Nirvana Fixation

Just finished Charles Cross' Heavier than Heaven. Initially asked myself, "How much do I need to know about Kurt Cobain?" Had already read Mike Azerrad's Come as You Are and tons of articles and such, but came across a review of the Cross bio that made it seem pretty tantalizing. Finished it in about a week (365 pages--I teach during the day and plan and read school stuff at night, so that's tells you how compelled I was), and I'd say it's the literary version of Cobain's scarifying howl through "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?" on Unplugged. You come away wondering how many little kids are as deeply psychologically wounded like Cobain, how long they carry it, and how in hell they cope. Not to say the author explains it all away that way; it's just as likely, I suppose, that the guy was fatally self-involved. But you'll be hurt yourself when you follow the story arc of a kid who wouldn't go to bed because he had so much fun being with Mom and Dad who grew up to so desperately court death in his final weeks you're afraid to turn the next page. Also, if you're like me, you may come away with a new appreciation (and almost certainly a different perspective) on Courtney Love. I'm convinced she didn't have anything to do at all, even psychologically, with his death. In fact, if it hadn't been for her, he'd have kicked the bucket after the first SNL gig. The ultimate compliment I can extend to Cross is the book literally drove me into a Nirvana listening fixation that has just gotten deeper since I finished the book last night. It's hard to believe we're already 15 years past their big moment, but, I'm telling you, the shit holds up--naw, it's grown. As I've listened from Bleach through a bunch of rarities and outtakes I cadged from the Internet, I've found myself constructing Robert Johnson analogies. Driven, tortured, naked yet fascinatingly allusive in their writing, frighteningly intense in their singing, and possessed of a self-effacing gallows sense of humor, they most certainly must be fellow travellers now. I hope some of my student rockers will read this book, because there's a bit of a Nirvana backlash snaking through the ranks ("shitty guitar player," "lyrics are stupid," "self-involved junkie," and "sell-out" are the common--and, for three of the four, ignant--complaints). I'm not sure reading this will change their minds. But it will enlighten them regarding the man's complexity.