Kurt Cobain passed away 20 years ago today on April 5, 1994. It was unarguably a death that changed all music that came after it. We wanted to do a piece to commemorate Kurt for everything that he’s done for us in his years alive and after but not do something that delve into his own personal life. These are stories of how Kurt was a part of our lives: how he had a way of bringing people together or keeping someone safe and happy even when everything was against them. These are for Kurt but also for you. Feel free to share your own story with us.
April 5, 1994 was the first day I ever lost someone close to me. I guess that’s not entirely true; my grandmother passed away when I was one year old, but I don’t remember that. At four years old, I could vaguely remember this day.
When I was growing up, my mom would play an eclectic mix of music, which has influenced the weird taste in music I’ve had my whole life. Grunge was blowing up when I was younger, and she always had a rotation of Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Alanis Morissette, and Pearl Jam on her record and tape players. At the time, I was too young to understand much of what Kurt was singing at the front of Nirvana; I just knew I liked it. One day my mom came home from work looking really bummed out and said Kurt Cobain had passed away. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t figure out why this man who made such great music had to die. Twenty years later, I still can’t stop thinking about it. I still try to learn everything I can about him.
Later in life I learned a lot about Nirvana and his close relationship with Kathleen Hanna and Tobi Vail of Bikini Kill. All these years, I thought Nirvana formed in the northwest out of the grunge era. In reality, Kurt was a feminist art punk. He was a voice for both women and LGBTQ individuals, which a lot of the mainstream, male-run media have neglected to highlight in all of their blasé Kurt Cobain pieces. Patty Schemel, the former drummer of Hole, told Out magazine, “He said that being gay is cool, and that made the climate even better for us.” We can remember Kurt Cobain as a genius for his music but also as a pioneer for inclusivity within the alternative music scene.
— Christine Varriale
On my 11th birthday my dad gave me a cheap Mp3 player with one album loaded on it- Nevermind. I hated my dad, I didn’t have any friends, but I had Nirvana. The patchy bleached hair and ripped jeans that followed were a predictable but important phase. From there, like a lot of you, I learned about other bands that would influence me well into my adult life: Melvins, Sonic Youth, Lydia Lunch, Dinosaur JR, and so on.
We grew up. We didn’t listen to Nirvana as much as we did in middle school. We grew desensitized to it in a way- we saw Nirvana shirts being sold at Walmart. We rolled our eyes when we saw “Smells Like Teen Spirit” covered at countless high school battle of the bands. The pure joy of hearing Nevermind for the first time grew more distant as we became more jaded.
At least that was the case for me until a few years ago when a friend of mine found a copy of the Rolling Stone issue that broke the news of Kurt’s death. What struck me wasn’t the pictures or the articles: it was the letters from his fans. Most of them were saying the same thing; that on that day they didn’t lose a role model or a rock star. They lost their best friend.
That’s it: that’s Nirvana. That’s Kurt. He was everyone’s friend.
He stood up for groups of people who needed to know they had an ally. He told people it was okay to be themselves, whatever that meant. When we were afraid or felt alone we had someone to talk to us. Maybe that’s lost, it’s bite now, but if there’s one thing I suggest everyone reading this do:
Pull out the old records.
Pretend you’re a kid again.
Fall back in love.
Because even if you’ve changed and grown, your friend is still there in those records, and he’s there whenever you want to go back to him. And that’s beautiful.
— Sami Martasian