Kurt Cobain Obituary
Much has been written about the events of April 8th, 1994 - the day Kurt Cobain's body was discovered in the garage of his
home - and, for the thousands of Nirvana fans left behind, that day will remain in their memory for many years to come. Cynics
have claimed that Cobain tried to make himself a "rock and roll martyr" by taking his own life - an attempt to secure the
reputation as the Jim Morrison of the nineties - but such speculation tends to overlook the terrible tragedy of the death of one of
the most influential artists of this decade. Such statements are stupid and insensitive. To this day there is uncertainty surrounding
the death of James Morrison, with this very uncertainty perpetuating the legend of his martyrdom - his attempt to "break on
through to the other side." In fact there are those who maintain he never died, but instead feigned his own death and escaped
the pressures of his lifestyle to live out his remaining days anonymously. There are no such uncertainties surrounding the death of
Kurt Cobain. He was found in his garage, having been dead for some time from a single, self-administered shotgun blast to the
head. Around him were some tapes, a computer game, a hand-written suicide note, and a cuddly toy. He was positively
identified from his fingerprints. Kurt Cobain had grown up in small-town Aberdeen, Washington, "like Twin Peaks without the
excitement". His happy childhood was shattered forever at the age of eight with the rancorous separation of his parents. The
sudden and unexpected success of Nirvana, with their Nevermind album selling in excess of ten million copies world-wide,
gave Kurt Cobain the place as one of the spokesmen for a generation. Their music opened the way for countless other
"underground" bands, but brought the inevitable barrage of media attention, picking his life apart, carving him open and laying
his innards out for all to see. Kurt had suffered from a rare illness for almost seven years, causing a chronic stomach pain of
such an intensity that almost every day he considered killing himself. This constant severe pain led to a deep melancholic
depression verging on schizophrenia, and frequent bouts of narcoplepsy. None of the doctors he visited were of any help, but
the money he made from Nirvana offered him a temporary release to the pain - through heroin. Soon the heroin took over, and
although he tried to kick the habit on numerous occasions, the stomach pains returned with such an intensity that even the heroin
appeared to be a better alternative. His undoubted love and devotion for his wife, Courtney Love, and his daughter Frances,
brought the first real happiness and hope into his life for many years, but the constant media attention, and increasingly frequent
bouts of depression finally drove him to the edge. There will surely be much speculation as to what finally caused him to crack,
but one thing can be said for certain - this was no "rock and roll martyrdom", but rather the tragic waste of a creative life. The
pressures which brought Kurt Cobain to the point of ending his life were supremely human and not explained simply as the
result of a "degenerate" lifestyle. The tears he cried were as valid as the tears of any other human being, the pain he felt was just
as real and as justified as any pain ever was, and the tragic actions he took were the only solution he could find. Around the
Cobain home, on the morning Kurt's body was found, dew would have fallen. The sun would have risen on a new day, the air
would be filled with the sounds of the morning, yet, within the house, Cobain's body lay as silent witness to the pain and
emptiness that typifies the human condition. Looking at a famous photograph of Kurt taken after a concert in 1991, I see a
distraught young man wrestling with forces inside him which he cannot understand or control. There are no rock dramatics
about this young man, nor is there any of the craziness which permeated his work and his lifestyle. There is merely a terrified,
lonely individual, and I weep for him, R.I.P. Kurt Cobain.
Courney's Speech at Kurt's Memorial.
The following is a transcript of Courtney Love's taped message, which includes her reading of parts of Kurt's suicide note,
played to the crowd gathered for a hastily organized memorial at the Seattle Center on April 10, 1994. I don't really know
what to say. I feel the same way you guys do. If you guys don't think that I had to sit in this room when he played guitar and
sing - I feel so honored to be near him - you're crazy. Anyway, he left a note. It's more like a letter to the fucking editor. I don't
know what happened. I mean, it was gonna happen. It could have happened when he was 40. He always said he was going to
outlive everybody and be 120. I'm not gonna read you all the note, because it's none of the rest of your fucking business, but
some of it is to you. I don't really think it takes away his dignity to read this, considering that it's addressed to most of you. He's
such an asshole. I want you all to say asshole really loud. Kurt says: "This note should be pretty easy to understand. All the
wording's from the Punk Rock 101. Over the years, it's my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with
independence, and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true. I haven't felt the excitement of listening to
as well as creating music, along with really writing for too many years now. I feel guilty beyond words about these things. For
example, when we're backstage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowd begins, it doesn't affect me the way in
which it did for Freddie Mercury, who seemed to love and relish in the love and admiration from the crowd" - Well Kurt, so
fucking what? Then don't be a rock star, you asshole - "which is something I totally admire and envy. The fact is, I can't fool
you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or to me. The worst crime I could think of would be to rip people off by faking it
and pretending I'm having 100 percent fun." No, Kurt, the worst crime I can think of is for you to just continue being a rock
star when you fucking hate and just fucking stop. "Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out
onstage. I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it, and I do. God, belive me, I do. But it's not enough. I appreciate
the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. I must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate
things when they're gone. I'm too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasm I had as a child. On our
last three tours I've had a much better appreciation for all the people I've known personally and as fans of our music. But I still
can't get over the frustration, the guilt and the empathy I have for everyone. There's good in all of us, and I simply think I love
people too much" - So why didn't you just fucking stay? - "so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad, little,
sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man". Oh, shut up, bastard. "Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know." Then he goes
on to say personal things to me that are none of your damn business, personal things to Frances that are none of your damn
business. "I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful. But since the age of 7, I've become hateful towards all humansin general
only because it seems so easy for people to get along and have empathy" - Empathy! - "only because I love and feel sorry for
people too much, I guess. Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern over the
past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby, and I don't have the passion anymore, so remember" - And don't
remember this, because this is a fucking lie - "it's better to burn out then to fade away." God, you asshole. "Peace, Love,
Empathy, Kurt Cobain." Then there's some personal things that are none of your damn business. And just remember, this is all
bullshit. But I want you to know one thing: That '80s tough-love bullshit - it doesn't work. It's not real. It doesn't work. I should
have let him, we all should have let him, have his numbness. We should have let him have the thing that made him feel better, we
should have let him have it, instead of trying to strip away his skin. You go home, and you tell your parents, "Don't you ever try
that tough-love bullshit, because it doesn't fucking work." That's what I think when I'm lying in our bed, and I'm really sorry,
and I feel the same way you do. I'm really sorry, you guys. I don't know what I could have done. I wish I'd have been here,
and I wish I had listened to other people, but I didn't. Every night I've been sleeping with his mother, and I wake up in the
morning, I think it's him, because her body's sort of the same. And I have to go now. Just tell him he's a fucker, OK? Just say,
"Fucker, you're a fucker," and that you love him.
