Kurt Cobain (4/2/04)

To quote from the same song that Kurt Cobain used to bid us farewell, "the king is gone but he's not forgotten". It's hard to believe that Kurt left us 10 years ago. Fortunately, throughout the decade that has passed, the impact he made maintains a foothold in popular culture, and has yet to "fade away". In fact, his songs can still be heard regularly on the radio while t-shirts with his and his band's name line the walls at Hot Topics around the country. My recent walk across the UCLA campus on Poster Day revealed that college students are buying a wide variety of posters bearing his likeness.

Kurt Cobain was 27 when he took his life. I was younger than 27 at that time and thought 27 was pretty old. Since I'm now in my 30s, it's amazing how young 27 seems. But back in the day, I looked up to Kurt. He was the voice that my generation had been patiently waiting for. Growing up in the 80s, we didn't have much music that felt real. Sure, there was U2 and REM - but unless we dug into the "underground", we were surrounded by a ton of synthesized, overproduced schlock. This void, mixed with the spectacle of the Live Aid concerts for famine relief, undoubtedly led to the explosion of popularity in classic rock. For years, we heard the music and saw the concerts of artists 20 years our senior. It seemed as if there would never be an artist our own age who would make fresh, powerful, exciting music that would feel real and connect with public consciousness like the artists of previous generations. And then SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT took over MTV & radio.

I will never forget seeing that video and hearing that song for my first time. It instantly changed the way I looked at music. For so many of us, the Nevermind CD soon became the most important addition to our music collections. Never before was it so exciting to turn the stereo up to 11. Kurt's songs mixed Beatlesque melodies and hooks with the passion and energy of punk and metal. In his voice and guitar solos you could feel loneliness, sensitivity and anger; in his deeply personal lyrics there was great cleverness. Kurt's music was perfect for that time. The economy was in the toilet, George Bush was President, we had just been to war in Iraq, and the first generation to come from the broken homes of divorced parents was coming of age.

I feel honored to say that I saw Nirvana in concert. When I tell people about it (especially those younger than I), I see the same excitement in their reaction as when I meet people who saw Jimi Hendrix or went to the original Woodstock festival. Like many of those Woodstock artists, Kurt clearly lived on the edge. In fact, my group of friends was sure Kurt would meet the same fate as Hendrix, Joplin and Morrison, for he shared the same fire and flaws. When the In Utero concert tour was finally announced, we took no chances. For what we predicted would be the only opportunity in our lives to see Kurt, we got in line for tickets at 5 a.m. on a cold October morning in Chicago. Although it became known as one of the worst Nirvana shows, that night at Chicago's Aragon Ballroom was one of my most memorable concert experiences. The entire room of 5,500 people became a chaotic mosh pit as Kurt dramatically led the way and the band rocked through one great song after another. The night ended with Kurt screaming and diving off the stage into the crowd. Less than half a year later, on April 8, 1994, Kurt was found dead.

Although the music and image live on, the days of Nirvana seem like ancient history in pop culture. MTV was still focused on music, radio station playlists still had some variety, concert tickets were still affordable, and some record labels were still free from the clutches of Wall Street. Nirvana really squeezed in just in time. We're damn lucky.