We’re coming up for air.

After wrestling with the high-voltage, blues-on-steroids chaos of the AC/DC deep dive, I needed a palate cleanser. Something a little more damp, a little more brooding, and significantly more flannel. This week, we’re pivoting to Seattle for a mini deep dive into the first four records of a band that accidentally became the voice of a generation: Pearl Jam.

We didn’t quite make it all the way through No Code this time around—the rabbit hole was just too deep—but we’ll definitely be back to finish the job later. For now, let’s look at how the Signal got started.

The Myth, the Legend, and the Jam

If you’ve heard the story that the band name came from Eddie Vedder’s great-grandmother “Pearl” and her legendary hallucinogenic peyote jam, I hate to break it to you: it’s total bullshit. Eddie eventually admitted he just made that up to give the press something to chew on.

The real story is a bit more grounded. Jeff Ament came up with the word “Pearl,” and the “Jam” part came after the band saw Neil Young play a set in New York where every song turned into a 20-minute improvisational odyssey. They walked out of that show with a new name and a blueprint for their live energy.

But before they were Pearl Jam, they were Mookie Blaylock, named after the New Jersey Nets point guard. Born out of the heartbreak of Mother Love Bone ending after Andrew Wood’s death, they kept the tribute alive even after the lawyers forced a name change. Their debut album, Ten, is simply named after Mookie’s jersey number.

The “Crazy Mary” Bait and Switch

I have a thirty-year-old grudge to settle regarding the album ..vs.

Back in ’93, I was at a wedding and got to talking with the DJ. This guy claimed he belonged to one of those “producer-only” record clubs—the kind where you get the goods weeks before the public does. I asked if he had any of the new Pearl Jam, and he put on a track that absolutely leveled me: “Crazy Mary.” It was a Victoria Williams cover, but Pearl Jam made it sound like a campfire story told during a mid-life crisis in a thunderstorm. I was dead convinced it was the centerpiece of the upcoming record. I was in Florida at the time, and since I didn’t have my own wheels yet, I harassed my parents into driving me to every single record store in the state until we found a copy of Vs. on release day.

I bought it, ran to the speakers, and… nothing. No “Crazy Mary.” It turns out the track was tucked away on the Sweet Relief benefit album and the “Jeremy” single. Vs. was a masterpiece—rawer and more abrasive than Ten—but I spent a good week feeling like I’d been ghosted by a CD.

Decoding the Rest

We pushed through Vitalogy—an album named after a 1920s medical book Eddie found at a garage sale—and touched the edges of No Code.

No Code is the medical term for “Do Not Resuscitate,” which fit their mood perfectly. They were fighting Ticketmaster, refusing to make music videos, and trying to dismantle their own celebrity while the world was trying to crown them. We’ll be back to do the “Extensive Version” of this dive down the road, but for now, enjoy the intermission

Artist: Song: Album: Label:

Hour One:
Pearl Jam: Once: Ten: Epic
Pearl Jam: Alive: Ten: Epic
Pearl Jam: Even Flow: Ten: Epic
Pearl Jam: Black: Ten: Epic
Pearl Jam: Jeremy: Ten: Epic

Hour Two:
Pearl Jam: Go: ..vs: Epic
Pearl Jam: Animal: ..vs: Epic
Pearl Jam: Daughter: ..vs: Epic
Pearl Jam: Dissident: ..vs: Epic
Pearl Jam: Rearviewmirror: ..vs: Epic
Pearl Jam: Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town: ..vs: Epic
Pearl Jam: Crazy Mary: Sweet Relief / Jeremy Single: Sony / Epic

Hour Three:
Pearl Jam: Spin the Black Circle: Vitalogy: Epic
Pearl Jam: Not for You: Vitalogy: Epic
Pearl Jam: Tremor Christ: Vitalogy: Epic
Pearl Jam: Corduroy: Vitalogy: Epic
Pearl Jam: Better Man: Vitalogy: Epic
Pearl Jam: Sometimes: No Code: Epic
Pearl Jam: Hail, Hail: No Code: Epic
Pearl Jam: Who You Are: No Code: Epic

Rolling with Scissors airs live every Tuesday from 2–5 AM on 89.9 FM in Madison and streams at wortfm.org. Missed it? You can catch the episode for two weeks after broadcast at archive.wortfm.org or at rwsradio.com.

While the audio disappears after two weeks, the episode notes and playlists don’t. Every deep dive, rant, and full album breakdown stays right here — so you can revisit the details any time.

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