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Dirty blonde tendrils streaked with sweat and bass beats curl, matted to a goateed face lined in thick perspiration. Grappling the air with every jerk of the head, spilling over his eyes every time he goes to watch his fine-boned hands finger the strings on his guitar in unadulterated, aesthetic perfection. The lights of the stage illuminate the daring beauty of the one on stage, who is pouring liquid passion into the microphone. Every sharp that bends could send a chill down the spine, and every small moan of course melody could make me gasp, and I could feel like I’m inhaling the very smoke of whatever drug he was doing at the time he scribbled the un-uniform lyrics…and honestly, if drugs were what made him a genius, I could care less if he overdosed.
Something in the way makes me plug my mouth and nose and breath. And when I hear the throaty melancholy of Come as you Are, it—everything is all gone, until I open my eyes, and finally realize how flawless it all was, because I hadn’t even known it.
His vocals are melodic, but heavy, running like thick blood. The guitar and drum beats that circle him are hit in almost the same keys every time, and I’m taken with the way the passive riffs fit his voice, marrying the two into a sort of fantasy acquaintance where the participants are nothing short of a “perfect match”. It sucks that such a pure, paradisial combination had could only last such a short amount of time: four years.
Nirvana—the name of the band extends into more than a name… it’s like a feeling of unguided serenity, when the perfect combination of one thing and another coalesce. Like buds and rain, a fantastical, flawless might of a creation. The name might seem paradoxical, but underlying the grunge exterior is a perfect place in time. In death, Kurt Cobain never knew the place. But on stage and in the recording booth, you could tell that he was there. That not a single record deal, not a single fan counted. That the high he got from spilling music was something else entirely, and the voice we were hearing was not coming from the place we were in, no matter how ecstatic the privilege of witnessing it was for us. He was with complete desolation from us who hadn’t found the Yin and Yang yet, a state of unimaginable, undignified euphoria, devoid and apathetic to pensive worriment. It was Nirvana.
 Ruiyn · Wed Apr 22, 2009 @ 12:09am · 1 Comments |
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