It has been almost two weeks since I first heard about the suicide of Kurt Cobain, the lead singer of Nirvana, and something about it continues to bother me.
I considered myself a fan of Nirvana in only the most casual way; I own both "Nevermind" and "In Utero," and I think they're both terrifically accomplished records. But nothing in Cobain ever inspired frenzy or exhilaration in me; and I never really bothered to decipher the lyrics to his songs, so I can't really say I had any sort of personal connection to the man. Like many people probably, I just sort of liked the way the music sounded.
And yet this person, whom I would probably have never known, is on my mind a great deal lately. I'm not someone who will plan a vigil to Seattle, carve Kurt's name in my chest or listen to Nirvana albums for days on end in mourning. I'm just one person, like thousands of people I'm sure, whom Cobain reached with his music, and troubled with his suicide.
I've confronted suicide in my own life, and yet, unlike Cobain, I'm still here. I never crossed the line that Cobain did. What went through his mind, I wonder, the moment before he pulled the trigger of his gun? Who or what was he thinking of? Was he crying? Was he dreaming? Did he see the face of his child, or his wife, or his own face? Did he feel like a failure? Or a success, for finally finding the crazy courage to end his own life? Why am I still alive and Cobain dead?
For a long time, I suppose, I will be troubled by all of this. I'm not angry or disappointed at Cobain, and if there are answers to these mysterious questions, I'm not sure I want them. Cobain's suicide will undoubtedly be immortalized in movies and books and tribute albums, and yet I feel that somehow we will lose touch, like we always seem to do when someone kills themselves, with the fact that there was a person there - not an easily martyred celebrity - in utter agony, screaming out in pain, while no one was really listening.
And so, not for answers, but to soothe my troubled mind, I will turn to Cobain's music: the relentless, hard driving ferocity of "Lounge Act," the sinister perversity of "Polly," the bitter irony of "Rape Me," and the desperate, confused plea of "All Apologies," the song that closes Nirvana's "In Utero," and quite justifiably, may be remembered as their greatest. In it, Cobain sings, "What else could I write, I don't have the right. What else should I be, All apologies. In the sun, In the sun I feel as one. In the sun, In the sun, I'm married, Buried."
If he had to kill himself - and I think in a strange and terrible way that was the case - then he at least leaves us with those troubling, sad words that tell us just about everything there is to know about Kurt Cobain.
