Okay boys and girls. Today we're going to talk about Nirvana. Specifically the music recorded closest to the demise of the band.
Obviously there has already been a great deal written about this band and the impact they had on youth culture in the early 90s. Amazingly the farther we get from their cessation the more it could be assumed they never really existed. As I write this it becomes immediately apparent how much the world has changed in the twenty (!) years since they've come and gone. Since the demise of Nirvana we've had: The rise of the internet, September 11th, the proliferation of Napster/filesharing/
Point is, Nirvana just doesn't matter anymore. They probably stopped mattering shortly after Kurt Cobain's death, to be perfectly frank. Regardless, I had a major jones for this band when I was 14 and just like my previously written piece on the Smashing Pumpkins, I still get secret delight from listening to the very dated and increasingly diluted sound they created. The hard part about loving a band that stopped existing as soon as you've heard of them, no matter how massively popular they might have once been, is the dearth of material. Which brings me to the real crux of today's piece.
I had feverishly and obsessively consumed, analyzed and loved everything the band had recorded during my teens. From the sludge of their debut album Bleach on Sub Pop records, to the super slick Frampton-Comes-Alive ubiquitous Nevermind, to the creative high-water mark capstone that is In Utero. Along with their proper cannon were the miscellanea I hunted down - the underrated Incesticide and the rarer Maxi Singles collection. When compiled together I found I had a pretty complete collection of what they recorded - the albums, b-sides, live material (including the beautiful and chilling Unplugged in New York album) and demos from early sessions. However this was all accomplished before the massive spread of online distribution - napster wasn't up and running and my modem was under the strain of a single jpg, let alone a whole bootleg. Rural Wisconsin is no friendly place for obscure pressings of dubious repute.
Imagine my torment, then, when I read online about even more elusive, whispered about songs that had been recorded in the months leading up to Cobain's death in April of 1994 that hadn't even seen th light of day on any fansite or concert bootleg. Sure, I'd managed to track down the weird and bizarre tracks like "Curmudgeon" or the version of "Been A Son" recorded with Butch Vig at his Wisconsin (!) based Smart Studios, but there were (alleged) songs tracked to completion before Cobain went off the proverbial deep-end that were rumored to have been indicative of a new sound. From what chatter you could find online in the mid to late 90s, these songs weren't just your average b-side crud or scratch take, but full on studio versions of unreleased material. Holding the reins on said material, blocking its release? Your friend and mine, Courtney Love.
Yeah.
So the years pass, I grow up, my tastes mature and diversify (I would argue) and I go on with my life.
I moved on, just as I had complained the world had.
At some point, things changed.
Then something was leaked that created a buzz. Maybe I was distracted or I didn't keep my ear to the ground.
But headlines on the web started to make noise about a new Nirvana track, recorded in the January of 1994, after In Utero had been released to mixed reception. At this point I was in college and had access to better internet speeds and a program of dubious legal standing. So I found myself in my dorm room with headphones on, anxiously downloading a song called "You Know You're Right" that I'd read about almost a decade earlier. When I clicked 'play', the effect was chilling. It was like hearing a ghost singing to me. Here was a finished product, recorded and mixed and put on a shelf. A brand new song, long after his death. My mind struggled to handle the magnitude. To me this was bigger and better than the Beatles finishing 'Free As A Bird'.
My story goes farther, though. Towards the end of my college tenure I began dating the love of my life. At the end of our junior year I flew to Boulder to help her move some things back home. My better half, being the loving, kind and all too generous person she is, rewarded my efforts with a gift. Once again I was caught unaware. At some point the estate of Kurt Cobain (this time involving his bandmates, which I assume had a nullifying affect on Courtney Love) deemed fit to release an entire BOX SET of unreleased material. Said treasure trove was my gift.
My mind reeled at the bounty.
While it was a revelatory experience to sift through the awesome and mundane, the masses of unheard bits and pieces, there was one shining bit of treasure in the box. A simple, straight forward pop song by Kurt, recorded at his home on a boom box. It was just him and a shoddy acoustic guitar, strumming and weakly singing another song that had been spoken of in hushed tones a decade earlier. The title, whether he intended it to be or not (Love claims she saw it scribbled on a napkin), was 'Do Re Mi'. From what has been ascertained, the song may have been recorded just ten days before his death. It breaks my heart to hear it now, still, as it serves as a wonderful yet tragic reminder of what could have been. Yes, he was filled with anger and bluster, but Cobain could craft excellent pop songs that made you forget about his anguished howling. This was it - the last gem of his lifetime, clunking out of the jewelry box onto the floor for the listener to hear, instead of being polished for proper appreciation. It makes me more than a little triste to know there are no more hidden wonders, that the vault has been emptied, so to speak. Regardless, I am still thankful to have these rare glimpses into the amazing craft Cobain possessed. Gone, but not forgotten.
Obviously there has already been a great deal written about this band and the impact they had on youth culture in the early 90s. Amazingly the farther we get from their cessation the more it could be assumed they never really existed. As I write this it becomes immediately apparent how much the world has changed in the twenty (!) years since they've come and gone. Since the demise of Nirvana we've had: The rise of the internet, September 11th, the proliferation of Napster/filesharing/
Point is, Nirvana just doesn't matter anymore. They probably stopped mattering shortly after Kurt Cobain's death, to be perfectly frank. Regardless, I had a major jones for this band when I was 14 and just like my previously written piece on the Smashing Pumpkins, I still get secret delight from listening to the very dated and increasingly diluted sound they created. The hard part about loving a band that stopped existing as soon as you've heard of them, no matter how massively popular they might have once been, is the dearth of material. Which brings me to the real crux of today's piece.
I had feverishly and obsessively consumed, analyzed and loved everything the band had recorded during my teens. From the sludge of their debut album Bleach on Sub Pop records, to the super slick Frampton-Comes-Alive ubiquitous Nevermind, to the creative high-water mark capstone that is In Utero. Along with their proper cannon were the miscellanea I hunted down - the underrated Incesticide and the rarer Maxi Singles collection. When compiled together I found I had a pretty complete collection of what they recorded - the albums, b-sides, live material (including the beautiful and chilling Unplugged in New York album) and demos from early sessions. However this was all accomplished before the massive spread of online distribution - napster wasn't up and running and my modem was under the strain of a single jpg, let alone a whole bootleg. Rural Wisconsin is no friendly place for obscure pressings of dubious repute.
Imagine my torment, then, when I read online about even more elusive, whispered about songs that had been recorded in the months leading up to Cobain's death in April of 1994 that hadn't even seen th light of day on any fansite or concert bootleg. Sure, I'd managed to track down the weird and bizarre tracks like "Curmudgeon" or the version of "Been A Son" recorded with Butch Vig at his Wisconsin (!) based Smart Studios, but there were (alleged) songs tracked to completion before Cobain went off the proverbial deep-end that were rumored to have been indicative of a new sound. From what chatter you could find online in the mid to late 90s, these songs weren't just your average b-side crud or scratch take, but full on studio versions of unreleased material. Holding the reins on said material, blocking its release? Your friend and mine, Courtney Love.
Yeah.
So the years pass, I grow up, my tastes mature and diversify (I would argue) and I go on with my life.
I moved on, just as I had complained the world had.
At some point, things changed.
Then something was leaked that created a buzz. Maybe I was distracted or I didn't keep my ear to the ground.
But headlines on the web started to make noise about a new Nirvana track, recorded in the January of 1994, after In Utero had been released to mixed reception. At this point I was in college and had access to better internet speeds and a program of dubious legal standing. So I found myself in my dorm room with headphones on, anxiously downloading a song called "You Know You're Right" that I'd read about almost a decade earlier. When I clicked 'play', the effect was chilling. It was like hearing a ghost singing to me. Here was a finished product, recorded and mixed and put on a shelf. A brand new song, long after his death. My mind struggled to handle the magnitude. To me this was bigger and better than the Beatles finishing 'Free As A Bird'.
My story goes farther, though. Towards the end of my college tenure I began dating the love of my life. At the end of our junior year I flew to Boulder to help her move some things back home. My better half, being the loving, kind and all too generous person she is, rewarded my efforts with a gift. Once again I was caught unaware. At some point the estate of Kurt Cobain (this time involving his bandmates, which I assume had a nullifying affect on Courtney Love) deemed fit to release an entire BOX SET of unreleased material. Said treasure trove was my gift.
My mind reeled at the bounty.
While it was a revelatory experience to sift through the awesome and mundane, the masses of unheard bits and pieces, there was one shining bit of treasure in the box. A simple, straight forward pop song by Kurt, recorded at his home on a boom box. It was just him and a shoddy acoustic guitar, strumming and weakly singing another song that had been spoken of in hushed tones a decade earlier. The title, whether he intended it to be or not (Love claims she saw it scribbled on a napkin), was 'Do Re Mi'. From what has been ascertained, the song may have been recorded just ten days before his death. It breaks my heart to hear it now, still, as it serves as a wonderful yet tragic reminder of what could have been. Yes, he was filled with anger and bluster, but Cobain could craft excellent pop songs that made you forget about his anguished howling. This was it - the last gem of his lifetime, clunking out of the jewelry box onto the floor for the listener to hear, instead of being polished for proper appreciation. It makes me more than a little triste to know there are no more hidden wonders, that the vault has been emptied, so to speak. Regardless, I am still thankful to have these rare glimpses into the amazing craft Cobain possessed. Gone, but not forgotten.
