Category: In Utero 1992-1993

On a regular basis the lyrics and titles of Kurt Cobain’s songs often had only a loose connection – sometimes it was just a way of getting out phrases he liked at the time. Liked is perhaps an understatement; in the period from 1992 onwards he seemed to pay very specific attention to titles and to use them with weighty intent and as very direct commentaries on his circumstances and his particular grievances at the time.

The examples are well known; Nine Month Media Blackout references the birth of his child and the cutting off of contact with what he deemed to be intrusive press — Radio Friendly Unit Shifter referring to commercially appealing single material (used for a song that was anything but — the inoffensive Sappy, a title with a five year heritage, being stripped and having Verse Chorus Verse grafted onto it making a point about the supposedly repetitious and tedious cookie-cutter music format he was trapped within — the In Utero album itself going through a few switches whether he wanted to reference sarcastic inquiries as to his state of mind (I Hate Myself and I Want to Die) or to reiterate the love of a particular title and the boredom motif (Verse Chorus Verse again) before settling on In Utero; back to baby references. This focus on the ‘in-your-face’ significance of titles, that these would be the repeated memes appearing in reviews and magazine articles, that these would be the first things seen and commented on even prior to the music and lyrics, was extensive. I’d also argue it was significant; the titles on Bleach and Nevermind were not devoid of meaning or connection to their subjects but they were not the jagged blades being deployed and aimed at enemies and irritations on In Utero and its surrounding single/compilation releases.

That stand-out messaging within titles continued with a number of other titles being equally literal and direct; Frances Farmer will Have her Revenge on Seattle linking to the much abused fallen star placed in an asylum by her mother and the court system — Serve the Servants referencing the Cobain family’s running around and subservience to court systems and parentage — Pennyroyal Tea’s abortion motif… What is less considered is how early, during this spell of fraught discontent, that the naming focus commences. I argued the significance of Incesticide in the Dark Slivers book (Christmastime jibe at happy family propaganda; reference to the discarded and neglected songs; killing the practice of damaging families…) but, beyond this, and preceding the In Utero sessions spell, there was a further outpouring; the April 1992 recording sessions.

The Journals make very clear that the two titles chosen and plastered onto Nirvana’s first post-Nevermind original recordings were related to one another. On page 185 a page long rant references, sarcastically, how he, Kurt Cobain, had betrayed the punk aesthetic with “oh the success! The guilt!” being a key half-smiling wail while “oh the guilt the guilt” forms the title. The same rant uses the word Curmudgeon to refer to rock critics in another phrase that would clearly stick with him mashing together “the self-appointed rock judge curmudgeon.” It’s a curious piece in that it also shows Kurt using the “I hope I die before I turn into Pete Townsend” line that he’s recording saying after a rendition of Baba O’Riley in Rennes, France on December 7, 1991; his retention of information is incredible, or alternatively the piece in the Journals dates to the December-January spell in which he was catapulted to worldwide, and unexpected, renown — to imagine him reacting against the press so early seems unusual, however, but still, possible.

The Journals take us further; page 260 shows both phrases being popular mantras he was using at the time — yet another dual reference to “pissy little self appointed judge curmudgeon oh the guilt! The guilt! The fame, the lights, the flash, the glitter, the guilt.” Again, Kurt Cobain seems to either read back his own diaries and hook out favoured expressions, or holds onto certain formulations. The latter suggestion is present in Cobain’s argument that he used “I hate myself and I want to die” as his standard rote answer to any inquiries about how he felt in late 1992 but whether that extends to this very precise Oh the Guilt/Curmudgeon expression it’s unclear. What is clear is that both expressions were clung to and were elements he wanted to broadcast to the world, slipping them out in Autumn of 1992 (Lithium single) and early 1993 (joint single with The Jesus Lizard) grafted onto the first new originals from Nirvana. The songs have been seen, traditionally, as an opening salvo prior to In Utero’s bile; this is indeed an accurate assessment. What is less appreciated is that they were revealing of a fresh approach to naming songs in which targeting his own annoyances and branding his enemies as directly as possible would be a priority.

These two songs are also a fair reminder that the traditional game of relating songs’ titles to the meaning of the song on which they are pasted, doesn’t always apply when it comes to Nirvana. Especially on b-side material, and particularly in this late phase, the words used to brand his songs didn’t bare much relation to the lyrical content of the songs even if it’s hard to think of them separately once the merging has been made.

Yesterday we mentioned the opportunity for the exceptional, the unexpected. Today I present to you the evidence that yes, reality can break its rhythmically predictable bounds. That evidence comes in the form of the MTV Live and Loud performance of December 13, 1993.

A single, barely fluctuating set-list persisted throughout December 1993 with only minimal changes right the way to the grand finale on March 1, 1994. The only time that a significant step away from the normal sequence occurred was for this single performance broadcast by MTV. In amid a tour consisting of a barely shifting choice of songs this performance freshened things up.

At first glance it seems a fair conclusion that Nirvana still felt TV appearances had significance, had more focus from senior management, and therefore had to be taken seriously — it can be seen in the fact that the band bothered having a proper rehearsal for it running through ten songs. The question follows whether the band needed to create a fresh one-off set-list to match the show time allotted and whether that show time was arbitrary or was set by MTV; the show featured just 18 songs compared to between 22 and 25 at every other show that month.

It’s clear that Nirvana used MTV Live and Loud as a showcase for In Utero. The band had to cut songs to match the time permitted. They cut between 3-5 songs off their normal set from Nevermind, but only 2-3 from In Utero; meanwhile they kept their three usual grabs from Bleach (Blew, About a Girl, School) and Incesticide’s usual sole representative (Sliver) — no cuts lost from the commercially lesser albums despite the sense that would have made at an event about promoting the band to the mainstream audience of MTV. A normal set list at the time featured the following breakdown divided by album (various dates for comparison):

It made perfect sense to cut from their best known album if the priority was simple boredom, however, as with my commentary back in December regarding MTV Unplugged in New York) there appears to be a similar refusal to give MTV the favourites given an aversion to Nevermind doesn’t affect them at any other point in the tour. The most glaring case is that this is the one and only time in December that the band doesn’t play Smells Like Teen Spirit. In fact it’s one of only nine occasions on the whole Oct 1993-Mar 1994 In Utero tour that the band didn’t play it; the last time until Nirvana’s final gigs on Feb 27 and Mar 1, 1994. Also, it’s the only occasion throughout the whole tour when Nirvana simultaneously cut In Bloom — another crowd-pleaser.

Certain cuts make absolute sense in certain contexts; the removal of the mellow Polly, Jesus Don’t Want me for a Sunbeam and Dumb are understandable deletions — bringing Lori Golston’s participation on cello down to a barely audible part on two songs — if the desire is to maintain tempo uber alles just as surely as they were extremely reasonable additions for MTV Unplugged in New York where the contrasting desire was to the fore.

The opposite desire is also visible, the urge to increase volume and heaviness; according to the Nirvana Live Guide the MTV Live and Loud appearance was the final time Nirvana finished a gig with a rendition of Endless Nameless and one of only three appearances it made after October. On this occasion they spent a full fifteen minutes, a fifth of their time on stage simply making a glorious and utterly un-MTV friendly racket. It’s the most extensive destruction Nirvana staged at any point in the In Utero tour, a harking back to former stage-wrecking glories that had since been given up. I also suggest it served a function; it meant Nirvana could fulfil an allotted stage time while simultaneously cutting short the amount of usable material MTV had to work with. The band had simply walked out quarter of an hour early during a previous live appearance on MTV in 1992, this time the sense of time-wasting is tangible — look how much aimless yet calmly methodical activity Kurt persists with during that final spell; ramming the guitar into the speakers, ‘baseball batting’ the angel stage set, treating his guitar as a skateboard, a persistent effort to hit the ceiling with his guitar, lots of running directly at cameramen who back away nervously, or alternatively moving away as they try to shoot him.

It returns us to the question of running time — a Nirvana show in late 1993 consisted of well over twenty songs, perhaps with a jam on the end but usually not. On this one occasion the band played 16 full songs then fifteen minutes of noise — they could have fitted at least another four songs in but for whatever reason chose to resurrect the noise jam and destruction rather than play out another tranche of hits. It’s sad, however, that at this point in time, the urge to change meant cutting from the normal set-list rather than thoroughly revising what the band was capable of playing together. The absence of rehearsal time, of time together, was showing.

Throughout the audible antagonism toward MTV there’s quite a few element of further aggression. For starters he beckons the audience on stage, anathema to MTV directors who might prefer to look after their expensive cameras rather than face an stage invasion by adrenalized mosh-pit junkies. Around that Kurt amuses himself spitting on camera lens forcing a switch from camera to camera as they clean the previous one — he’d done something similar at the start of year, exposing himself to a camera on stage in Rio de Janeiro. The applause to the audience at the end is a sarcastic move taken direct from comedienne Joan Rivers who usually starts a gig (and ends it) insinuating the audience are performing seals.

MTV Live and Loud was the last significant deviation from script for Nirvana. It was a last defiant roar at the cameras, a refusal to play to or please the wider corporate audience (regardless of the desires of the audience in the room) and yet another reinforcement of Kurt Cobain’s highly uncooperative relationship with TV that ran all the way through Top of the Pops, The Word, Saturday Night Live and all the band’s MTV performances.

I reedited this at 22.00 UK time because the image that had stuck with me all day was exactly the kinda overloaded final thought that journalists usually end an article with – all the image consists of is Kurt Cobain, alone on the stage for the final five minutes of the show, menaced by or menacing the cameramen, trying to throw is guitar as far up and away as he can, completely divorced from the band and obsessively going through whatever internal processes that keep him there jerking from one act to the next in a whimsical and unhappy looking manner. Take a look, isn’t there something a bit scary about it in retrospect? Maybe. That’s the problem with final images, they never live up to billing.

In Dark Slivers I wrote a whole chapter, Post-Mersh, entirely about the golden age of Kurt Cobain’s musical experimentation basically centred between 1987-1989. I feel I overlooked a similar flourish in 1993, one I hadn’t even considered before.

While the earlier period saw Kurt Cobain probing and testing what could be done with sound while on a budget of bare pennies, 1993 afforded him, and Nirvana, the chance to buy in new sounds. Kurt’s increasing distain for continuing with what he was doing, the way he was doing it, had one positive consequence which is that it led to more space for the band to try new things.

A first new direction came via the addition of Dave Grohl as an active contributor of musical ideas. This began with Dave playing Kurt a demo of Alone + Easy Target recorded in 1991. Kurt responded enthusiastically reportedly saying “oh, finally, now I don’t have to be the only songwriter in the band!” The first tangible collaboration was the arrival of Dave’s ideas that became Scentless Apprentice at rehearsals in late 1992. This was a genuinely new development; Chad Channing has stated that he felt openly discouraged from having pretensions toward creative participation in Nirvana’s music. Now, in 1992-1993, Kurt even said in interview how pleased he was that some of the burden would be off his shoulders.

Of course this new potential didn’t last long. Rio de Janeiro in January 1993 saw Kurt allegedly supplying some backing vocals to the demo’ed cover of song Onward into Countless Battles, so some forward motion was being maintained. Then Dave’s song Marigold was used on the Heart Shaped Box single. The only problem there, however, was that when Dave recorded the song at the Pachyderm Studios sessions in February 1993, Kurt didn’t perform on the song at all. Rather than a fresh collaborative approach it’s more like using his band members for convenient filler at a time when he had far less to offer.

After that it’s hard to disentangle the general spiral of Kurt Cobain’s life from the specific issue of band collaboration. It’s certainly true that after the PR-friendly statements about this fresh creative input to Nirvana’s music, there was barely any studio play or rehearsals whatsoever. It’s possible the public statements were a reflection of Kurt’s famed inability to openly confront many things he was unhappy with. That would make the long absence of collaboration with his comrades in Nirvana a way of giving a hint at how welcome he found their desire to participate as equals rather than as faithful supporters of his vision. Or maybe it was simply a relief to opt-out of the music and focus on making collages and art works at home with which to decorate the music that was emerging.

A common pattern with many bands, once they’re in possession of the money and fame to get away with it, is that they seek out a wider array of musical options to toss at their recordings. As examples, think of Guns n’ Roses with the grand pianos and string quartets, or Radiohead with the wholesale move into beats and keyboards. Nirvana never went that far; it was a vestigial opening in their sound that notably shied away from electronics or from a zeitgeist-hunting dive into the latest sounds.

Instead Nirvana reprised ideas they had briefly nodded to in the past — it’s a curiously circular path, part of a wider span of evidence that I’ve pointed to in the sample chapter I placed on here in the November 18, 2012 post. The addition of a second guitar seemed a genuinely desired option with Nirvana trying Big John Duncan (formerly and most famously of punk band The Exploited) before settling on Pat Smear (formerly and most famously of punk band The Germs.) It’s intriguing that just a year after Incesticide had tied Nirvana to various strains of the underground (to be followed by the link up with The Jesus Lizard), Nirvana attempted to add such solid punk era credentials to their line-up.

Pat Smear genuinely did seem to add creative options for Kurt Cobain as well as relieving live burdens. The final known recording work by Kurt Cobain involved Pat, similarly Pat has spoken about abortive requests from Kurt to work together in hotel rooms on tour. Again, though it didn’t add to a broadening of the instrumental palette, a second guitar could potentially have added something new to Nirvana’s sound.

The Pachyderm sessions apparently saw a brief jam attempted, now known as Lullaby, utilising an organ located at the site. The three instruments listed in Gillian G. Gaar’s description of the piece are “organ, bass and drums” suggesting that, once again, Kurt Cobain had discarded his guitar and had ended up on another instrument, an increasingly common feature. The dual role of vocalist and lead guitarist always automatically made Kurt Cobain the front man and figurehead. Having a second guitarist, or these periodic switches to drums (Sao Paolo concert in January, one song in the Rio sessions, here at Pachyderm, the 1994 home demos) appear to be a way to step back into the shadows to some extent, to abdicate the central role.

Lori Goldston’s addition on cello was another repeated preference. Originally band friend Kirk Canning had added the instrument to Something in the Way back in 1991; Kera Schaley then took over and applied touches to Dumb and All Apologies in 1993. To then add Lori Goldston as a full addition to the touring ensemble was a fresh step but not an unprecedented addition to Nirvana’s music. It’s interesting that, while a perfect fit for the MTV Unplugged in New York format, Lori’s inclusion had already been decided on and had taken place earlier — happy coincidence. It was at that show also that the final new instrument, Krist Novoselic’s accordion detour on Jesus Don’t Want Me for a Sunbeam took place.

The acoustic direction has been suggested as one direction for Kurt Cobain; a few months back I suggested that the trend in his music seemed more toward the noisy with acoustic guitars remaining a feature for home practice only…Now there’s a new option, perhaps there could have been a fleshed out and fuller Nirvana, a more cluttered, yet also more orchestrated and mature sound. It’s a possibility.

…But I admit it. I’ve been trying to be positive yet the evidence amounts to scraps. The addition of such punk-originated second guitar options perhaps supports the idea that 1992-1994’s turn toward noisier songs would continue. Or the permanent concert residency for the cello may mean that the mooted acoustic direction could have also ushered in a wider arsenal of ‘organic’ instrumentation. Or in a continued Nirvana either Dave or Pat might have been the source of a dilution of the Cobain-centric band creating new directions for the music. 1993 deserves to be seen as a new age of experimentation for Nirvana, but one that simultaneously shows evidence of disinterest and/or a sense of confusion about what the future should be, or whether there was a future at all.