I don’t think I heard a full Pearl Jam album until I was maybe 15. And by the time, I really got into them, the 90’s alt-rock grunge clamour had died down to a simmer, Kurt was dead, things had changed, and I had completely missed the boat.

The wave of teen and pre-teen angst and catharsis that sailed by, drew barely a passing glance from this massive nerd and in moments of silent introspection, it results in a ton of regret. But it’s people like me who are now drawn to their knees saying “thank God for Pearl Jam”.

I missed them in 1998 but I saw them at the Brisbane Entertainment Centre in 2003 (and every tour thereafter) and I am convinced that they are one of the last “glorious rock bands”. I stood in a lengthy queue at Ticketek at Pacific Fair for that show, not knowing that others in line weren’t just there for Brisbane.

They were going into debt for every show on the continent for this band who never play the same set twice and consistently redefine their legacy. I’ve now seen them on every tour since ’03 and for this one, there is no doubt we’ll see another iconic rock show to show first-timers how this shit is done.

But that’s for later.

For now, there’s more to happen in the hours before as the heavens open, wind rips round the outskirts of the stadium and several consecutive storms thunder through, one after the other.

Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers were likely looking forward to playing this massive gig and hearing ‘I Used To Be Fun’ ringing around Carrara Stadium, when the venue delayed the gates due to the severe weather warning and eventually completely cutting the youngsters for time.

Eventually Delayed by over an hour, Pixies were forced into making drastic changes to their plans and played a truncated nine song set to the soaking masses still filtering into the stadium.  The band are no strangers to these shores.

Black Francis and crew seem to appear out here regularly, and consistently sell out tours every few years, so it’s a little disappointing that the first time I am actually able to catch them is in these conditions. But these guys are professionals and the hugely influential band deliver a hit parade of their surf rock, hardcore punk and loud-quiet song fusions.

Tonight’s modified set-list doesn’t lean heavily on any release in particular with the anthemic Where Is My Mind? And the pop-rock of ‘Here Comes Your Man’ appearing in the first ten minutes. Followed by ‘Mercy Me’ and the brand new album, ‘The Night The  Zombies Came’. Single, ‘The Vegas Suite’ proving to be a surprise live banger.

Francis’ signature discordinant scream hasn’t lost any power as the band nears 40 years of age, and the rest of the band remain tight as ever. They’re true to their reputation of not being into crowd interaction but, as they’re not wasting time mingling, they are able to punch out their catalogue of classic loud-quiet-loud tracks with a good percentage of the crowd singing along.

As Pixies depart the stage, the stadium lights come up and news filters through that the curfew has been pushed back to 11 and our headliners will be on from 9pm. A short, sharp show – by Pearl Jam’s standards, anyway.

The lengthy wait in the puddles of the General Admission section builds anticipation before the lights go out, shadows creep onto the stage, the 20 metre tall screens flanking the stage light up, and the first delicate notes of ‘Corduroy’ ring out. The sound of a full stadium of punters feeling lucky that this is happening at all given the afternoon’s events, erupts as the track picks up the pace to its first urgent verse.

We are off to the races and it’s break-neck to Thunderdome. The unit is tight and the decibels are going to inspire complaints in the surrounding community, but for the thousands inside letting loose, this is what it’s all about.

From the outset, whether standing free or with the guitar slung, Eddie Vedder is a ball of energy. He may not be climbing scaffolding and hanging from rafters the way he was 30 years ago but he still finds energy to dart around stage and show off his still impressive projection and vocal range in tracks like ‘Elderly Woman Behind A Counter In A Small Town’ and ‘Given To Fly’ in the first 15 minutes.

A Pearl Jam setlist constructed in real-time is something to behold. There is no reprieve as ‘Why Go’, ‘Dark Matter’ and, the often overlooked, ‘Quick Escape’ follow one after the other, only coming up for air with lighter tracks, ‘Wreckage’ and the beautiful and iconic ‘Daughter’. The latter made politically charged with a lyrical change lamenting the seeming rejection in the US of “a woman’s right to choose”. It ends having morphed into Pink Floyd’s ‘Another Brick In The Wall Pt2’ in a vast, spiritual sing-along.

Guitarist, Mike McCready has clearly not been wearied by the touring band lifestyle. During ‘Even Flow’, he commands just as much attention as Vedder as he stands staring with intensity into the faceless void of thousands at his feet, his guitar behind his head shredded by convulsing arms and fingers. Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard lays the groove down behind him as he shreds perfect solos until the last bar when he rejoins Matt Cameron’s arrhythmia and reality where this kind of virtuosity shouldn’t even be possible.

The crushing octane of  ‘Severed Hand’, is dialed back for ‘Black’ as thousands of 40-50 somethings belt out the heart-breaking lyrics, before ‘Porch’ closes out the set proper with yet more nostalgia.

But that ain’t it. Not even close.

The encore lulls us in as Vedder tells stories and thanks the people that made the night possible before leaning into ‘Man of the Hour’ solo. The band rejoin him on stage, the fuzz kicks back in and ‘Do The Evolution’ sets everyone’s now hoarse voice loose. Heads bang and fists are raised and the crowd before nostalgia takes us further back into the 90s with ‘Better Man’ and the compulsory, ‘Alive’.

With the houselights switched on as the curfew rolls around, the band kicks into Neil Young’s classic ‘Rockin’ in the Free World’, bearing clear significance for the band, given events back home over the last week.

The cover could’ve been the song of the night and every punter in the building makes the most of it, those with space, dancing, those without it, moshing. A communal celebration of nothing but the best music, performed by some of the best musicians.

In 2006, I watched from the bleachers at BEC as Vedder downed two bottles of wine, while throwing himself from one side of the stage to the other, lighting up a J side-stage and, as an encore, stumbled over the fold-backs, picked himself up with the mic-stand, commanded the crew to hit the house lights and cues his charges to “Kick out the jams. Motherfucker!”. It was a moment in music for me.

A core memory. Tonight, at 42 years old, I have another. Thank God for Pearl Jam