Nirvana

by Everett True

  “I wonder what Keith’s going to write, Jerry12,” Kurt confided to me on the phone shortly afterwards. “I didn’t tell him anything.”

  Keith wrote the only possible piece he could in the circumstances – one that showed up the splits and confusion surrounding the band in far greater detail than my interview. Keith mentioned the heroin rumours. He called Courtney’s manager Janet Billig “a cross between a wet nurse and a human sponge” – a phrase that caused more anger within the Kurtney inner circle than any other – and asked whether it was possible for the band to go from being “nobodies to superstars to fuck-ups in the space of six months”. Dave told him he didn’t even know all the names of the crew. Keith was seriously disillusioned: “Everything had changed beyond recognition,” he said. “All the talk was of heroin; the gigs almost seemed a diversion. They seemed static and distant from each other. I imagined that selling a lot of records might empower them. Success seemed to make Nirvana powerless. It was all doom and gloom.”

  The NME article led to Cameron being reviled by the band, a band he loved dearly. Eric Erlandson, with Kurt by his side, poured a glass of vodka and lime juice over his head at the Reading Festival at the end of August. The Cobain camp claimed Keith was being vocally disrespectful towards Courtney: this, days after Frances Bean was born. Kurt even named one of his six guns after him. “One for every person I want to kill,” he told me in a stormy mood from his final Seattle home, while I argued with him not to be so stupid. “Keith Cameron, [Vanity Fair writer] Lynn Hirschberg, [British would-be Nirvana biographers] Britt [Collins] and Victoria [Clarke] . . .”

  I can’t remember the others.

  Nirvana played in a bull-fighting ring in the Plaza de Toros de Valencia in Spain on July 2 – a day later, in Madrid, Courtney started getting contractions right before show time. Kurt, not familiar with the birth process13, played the gig panicking that his wife was either about to give birth or die at any moment. On the advice of Courtney’s physician, Nirvana cancelled the two remaining Spanish dates and Kurtney flew back to LA first class, booking two seats for Courtney so she could lie down during the flight.14

  On July 9, ‘Lithium’ was released in the UK. The same day Courtney posed for a series of photographs for a forthcoming interview conducted by Lynn Hirschberg for upmarket tattle magazine Vanity Fair. Never mindful of others’ opinions, she posed with a cigarette – which the editor Tina Brown later airbrushed out – while several months pregnant.

  The couple arrived back in LA to discover that a pipe had burst in the apartment above their bathroom and their shower was flooded. No big deal, except that Kurt had placed several of his most precious belongings there – a blue Mosrite guitar15, poetry books and writings and two tapes with guitar parts intended for the next album – for safe-keeping, because they figured it was the last place a burglar would look. All were ruined.

  Fed up, they called John Silva and demanded he find them another place. With his help, they moved into 6881 Alta Loma Terrace in late July, set in the hills of west Hollywood – a quite surreal, intensely private, location that had been used in the Robert Altman film The Long Goodbye. To access the hill it was set in, you needed to use a private Victorian-style crate elevator, with its own key.

  “They would always be forgetting the key and having to walk up the stairs,” laughs Janet Billig. “I walked up those stairs what seemed like a hundred million times with Courtney when she was pregnant. Tons of windows, great views – but they didn’t have much stuff with the exception of all the gold records that were coming in. Like a punk rock MacGyver16, Kurt would break them open and try to use the gold records as plates because they didn’t have any.”

  Kurt began producing Melvins’ debut major label album Houdini at Razor’s Edge in San Francisco, but quit halfway when the band refused to take his advice on how to make their songs sound more commercial. “These guys don’t understand anything,” he complained to me. On the finished version, he produced seven songs and played guitar on ‘Sky Pup’.17

  Meanwhile, Krist Novoselic was becoming engaged in politics: taking an active interest in the troubles going on back in his homeland, and fighting (successfully) alongside Soundgarden and Pearl Jam and Danny Goldberg to get Washington State’s repressive ‘Erotic’ Music Bill thrown out – the one that stated record store employees could be held liable, and be arrested, for selling music that the state deemed offensive to minors.

  Kurt started taking heroin again. On August 4, he checked into Cedars-Sinai for a 60-day detox. Three days later, Courtney checked into a different wing of the hospital under a false name, suffering from exhaustion and complications arising from her pregnancy. The Los Angeles Reporter stated that she was receiving daily doses of prenatal vitamins and methadone. Kurt, as husband, was her first contact. Eric Erlandson was her second.

  “Eric was like the heartbeat of Courtney,” comments Billig. “He understood Courtney in a really deep way. The thing about Eric is that he’s a great hang, easy to be around, smart and able to talk about all sorts of different topics. Kurt really liked hanging out with him and in a way Eric was a pseudo big brother to Kurt. Most importantly, he could relate to him musically. Kurt and Courtney stayed with him some of the time as they were often moving apartments and Eric’s house was empty as he was staying with Drew [ Barrymore].”18

  The Hole guitarist was the only person to visit Kurt and Courtney during the first weeks of August: “He totally saved our lives,” Kurt told Michael Azerrad. “He was the only piece of reality, the only calm person who was there as an example of what life could be like afterwards.”

  It was only a couple of weeks until Frances Bean’s due date – but before that an event took place that overshadowed her birth.

  On August 11, the September issue of Vanity Fair hit the news-stands.

  Addenda: Melody Maker, July 25, 1992

  The interview with Nirvana takes place in a dressing room on the edge of a river in Stockholm. The day is cloudy, with flashes of sunshine. People are drinking Coca-Cola and, in Chris’ case, wine. Chris and Dave are sitting on one couch, Kurt on another. A bowl of chilli-roasted peanuts and some fruit nestles on the table. Someone’s smoking.

  The band seems awkward in each other’s presence, wary of one another. When Chris speaks, his eyes are looking anywhere but in Kurt’s direction. When Kurt speaks, he does so almost defensively, as if he feels a need to justify himself in front of Chris. When Dave speaks, you know he can feel the uneasiness, but he’s trying to ignore it.

  Apart from a brief spot on Swedish TV earlier today, this is the first interview Nirvana have given as a band for a long while. This might account for the subdued atmosphere – although many people have pointed to Nirvana’s success as creating friction within the band. Certainly, Kurt seems warier than when I last met him – Steve Gullick has to go through a ridiculous rigmarole of hoods and bleached hair and agreements later on before he’s allowed to take any shots.

  When I saw your performance in Oslo two days ago, I kept thinking back to what Kurt told me last year: “We’re not going to be proud of the fact there are a bunch of Guns N’ Roses kids who are into our music. We don’t feel comfortable progressing, playing larger venues.”

  “We can’t,” Chris agrees. “We’ve always treated people with that mentality with a little bit of contempt and cynicism, and to have them screaming for us . . . Why are they screaming? What do they see in us? They’re exactly the same kind of people who wanted to kick our arse in high school.”

  “It’s just boring to play outdoors,” explains his singer. “I’ve only just gotten used to playing large venues because the sound is at least tolerable. But, outside, the wind blows the music around so much that it doesn’t feel like you’re playing music. It feels like you’re lip-synching to a boom box recording. Plus, these festivals are very mainstream – we’re playing with Extreme and Pearl Jam, you know? Ninety per cent of the kids out there are probably just as much into Extreme as they are into u
s.

  “I try every night,” he continues, “but I just can’t fool myself. I’m not going to smile and pose like Eddie Van Halen, even though he’s a miserable drunk. That doesn’t mean it’ll be that way next month [at Reading], but that’s how it is, right now.”

  Do you feel any responsibility?

  “For what?” Kurt asks.

  The masses. The people who bought your record.

  “To me,” Dave begins, tentatively, “our main responsibility is to not pretend to be something we’re not. I don’t think pretending to be a professional rock unit really works. If we’re going to have a shitty show, then let’s have a shitty show. I can see there’s a lot of responsibility playing massive shows, but other kinds? I don’t know.”

  “It’s rock’n’roll to be irresponsible,” Chris adds.

  I know.

  “Once you start considering this to be a responsibility, it becomes a burden,” muses the drummer.

  Dave starts telling me about the interview that they’ve just done for Swedish TV: “They thanked us for saving rock’n’roll,” he laughs. “For throwing a bomb into the rock’n’roll establishment.”

  Do you feel you’ve done that?

  “Maybe we blew a paper bag up and popped it,” sneers Chris.

  From where I’m standing, a great record sold a lot of copies but I don’t see that it’s changed that much.

  “There’s still going to be shitty heavy metal bands,” the bassist agrees.

  What do you hate most about being famous?

  “Kids with Bryan Adams and Bruce Springsteen T-shirts coming up to me and asking for autographs,” Kurt says. “When people in the audience hold up a sign that says ‘Even Flow’ [a Pearl Jam song] on one side and ‘Negative Creep’ [a Nirvana song] on the other.”19

  What’s the best thing about being famous?

  “You know, that’s a really good question,” answers Kurt, ironically.

  “I don’t even really consider this being famous,” adds Dave. “I mean, is Ian MacKaye famous because he’s in Fugazi and people in DC want to bear his children? When you’re a kid you consider someone in a magazine famous, or someone on the news famous, but it’s just a magazine, or some news show.”

  “We might get some perks here and there,” Chris ventures. “A free drink or two, maybe.”

  Do you get many groupies?

  “People are under the impression that because I’m the only non-married member of the band I’m the swinger, that I’m the womaniser,” replies Dave. “It’s just stupid. I’d love to find someone that I could fall in love with and spend the rest of my life with but you’re definitely not going to find anyone that you’ll appreciate at a rock show. Maybe it’s flattering to all these heavy metal bands, but we find it kind of disgusting.”

  How about drink?

  “I came into this tour with a fresh perspective,” Chris muses. “I used to get stressed out, drink a whole lot and react to everything. Now I just go with the flow.”

  “I’ve always loved the spontaneity of being frustrated and pissed off . . .” Kurt challenges him.

  “. . . and drunk,” finishes Chris. “Oh yeah! I’ve had some of my best inspirations intoxicated – it’s a different reality. It’s like living in a movie or a cartoon, where your subconscious takes off. That’s where all the good stories come from. But it’s such hell on your body.”

  Has the sudden fame appreciably changed your lifestyles?

  “Definitely,” responds Kurt, vehemently.

  “It hasn’t changed mine,” his bassist disagrees. “I can still go down to Safeway, buy fruit and vegetables, walk around town. I don’t care if people stare at me, or whisper, or point.”

  “You don’t?” Kurt asks him. “At all?”

  “No,” replies Chris. “I just walk on. And the more they see me, especially in Seattle, the more . . .”

  “Oh yeah, eventually they’ll get tired of sniggering at you and talking behind your back.” Kurt finishes the sentence for him. “Well, I’ve been confronted by people wanting to beat me up, by people heckling me and being so drunk and obnoxious because they think I’m this pissy rock star bastard who can’t come to grips with his fame.”

  “It’s easy for me,” interrupts Dave diplomatically, “because there’s no such thing as a famous drummer anyway.”

  Ringo?

  “Well . . .”

  “I was in a rock club the other night,” Kurt continues, “and one guy comes up, pats me on the back and says, ‘You’ve got a really good thing going, you know? Your band members are cool, you write great songs, you affected a lot of people, but, man, you’ve really got to get your personal shit together!’ Then another person comes up and says, ‘I hope you overcome your drug problems.’ All this happens within an hour while I’m trying to watch the Melvins, minding my own business.

  “There were about five or six kids sifting around, very drunk, screaming ‘Rock star! Rock star! Oh, look, he’s going to freak out any minute! He’s going to have a tantrum! He’s going to start crying!’ Then this other guy comes up, puts his arm around me and says, ‘You know, my girlfriend broke up with me and took my Nirvana album, so you should give me $14 to buy a new CD, cos you can afford that now you’re a big rock star.’ And I said, ‘Gee. That’s a clever thing to say. Why don’t you fuck off?’”

  “I was really drunk with my mother,” Chris tells him, “and these guys were driving round the block shouting, ‘Nirvana sucks!’ and yelling all this shit at me.”

  “Was that in Aberdeen?” Kurt asks.

  “Yeah, but you have to ignore them,” Chris warns him, “or it becomes an obsession. I have dreams about being nude in public, and I interpret them as worrying about sticking out. Forget it! It can become a preoccupation. I was like that, too, when I used to see someone famous . . .”

  “Yeah, but did you pitch them shit?” Kurt interrupts him.

  “No,” Chris replies. “I didn’t, but that incident you mentioned seems to be pretty isolated.”

  “It’s not isolated,” snarls Kurt. “It happens to me all the time – every time I go out, every fucking time. It’s stupid. And, if it bothers me that much, I’m going to do something about it. Fuck it, rock doesn’t mean that much to me. I still love to be in a band and play music with Chris and Dave, but if it means that we have to resort to playing in a practice room and never touring again, then so be it.”

  NOTES

  1 Oddly, in all the interviews Kurt did with me he didn’t mention his stomach problems once.

  2 Kurt and Krist were already aware of the other Nirvana, but figured it wasn’t important.

  3 Thus appropriating for herself the line written for Tobi Vail.

  4 Mark Lanegan’s influence on Kurt has never been properly acknowledged, partly because Mark is such an intensely private and loyal and intimidating person. But the fact that the pair were intensely close friends is indicated by Mark being one of two people asked to read a eulogy at his funeral. He refused.

  5 Sassy’s cover story on Kurt and Courtney appeared in April.

  6 1992 Buzz Osborne concept album – Boner released solo albums by the three Melvins musicians, Buzz, Dale and Joe Preston, in tribute to Kiss who had worked a similar device in 1978.

  7 Grohl’s drum parts on Nevermind had mostly been already worked out.

  8 Inside information: one of the couple must have told me this direct.

  9 The moustached comedian Weird ‘Al’ Yankovic famously did a parody of ‘Teen Spirit’ around this time, lampooning the way no one could understand Kurt’s words: “Now I’m mumbling and I’m screaming/ And I don’t know what I’m singing. ” Weird Al even used some of the same cheerleaders and actors from Nirvana’s video for his video.

  10 Ugly Kid Joe were a horrible pseudo-grunge corporate outfit.

  11 Extreme? This Van Halen-influenced Boston, MA funk/glam metal band was anything but.

  12 Courtney had always insisted on calling me by my real name, and af
ter their marriage Kurt picked up the habit: although he sometimes slipped back into Sub Pop’s favourite form of address, The Legend!

  13 Contractions can happen up to several hours – or indeed days (weeks, even in Courtney’s case) – before actual birth.

  14 Not two rows of seats as has been reported!

  15 The blue Mosrite was the same make that Johnny Ramone played – certainly the reason Kurt would have bought it.

  16 “Using science and his wits, rather than violence, MacGyver could solve almost any problem . . .”

  17 The non-Cobain B-side of the Melvins’ album is genius: it sounds like one long drawn-out episode wherein a drum kit is thrown down the stairs. Kurt didn’t see the funny side.

  18 Eric started dating the former ET child star after she threw up on his shoes outside an LA nightclub. He phoned me the same night to tell me about it – I refused to believe him, ridiculing his story. The couple dated for two years. Drew Barrymore was quite charming.

  19 This incident took place at the Ruisrock Festival in Finland and, by sheer misfortune, the Pearl Jam side was facing Nirvana for most of ‘Teen Spirit’, leading Kurt to change the chorus to “Even flow/ Even flow/ Even flow/ Even flow”.

  CHAPTER 21

  Where’s The Mud, Honey?

  FRANCES Bean Cobain was born on August 18, 1992.

  She arrived at 7.48 a.m., a healthy seven pounds and one ounce, blue eyes and everything functioning normally. Courtney – never one to miss an opportunity for drama – grabbed her intravenous drip stand at four in the morning, and wheeled it down the corridors to where Kurt was staying. “You get out of this bed and come down now!” she screamed. “You are not leaving me to do this by myself, fuck you!” Her husband followed her to the delivery room – weakened from his treatment, and hooked up to an IV-stand himself – and passed out moments before Frances was born. It was quite the scene. “I’m having the baby, it’s coming out, he’s puking, he’s passing out, and I’m holding his hand and rubbing his stomach while the baby’s coming out,” Courtney told Michael Azerrad.