Pearl Jam sound like Christian rock. A fervent sincerity oozes from their music, like they just have to tell us about a supercool dude by the name of Jesus. They seem like decent guys, credible to the core, with a respect for their audience and their art. In the ’90s they fought against Ticketmaster price gouging, a small battle in a war we all eventually lost. While their sound was hijacked by a plague of imitators – Creed, Nickelback, et al – who took their spot on rock radio.

At some point Pearl Jam decided they wanted to be Fugazi fronted by Bruce Springsteen. That is, a group of serious musicians championing a punk rock ethos with a middle-of-the-road rock sound. Operating outside the system, eschewing trends, carrying on their impassioned brand of populism without the pop music tag. Perhaps we should credit them for never selling out. There are no 2000s era crossover hits with Gwen Stefani, no summer movie soundtrack anthems. No elements of hip hop, electronic, or even country. Just album after album of the same old Pearl Jam – semi-riffs piled on with Eddie Vedder’s semi-intelligible wailing. It is faith music, played for true believers, buttressed from the outside world.

Dark Matter is their twelfth studio album. Early reports signaled a change, with a new producer whose credits (Miley Cyrus, Rolling Stones) seem to specialize in bridging eras. I was curious about this. I’d like to hear them try a different sound, even for the absurdity of the effort. But no, Pearl Jam is a house built on solid rock, as they say in the Bible. Dark Matter is largely indistinguishable from anything else in their catalog. “Upper Hand” adheres to their ballad formula, down to the Hendrix chord flourishes. “React, Respond” is an anthemic call-to-arms without any purpose. “Don’t react, respond!” implores the chorus, but what’s the difference? The verse lyrics (“We could be fighting together, instead of fighting ourselves”) are too pat and vague for any elucidation. Every song drones on with generalities about emotional states.

There is something affecting about the closer “Setting Sun,” in which Vedder sings “Am I the only one holding on?” It’s like a more tasteful version of “Soul Survivor,” the final track from 1972’s Exile On Main St in which Mick Jagger bragged of a victory over his fallen rock comrades. Both of Vedder’s peers from the initial grunge rock rush – Kurt Cobain and Chris Cornell – committed suicide. Even his imitators have fallen, to indignities or obscurity. I admire their integrity and perseverance. But despite their dedication there’s just something too safe and narrow about their work. Like the last store open in an empty mall.