I could never claim to be the world biggest Nirvana fan. Not because I don’t like the music. Nirvana songs hold a very specific place in my heart, but I remember a time when Nevermind was everywhere. It was impossible to escape. For that I grew to resent them. Why? Because I was a jaded little shit and jaded little shits turn their noses up at the first hint of over saturation.
In my defense, it was easy to be jaded. As anyone who remembers the early 90s, the heavily marketed “Grunge” was inescapable. The DIY aesthetic of the seminal bands was lost in a sea of fabricated disaffection, hair, beanies, goatees, angsty vocals and guitar distortion. Every sorority girl was sporting the obligatory grunge uniform of flannel and doc martins. In sunny Southern California, where I went to college far removed from the earnest roots of the Pacific North West scene, it just felt insincere. Daily doses of the Kurt and Courtney show on MTV News that played out like real-time Sid and Nancy episodes made it appear all that more choreographed.
To the jaded, the Kurt Cobain mythology was like a perfectly scripted rock and roll drama: Outsider teen with a gift for melody becomes the reluctant voice of a generation. Trapped by the notoriety of his own success, the tortured genius battles addiction and a tumultuous self-destuctive relationship. It all becomes too much. Our hero decideds to take take his own life rather than sacrifice artistic integrity only to become imortalized by a generation of disaffected youth. It was perfect. Perhaps a little too perfect for a cynical little dipshit like myself.
During the tail end of the grunge explosion, I had a chance to see Nirvana on their last tour. I scanned the crowd from my seat in the San Diego Sports Arena. I remember thinking that I was too old to be there. I was in my early twenties.
I could not argue that Nirvana was the real deal, but all I could focus on was how joylessly Kurt played In Bloom. For the encore, Kurt and Pat Smear came back on stage wearing cheap Fender Squires. During the finale, they performed an obligatory guitar smash up to the delight of the all the kiddies going wild on the floor below. When the music was over, Kurt kicked the smashed guitar bits and exited the stage unceremoniously. It made me a little sad.
Not long after that show came the news for Kurt’s suicide. Though it was a jolt to the disenfranchised youth of the world, I don’t think it surprised anyone. Kurt Cobain died on April 5, 1993. This might have been the last time I thought about Nirvana for twenty years.
How could I be so callous? Why was I such a dick? Both fair questions and difficult to defend. I was immature. I had not yet developed the capability to disconnect Kurt Cobain, self destructive MTV star, from Kurt Cobain, the person. Fast forward twenty something years and hopefully I have grown up a little. Over the last couple decades, I have watched a couple friends suffer health problems, addiction, depression, and take their own lives. I have had my own tribulations and I have learned the personal torture suffered by creative people. From this I have gained perspective, empathy and hopefully some self-awareness.
I was in Seattle not too long ago and number one on my list places to visit was the EMP museum. For those unfamiliar, the EMP Museum (originally known as the Experience Music Project) is a nonprofit center dedicated to contemporary popular culture. It was founded in 2000 by Microsoft big wig Paul Allen. It houses many amazing exhibits including one dedicated to the birth of the grunge scene called Nirvana: Taking Punk to the Masses.
As I stated, I’m could never claim to be Nirvana’s biggest fan, but I ended up spending hours in this exhibit. I was mesmerized. Stripped away from the hype of the 90s as well as my juvenile attitudes, I was able to absorb, perhaps for the first time, the process of individuals who created what we know now as the “Seattle Scene”. Though I have known of these bands for decades and have heard the songs played innumerable times, the stories told through the hundreds of intimate and personal artifacts from the band and key members of the Seattle scene were profoundly relatable for anyone who grew up searching for sounds and ideas outside the mainstream in the days before the internet.
Even more fascinating were details I learned about Kurt Cobain, the person, from the hundreds of snap shots, personal notes and art work spanning his years growing up as a profoundly creative yet troubled teenager in Aberdeen to his ascension into the MTV stratosphere. The pieces detail how his personal relationships, sense of alienation, world view growing up during the Reagan-Bush era along with his dedication to craft and his natural ear for melody formed the human being that created so many great songs. Amazing, sad, tragic and truly inspiring.
Nirvana: Taking Punk To The Masses is world’s most extensive exhibition of memorabilia celebrating the music and history of Nirvana. The EMP Museum is located at 325 5th Avenue N at Seattle Center.
