Kurt Cobain would have turned forty years old today—if he were still alive. Amazingly (though not surprisingly) he occupies a large niche in the iconography of American youth (if not world youth). If you go into a record store or a souvenir store which caters to young people, you will see Kurt Cobain posters or t-shirts adorned with his haunted image or his equally haunting lyrics. Last year I saw a story posted on the Internet that Kurt had become the top-money earning dead celebrity (passing Elvis Presley). If that remains true then it speaks volumes as to how much impact Kurt Cobain made in rock music and in youth culture as a whole.
Kurt’s suicide in 1994 was a landmark moment in the memory of America’s youth. It’s been quite common since then for young people to discuss where they were and what they were doing when they got the news about his death (police determined that Kurt killed himself, on or about April 5, 1994, but it was three days later on April 8, 1994 that his body was discovered). I remember the day vividly myself. It was a gloomy Friday on the East Coast and I was driving home after having spent the whole day day-tripping and sight-seeing in New York City. It was after 6:00PM and I heard the news on the radio about his body being discovered. At the time I was not a devoted Nirvana fan. I had heard his music and liked bits of it but knew nothing of what was going on with his career or life. I had been vaguely aware of what we now know was his first suicide attempt weeks before in Rome when he deliberately overdosed on sedatives.
What was my reaction? Naturally sadness that he took his life but, deep inside, I was not surprised by it. Somehow I had feeling that his death was a pre-ordained conclusion. It was the aftermath of his death that affected me. It was seeing the youth of the world go into intense mourning of his passing; it was seeing the pundits of the entertainment world pooh-pooh his suicide and make derogatory remarks about why he would want to kill himself when he was the number one rock star in America. There was a concerted effort from the establishment to avert their eyes at the image of his corpse, right fist clenched in rigor mortis, and say that Kurt was an aberration and should be filed and forgotten.
But, as it turns out, the establishment was wrong. What the so-called experts could never understand about Kurt was that Kurt Cobain was not an aberration in the consciousness of youth. Instead he was a norm; a real example of what American youth faced then, faces today, and will continue to face as long as this country continues on its ruthless quest for materialistic satiation at the expense of genuine communication, self-examination, and the willingness to work hard to establish dialogue with our children. Kurt story’s has been repeated countless times in countless communities in America: the firstborn child forced to confront the divorce of his parents at a tender age, the custodial shuttle-cocking between parents; the slow drift into alienation, taking refuge in the fantastic, ephemeral, all the while seeking counsel from the dead, departed, and the deluded; then, with the onset of adolescence, the descent into truancy, drug-use, vandalism, and the confrontation with one’s own self-doubt, fear, and inner rage about what he felt was betrayal by his parents, school, and society as a whole.
When he turned twenty, Kurt formed Nirvana and, after several personnel changes, innumerable gigs in dingy clubs throughout America and the world, he would write the greatest album of the 1990’s when Nirvana released Nevermind in September 1991. (For the remainder of the decade many bands would try—and fail—to surpass the impact that Nevermind had—and still has—on the canvas of rock music).
We forget what a seismic impact Nevermind had in music. The album represented a restoration of some badly needed rock values that had been neglected during the 1980’s. 1980’s rock music was inundated with synthesizers, digital sampling, MIDI’s, and Fairlight drum machines. It was getting so that you no longer needed musical talent to become a rock star. You could fake it (and a lot of hit acts were doing just that—and some like Madonna or Jessica Simpson still do!)
What Nirvana did in Nevermind was remind people what rock and roll is really about: that its three, four, five, or more dedicated individuals getting together, playing their instruments and sweating their balls off making outrageous music that makes the ears bleed, bodies vibrate like tuning forks, and voices hoarse from screaming in ecstasy at what was one of the greatest rock and roll albums of all time. What other singer would deliberately blow his voice out like Kurt did in Territorial Pissings? What other band could write grunge classics like Smells like Teen Spirit, Come as You Are (that was the first Nirvana song that spoke to my heart), Lithium, Breed, In Bloom, and On a Plain (when you listen to that song it’s like you’re sailing on winds of fire)?
Nevermind did all that—and more.
When Kurt played live, nothing was sacred not even his own body. What other performer would topple his speaker stands by throwing himself bodily into them? (Not even Pete Townshend or the late Keith Moon of the Who ever did that).
But it ended way too soon. Two and a half years later he killed himself, leaving a wife (Courtney Love) and his 20 month old daughter behind.
It was his death that sparked my interest in Nirvana and my quest to read and learn more about Kurt Cobain. And it was after listening to his music and learning about his life that I came to the realization that there was a part of Kurt Cobain in every American child and a good part of our selves could be found inside of him.
(I think Kurt knew that himself which is probably why he wrote my favorite lyric of his, All in All is All We Are in All Apologies from the In Utero album. That line defined his generation—the same generation that sought out, and in some instances achieved, connectivity on the Internet—for all time).
Reading about his youth and what he faced in school, I found common cause with him because I (as well as countless other kids) endured the same things. We read the same school text books, watched the same cartoons, and listened to the same albums. Although he did some things differently from what I did—I never did drugs or committed vandalism or played truant—I felt the same anger, alienation, rejection, fear, desperation, and hollowed out emptiness that afflicted him.
He sought solace in his art and his music. I sought solace in reading and writing song lyrics. (I used to write the same type of songs as Kurt but his were a million times better!)
When the end came for Kurt and he surrendered to death, I was going through my own personal crisis at the time. I was in the fourteenth month of an 18 month depressive spell. Actually I should say I was in the 30th year of a 30 year depression which began the day I was born but I hadn’t realized it yet—back then I still had illusions or should I say delusions?
When I realized the synchronicity of Kurt’s life with mine, I saw his suicide as a message to myself. (I wonder if other people experienced the same type of realization in the aftermath of his suicide). I questioned my own existence as well. I wondered whether I really wanted to live or die myself. Contemplating death wasn’t new with me. I’ve been pondering death since I was eight years old and there were times when I was 10-11 that I would pray to God at night that I wanted to die because I hated the way my life was going and what was being psychologically, emotionally, verbally, and, sometimes, physically inflicted upon me by my parents and brothers, peers, relatives, teachers, and certain SDA church members.
I had a lot of anger inside me (like Kurt had in the days leading up to his suicide). I remember one night I called my “brother” Chris and called him every filthy, disgusting, obscene name I could think of because of the many betrayals he perpetrated upon me during the past. I felt bloody good doing it and—to this day—I’ve never regretted it. My only regret was that I didn’t do it years sooner—when it would have meant something.
What I remember about that time period was a feeling of indifference to future life (later I would read that Jim Morrison of the Doors had the same feelings when he went into exile in Paris). I didn’t have a gun or a bottle of pills (thank God!) nor was I inclined to purchase either but I remember being supremely indifferent as to whether I really wanted to live or die. I remember telling a psychiatrist later that if some crook had put a gun to my head and told me that he was going to kill me, I probably would have said, “go ahead and shoot. I don’t give a damn.”
I remember doing a lot of song writing at the time. (It was my way of purging my inner anguish and rage).
I forget when I made the decision to get counseling. It was probably May or June of 1994 but I did do it. I decided that I wanted to live instead of die. Don’t ask me why. The counseling did help to a certain extent but it didn’t resolve the cause of my emotional wasteland: my family. That would take longer and it happened in July last year when I made the long-deferred decision to cease all interaction with my parents and brothers (save for my oldest nephew Frank DiBiase III—a Kurt Cobain fan who decided to become a musician, songwriter, and performer like his idol was. Every time he writes a song or does a gig he makes me proud of him. May he succeed in his quest!)
Trust me it wasn’t a rash decision. It was something I had been thinking about since 1983 when I came to the realization that my “family” really didn't love me or care for me at all. What stopped me from doing it was a forlorn hope that they would change and love me as I was and what I could be. Sadly, they refused to—and I paid a heavy price for it then and, in some ways, I’m still paying for it now. (Those who are really close to me will know what I’m talking about. Those of you who aren’t, I’ll try to explain it to you some day if you’re willing to listen).
In some ways, Kurt Cobain’s life and death opened my eyes and made me look hard at myself and decide what I was all about. I wonder if other people were so opened and so affected to make a change for the good or for the bad. I’m still here because, unlike Kurt Cobain, I do not possess the will to die. Yes, folks, the will to die. People talk about the will to live. There is also the will to die. Kurt Cobain possessed the will to die. If you read the biography of Kurt written by Charles Cross, you will find that Kurt came so close to killing himself many times before his suicide. What’s amazing was that he survived as long as he did. But when someone possesses the will to die then no person on Earth can stop someone from killing themselves. In time, Kurt found the right time and moment to consummate his will to die—and he did.
(I remember my nephew Frank asking me whether Kurt could have been saved. I told him no; that his death was inevitable).
But I’m still here. How and why I don’t know. I think about Kurt too. (Whenever a Nirvana song comes on the radio, I listen to the very end).
I miss what he gave to the world. I don’t condone his suicide. (The most inexcusable aspect of it was that he abandoned his daughter, Frances Bean Cobain. Even if you can’t live for yourself, you still need to live for your child. With regards to his wife Courtney Love let me say that if I had to be married to a woman like that I might have seriously contemplated giving head to blue gun metal myself. Thank God I’ve never had to go through that at least!)
Seven years ago, as a way of paying homage to Kurt, and to exorcise my own feelings about him. I wrote this song. The lyric is to be spoken and not sung while an electric guitar with a fuzz tone wails madly in the background.
Happy Birthday! Kurt. Wish you were here.
Kurt Cobain
We promised to meet
Five years hence
I managed to make it
You did not
911
SOS
Dead at the scene
No need for autopsy
They found you dead
They found you dead
They found you dead
We promised to live
Settle our debts
I managed to pay them
You did not
911
SOS
Dead at the scene
No need for autopsy
They found you dead
They found you dead
They found you dead
We promised to save
Resolved to sense
I managed to feel it
You did not
911
SOS
Dead at the scene
No need for autopsy
They found you dead
They found you dead
They found you dead
We were young
Never aged to lie
I reached thirty
You did not
We wrote songs
Stained glass, a grave
I kept singing tunes
You did not
911
SOS
Dead at the scene
No need for autopsy
They found you dead
They found you dead
They found you dead
…the pump
Shotgun shells
No reaction to anti-toxin
Instant reply
Rohrschach test
Left for fucking
Shelley
HTML
Commitment
Rite of Election
Shaman
West Bank Nation
Transvestites
Flushing
Monks
Monks
Monks
Coney Island
Tax forms
Cephalopods
Sound barrier
Huffing
Car crash
Fade to ending…
911
SOS
Dead at the scene
No need for autopsy
They found you dead
They found you dead
They found you dead
© 02/26/1999 by Matthew DiBiase
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