No Code opens quietly with "Sometimes," a beautifully wrought prelude of the themes to come. "Seek my part," sings Vedder, searching in broad strokes for personal purpose. At the song's end he outlines the myriad turns he'll take not only to reach that purpose in life, by also throughout the album at hand:

Sometimes I know, Sometimes I rise, Sometimes I fall, Sometimes I don't, Sometimes I cringe, Sometimes I live, Sometimes I walk, Sometimes I kneel, Sometimes I speak of nothing at all.

Just as the series of verbs falls in stream of conscience succession, No Code's songs also progress from theme to theme. "Sometimes'" broad, humble opening sets the stage for the contrasting specific harshness of failed love in "Hail, Hail"; failure in turn allows for reflection in "Who You Are," whose contemplative nature then opens the door for a remembrance of childlike perspective in "In My Tree." And so it goes throughout the album. "Sometimes" ends with the declaration, "Sometimes I reach to myself." The listener, however, is already well aware of this tendency simply from the fragile air of humility that pervades the song. The line, then, serves not as an confession of introspection, but rather as No Code's mission statement.

If reaching to himself is Vedder's prevailing strategy, in doing so he uncovers several motifs. Where he notes his own search for purpose in the opening track, he asks "What's your part?" in "Who You Are." In the same song he also observes "Just a little time before we leave," foreshadowing "Present Tense" several songs later. The child's vision of "In My Tree" is conjured again in "I'm Open." Hindsight with the help of experience is alternately valued and disparaged: the fading refrain of "If I had known then what I know now" in "Red Mosquito" is trumped by the spoken word affirmation of childhood in "I'm Open": "If he only knew now what he knew then." The recurrence of the themes and particular phrases unites the album's tracks philosophically. It also suggests that these may be inescapable themes for the band, rearing their respective heads at the variety of recording sessions that went into No Code.

Two songs in particular offer an outstanding pairing of lyrics and music for these motifs. "In My Tree" begins with a playful rhythm and immediately establishes said tree as a childhood haven from the concrete adult world:

Up here in my tree newspapers matter not to me... I'm trading stories with the leaves...

As the song progresses, the music builds in volume and tone as if the child is climbing higher and higher to preserve his innocence. On and on the clamor continues, as instruments are added, and Vedder's voice assumes more echo. As the child climbs ever higher, the supporting boughs become weaker, and the song's simple musical foundation becomes less stable. By the number's end, with guitar effects suggesting the expansive sky at the tree's top, it's clear that no matter how high the kid climbs, it's impossible to maintain a child's insight or perspective, and eventually he will have to return to the ground.

(As intriguing as "In My Tree's" construction is, it's equally interesting to hear the same message phrased with succinct brutality in "I'm Open." Vedder first sets the listener up with an image of a child:

When he was six he believed that the moon overhead followed him, And by nine he had deciphered the illusion, trading magic for fact.

Then in explicitly harsh, childlike terms, he frames the crushing blow of adult reality: "No tradebacks.")

"Present Tense" is the other number that dovetails the band's music especially well with Vedder's searching lyrics. It's also another of No Code's tracks that opens with particularly delicate guitar. The notes suggest no answers, but complement in tone Eddie's questioning. "Do you see the way that tree bends?" he asks. "Does it inspire?" Within a few lines he cuts to the philosophical chase: "Are you getting something out of this all- encompassing trip?" At the that point, the guitars take on a much darker, deeper, and more assertive tone. They no longer support Vedder's questions, but instead undergird his bottom line, a personal ultimatum:

You can spend you time alone redigesting past regrets, Or you can come to terms and realize you're the only one who can forgive yourself. It makes much more sense to live in the present tense.

"In My Tree" and "Present Tense" are counterbalanced by songs that are seemingly more simple, but that are no less intriguing. "Smile," which follows "In My Tree," is the most overt tribute to Pearl Jam's work with Neil Young. ("Off He Goes" a musical and lyrical re-write of Young's "Unknown Legend" also calls to mind their union.) "Smile's" drums, guitar, and harmonica evoke Young's influence right off the bat. But what's more interesting than the dark title line ("Don't it make you smile when the sun don't shine") is Vedder's plaintive voice on the refrain, "I miss you already." On the heels of the child epic "In My Tree," the line could refer to an age or a state of mind as much as a person.

"Habit," which if you're listening on vinyl begins side two, is another straight forward number that's notable for several reasons. Like many of No Code's louder tracks, this one features refreshingly fast and aggressive guitar. Moreover, Vedder's haggard vocals are strangely invigorating compared to his usual vocal takes. His voice assumes a weary grumble of disgust as he berates a friend addicted to something (with recent headlines, one naturally jumps to assume the addiction is to heroin, but the substance or behavior is not explicitly mentioned). Vedder precludes any dismissal of his concern as mere zealotry by sarcastically decrying his own self- righteousness. "Habit" is much more than Pearl Jam's straight edge song--it's their "Needle and the Damage Done."

Amid so many standout tracks, Pearl Jam stumbles on only a few occasions. A line in "Who You Are" is particularly clunky: "That's the moss in the aforementioned verse," sings Eddie, deflating a metaphor with the concrete explanation. "Mankind" also seems a bit out of place. In bemoaning the proliferation of imitators in the music world, the song turns its gaze outward in the midst of a rigorously introspective album. Nonetheless, the tune is catchy, and ironically humorous to those who have previously viewed Pearl Jam themselves as a neo-'70s outfit (this reviewer included).

No Code closes appropriately with "Around The Bend," a song not only about putting a child to bed, but also about sending the little one out into the world. "I send you off around the bend," Vedder sings, letting go of the child, and in broader terms, the album. Vedder acknowledges that he has little control over the child's path in life (and, by extension, how Pearl Jam's most reflective work will be received). The kid will have to follow its own muse. Let's hope she succeeds as well as Peal Jam does with No Code.