Kurt Cobain came as he was

Kurt Cobain would be 53 this month, had he managed survive his environment and were still with us. We remember his music, not only for its distinctive sound, but also because, although rock bands have come and gone, after Nirvana nothing really big has happened. Everything has been pretty much just incidental in the music world these days. Yes, Nirvana was the last big music news in the past three decades, whether we like it or not.

     It was almost thirty years ago, in the Summer of 1991, when I was going door to door selling Kirby vacuum cleaners around the dusty neighborhoods of El Paso. The guy who drove us around in a van would pick us up a few blocks down the street, and he was always playing KLAQ, El Paso’s contemporary rock station and the most popular in the area. I’ll never forget how, after a “nice” walk under the already warm sun of early afternoon, the first chords of “Lithium” struck me like no other music had done in a long while. 

     It starts with the opening guitar riff, which projects such vigor and appeal that entices you enough to drop anything you’re doing and give your undivided attention to it. Kurt’s calm, yet unreassuring voice shares what goes on inside his head. And after a few statements on his “optimal” present condition, he starts yelling “Yeah! Yeah!” repeatedly, taking the listener by surprise. Then he’s back to his calm state… before eventually cracking again. I knew right then and there that rock music wouldn’t be the same anymore.

     Lithium is a drug used to treat patients with Bipolar Disorder, a mental health condition in the category of Mood Disorders.  And, aside from the title, in its contents the song also alludes —unconsciously, perhaps— to the mental state of bipolar people. The singer announces that he is happy, but then, without warning, he goes off in a sort of manic-psychotic outburst. It kind of reminds us of Sartre’s Nausea, were the main character rants endlessly in his diary about his disgust for life. But then, when least expected, he is in such a gay mood that he would close a day’s entry by writing “I am happy”.

     Then, along came “Smells like Teen Spirit” (from the same album, Nevermind), the song with which Nirvana kissed the 80’s and heavy metal goodbye.  Music wasn’t mostly about partying and getting laid anymore, but the soundtrack to the new era of nihilism and hopeless desperation that had been born with the new generations.  And this time it wasn’t Pink Floyd’s quiet desperation, but rather a loud one. Nor was it the same as Jim Morrison’s “we want the world, and we want it now” attitude, either; but rather the apathetic and indifferent detachment of “Whatever, dude. You can take your world and shove it.” The rest is history.
     Little did I know that about 15 years later, I would live in Washington State, and I'd be visiting Aberdeen, Kurt's hometown, a few times a week for almost 2 years; on assignments as an English-Spanish interpreter. I also did a couple of assignments in the old hospital where Kurt was born, and got to see the house where he grew up and the bridge under which he used to hang out before fame. As you approach Aberdeen, a big sign welcomes you into town. The sign reads: "Welcome to Aberdeen. Come As You Are." Aberdeenians are some of the coolest people I've ever met; very nice and easy going.

     There are rock songs whose opening chords say everything about them right off the bat, like “American Woman,” “Layla,” and “Smoke on the Water,” to name a few. And I would put “Teen Spirit” and “Come as You Are” in the same category. Because, once you’re exposed to the first couple of seconds into them, they grab you and won’t let you off the hook, until you start puking green.

     Nirvana’s music is not about a state of mind only, but it’s also a new expression of music. And, although they used the common elements of rhythm, melody, and harmony —if only in a syncopated and dissonant way—, the one thing that set Nirvana apart from its predecessors and contemporaries was their ability to mix a nice, poppish sound with their punk roots, and a use of melody —in Cobain’s own way— that was prodigal in the midst of existential chaos and angst. The same way that John Lennon was the sixties and Michael Jackson was the eighties; Kurt Cobain was the nineties. And that is something.

Note: This article appeared originally on a now defunct online magazine, and I wrote it on account of Kurt Cobain’s birthday.