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Tuesday, Oct 7, 2008
At the musical climax, with guitars and drums raging, Cobain's apathy turns into a tirade, finally screaming what he truly believes: "A denial, a denial, a denial, a denial." In Cobain's furious voice, a denial is a crime, the worst kind.
With "Teen Spirit," Cobain managed to put his finger on something that was lingering -- at least subconsciously -- in the minds of many who listened: a general, angry disenchantment with (take your pick) the music industry, '80s greed that turned into '90s recession, TV-news patriotism, Republican politics, baby boomers and their self-centered view of their lives and history, etc.
The album "Nevermind," with "Teen Spirit" as the lead single, was released on Sept. 24, 1991. Although Nirvana clearly had a salable product, MTV, which had looked like a vehicle for music revolution just 10 years earlier, balked at playing the "Teen Spirit" video. According to Cross, some hard lobbying from 22-year-old MTV programmer Amy Finnerty landed the clip a place on "120 Minutes."
The "Teen Spirit" video -- masterminded by Cobain -- takes the song's lyrics a step further: Not only is the lead singer upset about something, he's doing something about it. He's turning a high-school pep rally of misfits into a mosh-pit riot. It's a giant release, a microcosm of the nation's malcontents finally demanding control of their own history.
And the essence of Nirvana is clearly portrayed. Grohl is a monster on the drums, hair and arms flying like a cartoon caricature. Novoselic was drunk and high during the filming, according to biographer Michael Azerrad, and his stringy dark hair disguises his baby-faced mug and turns him into a way-out rocker. Cobain, with his greasy blond locks and striped Freddy Krueger shirt, looks downright insane, bouncing like an ape at one point, then literally mugging the camera. It's rock 'n' roll -- a celebration, with a message.
The collective power of a catchy tune, meaningful lyrics and a kick-ass video is undeniable. But "Teen Spirit" was so infectious, and the other songs on the album so strong, that "Nevermind" (which was almost titled "Sheep") became the thing it tried to mock -- a hot commodity. It hit No. 35 on Billboard's charts within four weeks, and would've risen more quickly than that, according to Cross, if the label hadn't underestimated demand, causing a shortage of "Nevermind" CDs.
On Jan. 11, 1992, Nirvana's major-label debut took the No. 1 Billboard spot from Michael Jackson. The culmination reeked with symbolism -- a '90s band unseats the king of 1980s pop. Five months earlier, the idea of an alternative band with hardcore leanings and a troubled lead singer topping the pops would have seemed laughable. But this was clearly the start of something new, something fresh, something young. It might not be considered a revolution in the purest sense of the word. Ultimately, no bills were passed; no capital buildings were burned; no battles were fought; no queens were miffed. But a pop-culture movement, led by Cobain's "Teen Spirit," altered the American landscape.
Eventually, in the media's suddenly open eyes, everything youthful was hip again. Coffeehouses -- the daytime hangouts for Seattle's young people -- became the basis for a burgeoning business empire. Flannel shirts and torn jeans found their way onto Manhattan fashion runways. Sitcoms revolved around the use of a goatee. Movies like "Wayne's World" mocked slackers while taking their money. Commercials used the word "dude" far too often.
In short, alternative became commercial. It all started with "Teen Spirit," a song that lamented that very idea. Then, the media started calling the song an anthem, and they called Cobain -- who slept in his car the week "Teen Spirit" was released -- the spokesperson for a generation.
There were many pop culture forces at work in the early 1990s. Douglas Coupland had already published the book "Generation X" (and, for better or worse, named a generation). Other bands, like Sonic Youth and Pearl Jam, were making indelible, generation-defining music. A deeper look reveals that Cobain was not a spokesperson for anything. He simply was a grand musician, a troubled talent.
Lost in all the hype was the message of the song. As Cobain himself once derisively predicted, people were marching to the stores to buy the record because the marketing machine told them to. The flock of sheep had not found a spokesperson; they simply found another bellwether.
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