Let Lost Dogs lie

Would Pearl Jam ever release a chronological, easily digestible collection of rarities and B-sides? Of course not. Every PJ purist knows that angst-y Eddie and company are far from predictable. Lost Dogs, drawing from the band’s wealth of discarded recordings and songs that missed the album cut, may seem random and even choppy to the uninitiated but fans understand. Such is the nature of Pearl Jam.

That said, the 31-song well, 32 if you count the Vedder-penned hidden track, ‘4/20/02,’ a tribute tune to the late Layne Staley double-disc set is strangely cohesive. You can tell which era each track stems from if you listen for tell-tale signs (Matt Cameron vs. Jeremy Irons as drummer; the Riot Act songs are more melodic and dare I say, more poppy; etc.) if there’s any confusion, the liner notes include this information, as well as memories and comments from the band members over the years.

Interestingly enough, Ten and Binaural, released in 1991 and 2000, respectively, win for the most represented eras with five songs each. Discounting Riot Act, these two albums, nine years apart, found Pearl Jam at its most accessible. The flannel-clad ‘Alone,’ recorded in 1991 would fit perfectly on Ten with its building, ready-to-explode anger and failed relationship lyrics, while the harmonies and melodic rock of ‘Hitchhiker’ (not to mention its guitar part, seemingly lifted straight from Offspring’s ‘Keep ‘Em Separated’) are reminiscent of Binaural.

It’s also worth noting that the first disc, ‘Lost,’ is edgier and more rocks-off (excepting fan-favorite and sparse ‘Yellow Leadbetter,’ that is) than ‘Dogs,’ which is mainly ballad, bedtime territory. Disc two finds the band paying tribute to idol Neil Young on ‘Footsteps,’ an aching county ditty with harmonica intact, and romanticizing about Christmastime over tribal slit drums on the beautifully simple ‘Let Me Sleep,’ from early 1991 (its rhythms and errant chords at the end already showing the Jam’s Eastern influences).

So Lost Dogs sounds masterful, congruous and somewhat uncharacteristic don’t fear. There are also the expected discordant moments. Some major discrepancies include the Top-40, vomit-inducing ‘Last Kiss’ on disc two an odd duck even among rarities as well as the two tracks from Music For Our Mother Ocean on disc one, ‘Gremmie Out of Control,’ and ‘Whale Song.’ The former is a throwaway rocky surf tune drawing from ew Sugar Ray, and the latter is a trite tribute to whales with real whale sounds spliced as backing vocals.

And, whereas it would be logical and more satisfying to let disc two continue its pleasant acoustic trajectory to the sweet end, the flow abruptly shifts with the last four selections, which include ‘Sweet Lew,’ an awful tune penned and sang by bassist Jeff Ament and purportedly inspired by Kareem Abdul-Jabar (deep). Eddie, Stone, everyone: why can’t you just let it rest?

But as with all Pearl Jam albums, the experiments and deviations give the seminal band personality. And except for the aforementioned pans, the selections shine and add depth to an already complex, multi-layered band. Did we ever expect less?