, just make the whole deal so much sweeter.