When the Edge Moved to the Middle
By THURSTON MOORE

Published: April 8, 2004
New York Times

The boy looked just like Kurt Cobain. He was no more than 19. Same
yellow hanging hair, fallow blue eyes, the sad square jaw, innocent
and adult.

    We were in a Brooklyn basement full of artists and
sound-poets gathered to watch musicians throw down extreme noise improvisation.
One performer played records with two customized tone arms on his turntable;
the discs broke and scratched, creating shards of hyperfractured beat
play. He was followed by a quartet of young women scraping metal files
across amplified coils mixed through junk electronics. I was to perform
a spontaneous guitar/amp feedback piece with a stand-up bass player on
loan from his teaching post at Berklee College of Music and a free jazz
percussionist who had traversed through New York’s downtown underground
in the 60’s. Not your typical night of alternative rock.
   And I had a feeling this kid was looking for alternative
rock. It was the year 2000. Kurt had died six years earlier, and through
whatever fleeting friendship I had with him, this ethereal look-alike
saw me as some connection.
   Before being labeled alternative rock, Sonic Youth,
the band I started in 1980 (and continue in still!), was called “post-punk.”
By the early 90’s, we existed as a sort of big brother (and big sister)
group to Kurt’s generation of underground America. When Nirvana became
popular, we were all called alternative rock — a less threatening term
than anything with punk in the title (though with Green Day and Blink 182
in the late 90’s, punk ultimately became accessible and extremely profitable
— at least for the new MTV punks). The original alternative rock bands
— Nirvana and Sonic Youth included — never had any allegiance to alternative
rock. We all had come too far and through too much for any professional
advice toward stylistic adjustment.

    Kurt was not enamored with new traditionalism. He
was more attached to the avant-garde rock of his hometown pals, the Melvins,
who continue to stretch the parameters of what rock music can be. The traditional
aspects of Nirvana’s music — aspects that lent it accessibility — were
expressed through Kurt as if they were experimental gestures. (The Beatles,
also grand pop experimentalists, were loudly whispered by Nirvana as a
primary influence, something unusual for punk devotees.) These elements
were an important part of Nirvana’s appeal. But what is transcendent about
Kurt’s art — what today, 10 years after his death, gives him rock immortality
— was his voice and performance ability, both of which exuded otherworldly
soulful beauty.
    The initial popularity of alternative rock was in
conflict with punk culture, which has a history of denouncing commercial
success. Nirvana’s second album, “Nevermind,” along with the success of
the Lollapalooza tours, changed the game. Both announced the discovery
of an unaccounted-for demographic, cynical and amused by the pop rebellion
displayed by new wave (Duran Duran) and hair-metal (Guns N’ Roses). This
newly discovered audience, one that surged well beyond the punk elite to
the greater population of alienated and dislocated youth, was all at once
represented by Kurt.

    Kurt was aware of his sudden high profile and how
it could be perceived as uncool in the punk scene. He made snotty comments
about the fresh-minted alternative rock acts being touted by MTV. We
all did. At the request of The New York Times, Nirvana’s first record
label, Seattle’s Sub Pop, created a mock lexicon of “grunge” culture.
Remarkably, the news media ran with it — to our disbelief and delight.

     In the face of success, Kurt seemed to feel
the need to maintain this stump position of punk rock credibility. Save
the mainstream acceptance of the relatively straight-ahead pop of R.E.M.
— which Kurt loved as much as hard-core thrash — there really was no model
for such success from our community. He told Flipside, the iconic Los Angeles
punk rock fanzine, that he hoped the next Nirvana album would vanquish
their affiliation with the “lamestream.” He recounted being taken aback
by an audience member who grabbed him and advised him to, “Just go for
it, man.” I remember smiling at this, as it was how most of us felt. We
didn’t perceive Nirvana’s status as lame. It was cool.
    After all, the kids chose “Nevermind.” Geffen Records,
the band’s label at the time, had no real plans for it, hoping for modest
sales. Rolling Stone gave it a lukewarm review. Its subsequent off-the-map
success was wonderful, fantastic and completely genuine. What was disingenuous
and annoyingly misrepresentative was the reaction of the corporate music
industry. The alternative rock phenomenon was a youth culture hit and
it made stars out of select artists but, for the most part, it was a
bunch of corn to the creative scene where Kurt came from.

    Nrvana made a point of touring with challenging groups
like the Boredoms, the Butthole Surfers and the Meat Puppets and presenting
them to a huge audience — one that was largely unaware of those bands’
influence. But only the Meat Puppets would click a little bit. Without
MTV or radio support, no one was likely to reach Nirvana’s peak.
     When Kurt died, a lot of the capitalized froth
of alternative rock fizzled. Mainstream rock lost its kingpin group,
an unlikely one imbued with avant-garde genius, and contemporary rock
became harder and meaner, more aggressive and dumbed down and sexist. Rage
and aggression were elements for Kurt to play with as an artist, but he
was profoundly gentle and intelligent. He was sincere in his distaste
for bullyboy music — always pronouncing his love for queer culture, feminism
and the punk rock do-it-yourself ideal. Most people who adapt punk as a
lifestyle represent these ideals, but with one of the finest rock voices
ever heard, Kurt got to represent them to an attentive world. Whatever contact
he made was really his most valued success.
     You wouldn’t know it now by looking at MTV,
with its scorn-metal buffoons and Disney-damaged pop idols, but the underground
scene Kurt came from is more creative and exciting than it’s ever been.
From radical pop to sensorial noise-action to the subterranean forays
in drone-folk-psyche-improv, all the music Kurt adored is very much alive
and being played by amazing artists he didn’t live to see, artists who
recognize Kurt as a significant and honorable muse.

     The kid who looked like him sat next to me
in the basement where we were playing and I knew he was going to ask
me about Kurt. This happens a lot. What was Kurt like? Was he a good guy?
Simple things. He asked me if I thought Kurt would’ve liked this total outsider
music we were hearing. I laughed, realizing the kid was slightly bewildered
by it all, and I answered emphatically, “Yeah, Kurt would have loved this.”