Grunge Quotes

My aunt and overprivileged cousin only recognize two states of being: glitter and grunge. And if you weren’t glitter, well, that only left one other option.

When you are born,” the golem said softly, “your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk, and crusty things, and dirt, and fear, and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you’re half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it’s so grunged up with living. So every once in awhile, you have to scrub it up and get the works going, or else you’ll never be brave again.

People who don’t feel pain anymore are the most damaged.

For a girl with such a dark mind, you're a little too in love with the sunrise.

So grunge, whatever it may be, is not dead.

KURT DANIELSON: [Kurt Cobain] was the most gifted and cursed. And also the most ferocious, innocent, and nicest. A bundle of extremes and opposites.

Tell me sir if you will, where in the Bible does it state that it’s ok to judge others based purely on assumption? Can you see now who is the lesser evil between the two?

Why was fabulousness important? The world was a scary, sad place and adornment was one of the only ways she knew to make herself and the people around her forget their troubles. That was why she had opened her store almost five years ago. Everyone who entered the little square white house with miniature Corinthian columns, cherub statues, and French windows seemed to leave carrying armloads of newly handmade and well spruced-up recycled vintage clothing, humming sixties girl-group songs, seventies glam and punk, eighties New Wave one-hit wonders, or nineties grunge, doing silly dances, and not caring what anyone thought. Weetzie loved the old dresses she found and sold, because they had their own secret histories. She always wondered where, when, and how they had been worn. What they had seen. Old dresses were like old ladies.

Don't be bitter and mean 'cause you don’t fit in, it’s a GIFT. Look at you. You’ve got your individuality, you don’t have the herd instinct, you can read Nietzsche and understand it. Only dumb people are happy.

ROBERT ROTH: Going against the tide, no matter how gracefully, will beat you up after a while — all artists know this.

It’s a problem, you grow up reading about punk and grunge and earnest dude rock in all the magazines andinternalizing the idea that artifice is totally bullshit, man, and we wear these clothes because they’re comfortable, not for any kind of fashion statement, and we’re just trying to communicate, not be cool, and then you transition and realize, oh shit, there is going to have to be some intentionality in the way I present my body and my actions. I am going to have to break the patterns of clothing and voice and hair I’ve had in place all my life if I’m ever going to be read the way I want to be read. Like, it would be nice to believe that you could just exist, just be some true, honest, essential self. But you only really get to have a true honest essential self if you’re white, male, het, and able-bodied. Otherwise your body has all these connotations and you don’t get the benefit of the doubt.

But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk and crusty things and dirt and fear and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you're half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it's so grunged up with living. So every once in a while, you have to scrub it up and get the works going or else you'll never be brave again. Unfortunately, there are not so many facilities in the world that proveide the kind of services we do. So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true.

NANCY LAYNE McCALLUM: An addict and a non-addict don’t think the same — their brains are wired completely differently. Only an addict can help another addict through recovery.

I'm sorry...I just don't know what's wrong with me..

That was 1993 grunge in suburbia. This was 2003 hell in Harlem. (Dark City Lights)

Chris Cornell: I think Pearl Jam was the band that set the perfect example. Their big video, "Jeremy," propelled them into becoming TV stars and one of the biggest rock bands on the planet, so they stopped making videos, which was proof positive that that wasn't where they wanted to be. And that made a lot of sense to me. Nirvana doing an Unplugged at the same time that they did it and making a video for "Heart-Shaped Box," that didn't make a lot of sense to me, because it seemed clear to me that Kurt was pretty disillusioned by the situation that he was being put in. It felt like, If he's so unhappy, he shouldn't be doing this kind of stuff.

His name's nash.' Aunt val took a butter knife fom the silverware drawer. 'What year is he?' I groaned inwardly. 'Senior.' here we go.... Her smile was a little too enthusiastic. 'Well, that's wonderful!' Of course, what she really meant was 'Rise from the shadows, social leper, and walk in the bright light of acceptance!' Or some crap like that. Because my aunt and over pivileged cousin only recognise two states of being: glitter and grunge. And if you weren't glitter, well, that only left one other option...

Because we knew that grunge was the sound of a screaming saw blade—a spawning salmon flicking gravel. It looked like a clearcut. And if you cracked grunge open you would find a moldy fifth wheel trailer inside.

TRACY MARANDER: [Kurt Cobain] was a really good artist. He would draw cartoons with funny sayings. I have this huge picture of this homeless guy, and it’s a satirical thing on how homeless people are mentally ill, they’re alcoholics, they had messed up childhoods — but they’re expected to fend for themselves in a box in the snow.

People listen to music for different reasons. Some people, -its background music— but other people need it to survive. Other people need music to get things out and maybe that’s just where I’m coming from, you know, when things weren’t easy for me, growing up. You know, music, I felt, saved my life. Pete Townshend, wherever you are, Pete, you saved my life. You know, whether he knows it or not. I wouldn’t be here. And I had absolutely nothing else besides music. And so that’s still, you know, that’s in me, and so if we’re gonna play, if we’re gonna get up and play, or write a song, you know, write about something that means something. You know, why write about, you know, 'Oh, pretty day', or, 'Pretty girl' or 'Pretty people', there’s nothing… people have different reasons for listening and playing. I need to —for me-, it’s much more.. religious!

YANNI “JOHNNY” BACOLAS: I would always tell him, “Layne [Staley], why don’t you take off, go to some deserted island, hire the best counselors, and just kick this shit? Go for six months if you have to.” And his rebuttal was, “Johnny, I have celebrity status and I have a lot of money. I could fly planes out to deliver me the dope if I wanted to — and that’s what I would do. I can’t escape.

This tub is for washing your courage...When you are born your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk and crusty things and dirt and fear and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you're half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it's so grunged up with living. So every once in awhile, you have to scrub it up and get the works going or else you'll never be brave again. Unfortunately, there are not many facilities in your world that provide the kind of services we do. So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of a spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true. ... This tub is for washing your wishes...For the wishes of one's old life wither and shrivel like old leaves if they are not replaced with new wishes when the world changes. And the world always changes. Wishes get slimy, and their colors fade, and soon they are just mud, like all the rest of the mud, and not wishes at all, but regrets. The trouble is, not everyone can tell when they ought to launder their wishes. Even when one finds oneself in Fairyland and not at home at all, it is not always so easy to catch the world in its changing and change with it. ... Lastly, we must wash your luck. When souls queue up to be born, they all leap up at just the last moment, touching the lintel of the world for luck. Some jump high and can seize a great measure of luck; some jump only a bit and snatch a few loose strands. Everyone manages to catch some. If one did not have at least a little luck, one would never survive childhood. But luck can be spent, like money, and lost, like a memory; and wasted, like a life. If you know how to look, you can examine the kneecaps of a human and tell how much luck they have left. No bath can replenish luck that has been spent on avoiding an early death by automobile accident or winning too many raffles in a row. No bath can restore luck lost through absentmindedness and overconfidence. But luck withered by conservative, tired, riskless living can be pumped up again--after all, it is only a bit thirsty for something to do.

is her favorite color, even after I told her purple-orange isn’t a thing. She ties her left shoe the loop, swoop, and pull way, and the right with bunny ears. Pen opens her bananas from the end, and she eats her eggs with boysenberry syrup. The girl who wakes up and appears in her window every morning at six-thirty sharp, with insane bedhead, only uses cola-scented lip balm and loves grunge music. She has her mom cut the crusts off her sandwiches, sides first and then the top and bottom. Pen uses the same pink plastic thermos every day at school, even though the cup is cracked. She doesn’t blink an eye as fruit punch drips from the bottom, always staining her shirt.

As recently as the grunge era, there remained a bohemian cachet in casually mentioning that you didn’t own a TV. But nobody thinks like that anymore. Today, claiming you don’t own a TV simply means you’re poor (or maybe depressed). In one ten-year span, high-end television usurped the cultural positions of film, rock, and literary fiction.

I'm sick of all the pressure. I'm sick of feeling like I'll ruin all their happiness if I don't do what they want me to do.

I'm sick of all the pressure. I'm sick of feeling like I'll ruin all their happiness if I don't do what they want me to do.

bright are the stars that shine dark is the sky i know this love of mine will never die and i love her

She did not understand grunge, the idea of looking shabby because you could afford not to be shabby; it mocked true shabbiness.

His style of dress went way beyond your usual adolescent grunge: old men’s overcoats bought at flea markets; crusty, baggy tweed pants; sneakers held together with duct tape.

All they had to do was follow skateboarders to the secret places they had long since discovered. Thrashers and nuclear fuzz-grunge collectives thrive in the same environment.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s over. It’s history. Like Grunge.

The enthusiasm, the swell of sweet courage he heard in her voice, filled him with Seattle-grunge levels of despair.

Amy Finnerty: At the end of it [MTV Unplugged taping], we went back to the hotel, and Kurt said to me, "I didn't do very good." I said, "What are you talking about? That was a historical moment, that was a really incredible performance. Why do you feel like you didn't do very good?" He said, "Because everybody was so quiet, nobody really clapped that loud and they just kind of sat there." I said something to the effect of, "People felt like they were seeing Jesus Christ for the first time. It was intense for people. They were trying to be respectful by being quiet and just letting you do your thing." And then he kind of got a little smirk on his face and said, "Thank you.

MARK ARM : Even if I did talk to [Layne Staley], I don’t know what I would have said. Seeing him so far down the line on this trajectory that he had set for himself made me queasy. It seemed to me like once he discovered heroin, he decided he was going to fully embrace it. Based on the songs on Dirt, he just jumped in. There was no turning back. It was unfortunate and pathetic. That was the myth he made for himself, and he was living it out.

Mark Arm: [On discussing not being on drugs] Kurt was just fuckin' loaded on pills, and I said something like, "You just gotta want to do it bad enough." What I regret not saying is, "You need to dump your junkie wife, because you're not going to be able to do this while you're in a partnership with someone who's also an enthusiast.

Steve Isaacs (MTV VJ): When I was hired at MTV, in August of '91, I was "musician guy." I had long hair, and I was a singer-songwriter. And then the next month, Nevermind hit. It was the most perfect time to have an experience like this. I became the silly MTV grunge poster boy. I was wearing flannel a lot. I loved Nirvana, I loved Pearl Jam, I loved Alice in Chains, I loved Soundgarden, I loved Screaming Trees. when I talked about Whitney Houston on-air you could see me die in my eyes a little bit.

Yet, it could not be denied that the Voorpret band Applausoleum had handily won the twenty-eighth Metagalactic Grand Prix with their darkwave prog-grunge power ballad “I Can’t Get No Liquefaction.” It’s really next to impossible to stay on key with a half-decomposed larynx and a moldering diaphragm, so Voorpret music takes the form of a genetically modified worm, about the size and shape of a dragonfly larva, dispersed into the audience via sprinkler system, trendy vintage beers on tap at the bar, silver platter passed among the paying public by attractive ushers, or T-shirt cannon, depending on how posh the venue.

Being a nerd is about being so uncool that embracing one’s inner weirdo and showcasing that personality to the world without fear of repercussion is the only tenable path for achieving peace of mind. It involves dropping all pretense and attempts to construct a socially normal personality. It’s about letting the kooky shine through.

I wanted to kill Auto-Tune like Kurt Cobain killed the hair bands.

If you can’t beat ‘em or join ‘em, just be yourself.

Buzz Osborne: I could believe it, but I couldn't believe it. Whenever you're dealing with people in your life that are junkies, their death never surprises you -- you're always pretty much preparing for it. It fucking blows, you know? We had a show that night, and we played it anyway. I wasn't about to stop my life as a result of that stuff. The best thing I can do is be a living example of how that stuff doesn't work.

This wasn't a bear," Lieutenant Paulding said. The lieutenant was one of King County's designated "This never happened" people. I had to wonder over the years how one got promoted when the cases you worked "never happened".

Because the pop culture produced in the years between Gulf War I and the mid-1990s is so markedly different from that of any other era in American history, the period is often misunderstood and treated like an ugly stepchild of cultural history.

No one wants to die or even plans to die, at least not when you are young and living life on top of everything, stepping on gold, running the miles with hot chicks on tow, but even if I wasn’t a rock star, and just a normal civilian, I still wouldn’t plan to die young. Death is so boring.

Anton Brookes: I think I was within my right to accuse him of selling out a little bit, if you think about what Nirvana was supposed to be about and what they stood for; they did antirape benefits for Bosnia and stuff like that. Nirvana were supposedly right-on, weren't they? They were the voice of a generation, the conscience of a generation. And for all intents and purposes, Kurt mutated into everything he was against. He became your attitudinal rock star, with the tantrums and the plush hotels and everything. And then, for all intents and purposes, Kurt was sucking corporation cock.

When you are born,” the golem said softly, “your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk and crusty things and dirt and fear and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you’re half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it’s so grunged up with living. So every once in a while, you have to scrub it up and get the works going or else you’ll never be brave again.

You're—personally responsible for The entire strip to be washed away Cleansed, as if gallons of, um, rubbing alcohol Flowed through the strip and were set on fire It didn't just singe the hair, it made it straight And then Perry Ellis came along with his broom And his silk And he— He erected a beautiful city A city of stars

Jeff Gilbert: With Nirvana's success, all of the sudden, heavy-metal chicks who'd been dressing in spandex and fishnets and stiletto boots, now they started showing up to shows and they had washed all the Aqua Net out of their hair and they started to look as ratty as some of the guys. I thought, Oh, no, the beginning of the end.

Any local music scene at any point in time can be referred to as derivative of more well-known acts. The line separating influence from imitation is a blurry one. Very few artists are completely original; even great artists build upon what has occurred before, and add their personality and talent to create their own original expression.

We rode in a darling neighborhood of little bungalows cuddled together. I love the gray-green-putty colors against the leafless cherry trees and Japanese maples. I could feel the crocus, daffodil, and tulip bulbs underground, gaining strength, patiently enduring our winter, waiting to burst forth for another glorious Seattle spring. I held my hand out and whooshed it through the thick, healthy air. What other city has given birth to the jumbo jet, the Internet superstore, the personal computer, the cellular phone, online travel, grunge music, the big-box store, good coffee? Where else could somebody like me ride bikes alongside the man with the fourth-most-watched TEDTalk? I started laughing.

This was 1991, remember. We didn't have the Internet. So, as teenagers, we lived on the phone. There was no webcamming, no social networking. We dreamt simply of having our own personal phone lines one day, along with uninterrupted hours to talk, and we rarely got that. No matter who we were talking to, no matter how private the conversation, parents picked up the phone accidentally, siblings demanded their time. The introduction of call waiting made all of this even worse, as it allowed aunts and uncles and people you didn't even know to butt in. This is part of why we talked so late in the night, Lindy and I, all of us teens. This is why we looked so pale in our grunge clothes. These night hours were the only times we felt we could tell the truth without danger, the only times we could live separately from our parents while still inside of their homes. There were no cell phones. No private text messages. It was simple one on one conversation and, if it was any good at all, you had to whisper.

Jeff Ament: The minute we started rehearsing and Ed started singing -- which was within an hour of him landing in Seattle -- was the first time I was like, "Wow, this is a band that I'd play at home on my stereo." What he was writing about was the space Stone and I were in. We'd just lost one of our friends to a dark and evil addiction, and he was putting that feeling to words. I saw him as a brother. That's what pulled me back in [to making music]. It's like when you read a book and there's something describing something you've felt all your life.

The Haight-Ashbury hippies had collectively decided that hygiene was a middle-class hang-up. So they determined to live without it. For example, baths and showers, while not actually banned, were frowned upon as retrograde. Wolfe was intrigued by these hippies who, he said, “sought nothing less than to sweep aside all codes and restraints of the past and start out from zero.”4 After a while their principled aversion to modern hygiene had consequences that were as unpleasant as they were unforeseen. Wolfe describes them thus: “At the Haight-Ashbury Free Clinic there were doctors who were treating diseases no living doctor had ever encountered before, diseases that had disappeared so long ago they had never even picked up Latin names, diseases such as the mange, the grunge, the itch, the twitch, the thrush, the scroff, the rot.”5 The itching and the manginess eventually began to vex the hippies, leading them individually to seek help from the local free clinics. Step by step, they had to rediscover for themselves the rudiments of modern hygiene. That rueful process of rediscovery is Wolfe’s Great Relearning. A Great Relearning is what has to happen whenever reformers go too far—whenever, in order to start over “from zero,” they jettison basic values, well-proven social practices, and plain common sense.

When you are born,” the golem said softly, “your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk and crusty things and dirt and fear and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you’re half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it’s so grunged up with living. So every once in a while, you have to scrub it up and get the works going or else you’ll never be brave again. Unfortunately, there are not so many facilities in your world that provide the kind of services we do. So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true.

The muddy, grunge clung to them both as it tried to claim them both as its own, a ruthless predator that was intent on capturing both the lives of the innocent captives it had managed to entwine in its muddy, deadly embrace.

Ella no entendía el grunge , la idea de ofrecer un aspecto sucio porque podias permitirte no ir sucio, era una burla para los verdaderamente sucios.

It seems that being a woman is very expensive and time-consuming. My innocence about this is incongruous, given my age, but total. I come from grunge, and then Britpop--scenes where you boast about how little you spend on an outfit ("Three quid! From a jumble sale!" "Ooooh, pricey--I found this jacket in a Dumpster. On a dead man. Under a fox carcass"), and taking pride in "getting ready to go out" consists of little more than washing your face, putting on your Doc Martens/snaeakers, and applying black Barry M nail polish, £1, on the bus into town.

Kyle stood standing

This was 1991, remember. We didn’t have the Internet. So, as teenagers, we lived on the phone. There was no webcamming, no social networking. We dreamt simply of having our own personal phone lines one day, along with uninterrupted hours to talk, and we rarely got that. No matter who we were talking to, no matter how private the conversation, parents picked up the phone accidentally, siblings demanded their time. The introduction of call waiting made all of this even worse, as it allowed aunts and uncles and people you didn’t even know to butt in. This is part of why we talked so late in the night, Lindy and I, all of us teens. This is why we looked so pale in our grunge clothes. These night hours were the only times we felt we could tell the truth without danger, the only times we could live separately from our parents while still inside of their homes. There were no cell phones. No private text messages. It was simple one on one conversation and, if it was any good at all, you had to whisper.

Times were changing in the world of id. They had finally fired Jason, narrowing the group to Carmack, Romero, Adrian, and Tom. But something else was in the air. The Reagan-Bush era was finally coming to a close and a new spirit rising. It began in Seattle, where a sloppily dressed grunge rock trio called Nirvana ousted Michael Jackson from the top of the pop charts with their album Nevermind. Soon grunge and hip-hop were dominating the world with more brutal and honest views. Id was braced to do for games what those artists had done for music: overthrow the status quo. Games until this point had been ruled by their own equivalent of pop, in the form of Mario and Pac-Man. Unlike music, the software industry had never experienced anything as rebellious as Wolfenstein 3-D. The

Unexpected Penis is my grunge band name,

In his study of suicide notes titled…Or Not To Be, Marc Etkind contrasts the self-victimizing thinking of the late Kurt Cobain with the ownership spirit of his wife, Courtney Love. Cobain was the lead singer of the grunge rock group Nirvana. His addiction to heroin was a major factor in the death he chose—a shotgun blast to the head that was so powerful, police had to use fingerprints to identify the body. He had written a long, poetically self-pitying suicide note to his family and fans that his wife, performer Courtney Love, used to read at her own concerts. While publicly reading Cobain’s suicide note, Courtney Love interspersed his words with her own. She became strong as she read the note, refusing to be the second victim of the tragedy. She showed her anger and her spirit when she asked why he didn’t simply quit music if he was so tired of it? She referred to his letter mockingly as a “letter to the editor,” and ended the reading by yelling out to the crowd, “Just tell him he’s a [jerk], okay?…and that you love him.” Kurt had contracted down into that smallest known, and most painful element in the universe: “Me.

ceremony rehearsal, and one of the groomsmen dared to suggest that Evan might want to take a small sedative before the real wedding, which, as you can imagine, did not go over well. Oh, and Francois threatened to quit halfway through the final menu tasting.” Harmony cringed. “Yikes.” “I think if Francois would have quit, I would have too.” I sighed. “I believe it. I’ve never seen you use the coffee table as an ottoman before.” I smiled and wiggled my toes. “I don’t know why not.” “Well, as you explained to me, this here is an authentic Jason Partillo design,” Harmony replied, a lilt in her voice as she gently needled me with her elbow. I laughed softly. “Are you trying to say that those of us who live in diva houses shouldn’t throw shoes?” She barked a laugh. “No. This Evan guy sounds like he left diva in the dust a long time ago and plowed straight into narcissistic jerk land.” “Can’t argue with that.” I closed my eyes, my head leaning against the back of the sofa. “Two days and then it’s over and they won’t be my problem anymore. I have fifteen weddings between now and June. That’s going to feel like a walk in the park compared to this nonsense.” “And in the meantime, you get the rest of the night off to spend with me and your bestie!” Harmony said. “Assuming I can stay awake, that is,” I replied, peeling my eyes open. “I should have left room in the schedule for a pre-dinner nap.” Harmony laughed and sprang off the sofa to continue getting ready. “Do you think I should wear my black tights with the red sweater dress, or can I get away with jeans? Is the place we’re going fancy fancy or fancy-ish?” I smiled at my sister’s nervous musings. She wasn’t one to ask for my fashion advice, mostly because I preferred my clothes hole-free and didn’t own anything with spikes or studs on it. While she could dress up when the situation warranted, Harmony tended toward a certain grunge-chic aesthetic with colorful streaks in her otherwise bleached-blonde hair, four piercings in each ear, and a penchant for artfully torn clothing and bomber jackets. And she’d recently added a small crystal stud to her nose. “It’s fancy-adjacent,” I told her. “Go with the leggings and dress.” Harmony nodded, even as her teeth worked nervously at her lower lip. I smiled. “She’s going to love you, Harmony. Stop stressing.” Holly Boldt, my good friend and fellow witch, was coming into the Seattle Haven to speak at a potion making conference, and we’d made plans

A deep self-loathing brought out the best in her: “I was a straight C student, a middle-of-the-roader in every aspect of my life. A quitter. Just a quitter.” How could I not love her attitude? That’s the attitude that fueled a million grunge-rock songs and painful revelations; in this case it fueled a whole new wave of comedy.

- Słyszysz? - upewniła się Chyłka. - Za głośno i za wyraźnie - odparł cicho. - Co znalazłaś? Pornosy? - Nie. Listę piosenek na Spotify, którą w pocie czoła musiałeś tworzyć od zarania dziejów. Zaśmiał się cicho. Rzeczywiście pracował nad tym od jakiegoś czasu, a właściwie od kiedy tylko Chyłka po raz pierwszy puściła mu Poison Alice'a Coopera i oznajmiła, że to najbardziej romantyczny kawałek, jaki zna. Potraktował to jak wyzwanie i postawnowił znaleźć inne metalowe i jednocześnie balladowe numery, które byłyby rzeczywiście, a nie tylko pozornie romantyczne. Zgromadził ich trochę, a potem rozszerzył katalog także na kawałki rockowe i grunge'owe. - Disarm Smashing Pumpkins - powiedziała z uznaniem. - Nieźle. Naprawdę nieźle. - Wyciskacz łez. - Nawet ja to przyznam - odparła nieobecnym głosem. - Nie ma rzewniejszego kawałka na świecie. - Ano nie - przyznała. - Ale zobaczymy, co tu jeszcze masz... HammerFall, Always Will Be. Też całkiem nieźle, choć ja i power metal za sobą nie przepadamy. - Pomyślałem, że zrobisz wyjątek. - Zrobię nawet dwa, bo widzę tutaj Ghost of Reedom Iced Earth. - Zgadza się. - Guns'n'Roses November Rain, dobry wybór. Wind of Change Scorpionsów, też nieźle. Słysząc sam tytuł ostatniego kawałka, Kordian usłyszał w głowie charakterystyczne gwizdanie na początku. - It's Been Awhile Staind, brawo, brawo. Idealny podkład muzyczny dla wieczoru przy świeczkach i papierosach. - Tak? SPrawdzimy w praktyce. - O, wyłowiłeś nawet Black Hole Sun Soundgarden. I Fade to Black Metalliki! - Jest też Killing Me Killing You Sentenced. - Och, Zordon... - Zrobiłem robotę? - Przyjeżdżaj. Będę twoja.

Nevermind is almost two years into being everywhere. Grunge shit is all over MTV and, to paraphrase the Dead Milkmen, they’ll slam to anything

We are badasses. Own it!” I reiterate, we are badasses. We are the generation who didn’t give a shit, remember? We invented punk rock, then grunge. None of the Kardashians belong in our group, not even the mother. That alone makes us the fairest generation of them all.

What exactly was grunge? That’s a question any person who’s thought about early ‘90s rock music has asked themselves at one point or another. Was it a scene or a musical style? A fashion category? A marketing ploy? A political bent? An ethos? Is the word synonymous with “alternative,” the other descriptor regularly applied to early ‘90s rock?

bands who fall in the virtuosic camp made music that was well-received at the time of its release, while the bands that always favored raw sounds tend to enjoy more critical acclaim when viewed in retrospect.

When winter hits Manhattan its attack is unrelenting. What begins as a cleansing snowfall blanketing even the ugliest streets with a white serenity soon turns into a chaotic slop of wet, gray grunge and grit. The snow continues its pursuit of tranquility however, but it will never stand a chance, disintegrating into the grubby traps of tire treads and footprints. Like a new pet, winter is loved for its first few precious moments, but it is quickly tired of by anyone but the most devoted, and it becomes an unwanted beast, requiring a constant audience to manage its disorder. Yet, even as the clouds pull themselves apart like torn denim and as the glass and concrete towers take advantage of a moment’s bleak respite by scraping the open sky once again, the city still braces itself for the next imminent wave.

the very practice of dividing history in terms of decades is intrinsically flawed. And yet this particular practice is still, in many ways, the best method available for understanding cultural history.

There’s another way to understand Fukuyama’s boredom with history’s end: success breeds its own type of sadness. Once a goal is achieved or an adversary vanquished, the victor’s sense of purpose becomes less relevant. The import of future endeavors begins to lack the significance of what has already been achieved. And that’s always a depressing state of affairs.

The denudation of authentic self-expression from popular music created the cultural vacuum which foodiesm now occupies. Foodies have become the natural heirs to the counterculture mantle. They proudly wear authenticity and DIY badges even as their interests trend towards the gastronomic rather than the aural. Authenticity in food is now the province of those who self-identify as genuine and who preach the gospel of anti-corporate self-expression.

Once virtually every song produced[22] was available at the click of a mouse (via legitimate purchase or more nefarious means), music lost some of the power it had long held as a marker of selfhood. It became just another product that could be downloaded in the privacy of one’s own home, not something that was easily trotted out as a symbol of the buyer’s tastes and beliefs. That didn’t mean music was ever in danger of disappearing from the culture entirely; it just meant that it would no longer be much use to people obsessed with not only finding examples of authentic self-expression but letting every person they came in contact with know that authenticity was integral to their conception of self.

But the move also erased the physical barriers (the dirty clubs and dingy record stores) that helped draw the lines between authentic music that sought to do more than turn a profit and commercial dross. All music suddenly came from the same space: the vast and mysterious online realm.

What’s interesting about craft brewers’ proclivity for such elaborate exercises in branding is how this behavior so closely resembles the longstanding practices of the global beer conglomerates craft beer folk claim to despise. There’s an old and telling adage about business that says mass market companies, take Budweiser and MillerCoors for example, don’t sell products, they sell advertising.

Cobain’s death blurred the lines between art and reality in a very uncomfortable way—suddenly all the references to guns and self-loathing seemed like thinly veiled cries for help from an individual in distress rather than profound artistic statements.

Mankind’s ideological evolution remained stagnant, but as the novelty of this realization war off, the need to pronounce the sadness of this state of affairs through culture went by the wayside.

Fuzz Pellet Josh sat alone. His head was tilted down, his hair hanging in front of his face like a curtain. His expression—and Grace guessed that he only had this one—was sullen. He bit into the taco as if it insulted his favorite grunge group. The earphones were jammed into place.

Yet neither of them seemed fazed by this as they were living exciting adventures daily. I felt like the odd man out, provincial even, as they waxed lyrical about Nirvana and grunge, while I smouldered with barely concealed envy. Sabah

Sophie gazed wistfully at their cutoff shorts and tank tops. Once upon a time she, too, had lived in grunge wear. She didn’t miss the clothes so much as that time in her life, when she’d had nothing more to do than go to keg parties on weekends and cut class to hang out with her boyfriend. Now both those pursuits seemed worse than trivial—they seemed wasteful. How could a few short years make such a difference in her outlook? She

The guitars ramble forward at a saturnine pace, enticing the listener to sway back and forth rather than dance or mosh or hop around like a jackass who’s ingested copious amounts of crack.

Real nerds can be best identified by the way they unabashedly showcase the weird obsessions that are found in every person’s individual mind. We are all captivated with random things that defy explanation. Only nerds air these obsessions out in the open without reservation.

And Weezer’s staying power on the rock scene is a testament to their superior virtuosity and exemplary songwriting abilities. In the aftermath of the group’s debut album, Rivers Cuomo turned inwards and penned what would become the divisive Pinkerton, a caustic, grungy album whose naked declarations of personal angst made it a favorite of over-programmed high school students and helped inspire the Emo boom that would crest in the early 2000s.

When a comprehensive history of the early twenty-first century is written, the first three chapters will inevitably focus on the newfound ubiquity of bespoke food. Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser will be remembered as the gifted visionaries who correctly identified Americans propensity for noshing on the factory-to-table fare peddled by multinational food conglomerates as the reason so many of us are fat, sick, and nearly dead. Today, every enlightened urban dweller accepts such reasoning as gospel. Our problems as a people originate not from who we are or what we aspire to be, but from what we eat. Or so says the trendsetting subclass known as foodies.

It would have taken a lot more courage—yes courage—than any of us could muster to formulate a cohesive mission statement explaining what we stood for and how we planned to achieve it. Our parents’ reasons for asking us to achieve gainful employment and consume were not reasons we had the intellectual capacity to discount. We had no great war and no great depression to blame for our feelings of inadequacy.

That same year Cobain committed suicide, and Gen X lost its greatest talisman. Cobain’s death blurred the lines between art and reality in a very uncomfortable way—suddenly all the references to guns and self-loathing seemed like thinly veiled cries for help from an individual in distress rather than profound artistic statements.

There’s a scene in the film Reality Bites, which with all due respect to The Big Chill and The Best Years of Our Lives is the quintessential example of what results when Hollywood distills the perceived ideals of a generation into a cohesive narrative product, when Ethan Hawke’s über-slacker protagonist Troy Dyer mocks mineral water.

As the decade progressed, Americans, in lockstep with Fukuyama’s predictions, became more and more obsessed with resolving technical problems and satiating consumer desires.

jogged through the trees was insanely intricate, and Grandyn believed what the woman had said; that he’d never find it alone. He just hoped they’d both make it there. Grunges could be anywhere, and although Grandyn could run silently, his companion absolutely could not, and as they continued to climb in elevation, the trip

Early nineties youth culture transformed teenage wasteland into a landscape defined by introspection and an undeniable strand of fatalism regarding the entrenched nature of greed within American society. Unlike previous youth movements—the Beatniks, flower children, and punks—Xers did not express a desire to start anew or adopt an overtly confrontational pose towards mainstream culture. They traded clarion calls to action for shrug of the shoulder acceptance, defiance for apathy.

At one point, one of the priests whom I was briefing in on the situation pointed out, reluctantly but honestly, that Episcopalians were saint oriented and I could have talked to the first Episcopalian priest about it. Eh. Catholic light. Twice the ceremony, half the guilt. I’ll stick with the Holy Mother. Even if it is, occasionally, a Mother. I

The sheriff’s office must be working overtime if they were out questioning a suspect on Sunday morning. Which probably meant they’d just uncovered the same information we had about Mike’s connection to Warren. I had no idea how they’d done it, but probably not by digging around in someone’s purse while listening to grunge music with a glittery-bottomed rump stuck up in the air.

Music you love is imprinted on all that is you, a tattoo of sorts that fades too deep into the skin to see but remains against the bone, a memory of youth or an important era of your life.

Cobain is not the voice of our generation. He’s the angst. He is our frustration. Our anger.

No, I do! I love Nickelback! They have such a good vibe, their lyrics are so profound, and their tunes are a perfect mix of pop and grunge. They’re my favorite band.

ALICE WHEELER (photographer) There’s always been this sort of hovering darkness over the Northwest, and a lot of it was about the Green River Killer, ’cause that was going on when I first moved to town. One of my best friends, who has since passed away, his cousin was victim number 14. There’s always been this element of danger for women in the Northwest, and I think part of what influences grunge is that element and a sort of depressed somberness.

Unfortunately, the grunge scene took over and once that happened I thought for me there was no future in pursuing a musical career. You know I’m a solo type of guitar player and there were no guitar solos anymore and once Nirvana hit there were no more guitar solos and I was like, ‘oh, it’s over.’ Once that “Smells Like Teen Spirit” thing hit there were no more guitar solos.

There’s a communal memory of Cobain’s wearing flannel in this video, and that this image was the dawn of grunge fashion. This, however, is another case of the Mandela Effect—he’s just wearing a brown shirt with green stripes.

Durant mes années de lycée, lorsque je discutais avec un chrétien, un musulman ou un juif, j’avais toujours eu la sensation que leur croyance était à prendre en quelque sorte au second degré ; qu’ils ne croyaient évidemment pas, directement et au sens propre, à la réalité des dogmes proposés, mais qu’il s’agissait d’un signe de reconnaissance, d’une sorte de mot de passe leur permettant l’accès à la communauté des croyants – un peu comme aurait pu le faire la grunge music, ou Doom Generation pour les amateurs de ce jeu. Le sérieux pesant qu’ils apportaient parfois à débattre entre des positions théologiques également absurdes semblait aller à l’encontre de cette hypothèse ; mais il en allait de même, au fond, pour les véritables amateurs d’un jeu : pour un joueur d’échecs, ou un participant réellement immergé dans un jeu de rôles, l’espace fictif du jeu est une chose en tous points sérieuse et réelle, on peut même dire que rien d’autre n’existe pour lui, pendant la durée du jeu tout du moins.