Unplugged, Unparalleled

One of the strangest things I’ve experienced in the year 2013 was not a tangible event, but a revelation about our current chronological place in time. It wasn’t about how we’re just months away from the flying-cars-and-hoverboards tomorrowland that Back to the Future Part II promised us; conversely, I was thinking about the past. Jurassic Park happened to be on television, and in the midst of quoting scenes of the movie verbatim – “Clever girl…” – I had the realization that the film I was watching and could vividly remember coming out in theaters had been released twenty years ago. This was immediately followed by a thought bubble in which it became apparent that I could recall experiencing A LOT of cultural phenomena in real time that had, in fact, initially come into existence a full two decades prior. This probably doesn’t have quite the same gravity as a Holy-crap-I-am-old sentiment as when some of my friends tell stories about things that happened twenty years ago and took place in a bar, but still – yikes.

When I rack my brain for moments similar to this – ones of such cultural significance that they still managed to reach a young boy who in no way kept up with contemporary popular media – one of the things that stands out the most to me is that I can remember exactly where I was when I learned that Kurt Cobain had died. We are currently approaching a milestone anniversary of his suicide – April 5, 1994 – this coming spring, and predictably, much ado has been made about this year also being the twentieth birthday of Nirvana’s final studio album, In Utero. I don’t dislike In Utero by any means – it’s an edgy, complex collection of tracks in which Cobain is trying to stay artistically true to his roots while simultaneously attempting to both satisfy and alienate his newfound mainstream fan base – but I do think we should be allocating a much greater amount of posthumous album appreciation to what I believe is a far superior – and arguably the band’s best – musical body of work. MTV Unplugged in New York was recorded – you guessed it – twenty years ago this month, completed live and in one singular take. The accompanying compact disc wasn’t available to the general public until nearly twelve months later – oddly enough, winning a Grammy two more years after that – which meant that in the time period preceding and immediately after Kurt Cobain’s death, the live footage of this performance would become the lasting image that the late musician presented to the world. It was his swan song; it was his best work. He personally requested the set be adorned with stargazer lilies, black candles, and a crystal chandelier. “Like a funeral,” he said. In a way, it was.

The performance starts off with the track “About A Girl”, which Cobain introduces as such: “This is off our first record. Most people don’t own it.” Despite retrospectively being such a hipster thing to say, I think what his statement is really trying to get across is more along the lines of, “I’m going to play some songs. I don’t think you actually care about the same things I care about, so I’m just going to do this for myself and my friends.” This dismissive statement is liberating as it sets the tone for a performance in which Nirvana plays to its own tastes and strengths, and additionally illustrates the frustrations Cobain had with his perceived frat-boy audience – the antithesis of the demographic he hoped to inspire. It’s a throwaway comment, and yet when absorbed in context with the fourteen songs that follow, I can’t imagine anything else taking its place.

The chords that follow are clear and melodic, ringing out on the upstrokes while being surreptitiously filtered through a hidden amplifier and effects pedal. This, of course, breaks the code of a performance purported to be unplugged, but good gracious, the guitar sounds great. For that matter, as a band whose live shows were built on electronic feedback, crashing cymbals, and garbled vocals, the balance of all the group’s instruments as a controlled unit is impressive. Krist Novoselic’s acoustic bass obviously plays a significant role in “Come As You Are”, but truly shines during David Bowie’s “The Man Who Sold The World”, its ascending major chord progression driving the chorus forward. Meanwhile, Dave Grohl tones back his Animal-style drum assault to provide supplementary percussion – my understanding is that he used what were essentially children’s toy drumsticks to keep the volume down – and backing vocal harmonizations. The supporting musicians each play their roles masterfully as well, from the cello phrases on “Dumb” and “Something In The Way” to the accordion lead on “Jesus Doesn’t Want Me For A Sunbeam”. No aspects of the instrumentation overwhelm any of the other parts; they merely compliment them.

Of course, I would be remiss during all this talk of balance and melody if I didn’t mention Cobain’s voice – soulful and dark, accompanied by his rural northwestern drawl. For someone who cut his teeth screaming over his bandmates in rehearsals and house parties and only agreed to double-track his vocals on recorded studio tracks after being convinced that John Lennon did as well, his performance in this context is nothing short of remarkable. This is the best he has ever sounded, beautiful yet flawed, dancing on the edge of cracking and control. He was already a master of loud-soft dynamics in regards to songwriting; here, he proves his pipes are capable of achieving this feat as well. When we imagine Kurt Cobain as a singer, we think of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Lithium” – volatile choruses howled over distorted guitars. In this instance, he excels in taking his grunge-ready voice down to a soft, melodic croon, something his fellow bandmate Dave Grohl would make a living off of as the frontman of the Foo Fighters (see: Everlong, Acoustic Version; In Your Honor, Disc 2). Not coincidentally, one of the high points of the album occurs when the two team up for the live harmonies of “Polly”, which doubles as arguably the band’s most underrated song.

Following a three-song cameo by The Meat Puppets – one of the band’s earliest influences and a guest appearance with which MTV was (apparently) not thrilled – we arrive at the show’s conclusion. At the time, “All Apologies” had yet to hit radio waves as a single, but nevertheless continues to serve as a perfect “good-bye” song both for the performance and metaphorically (contrary to the occasional assertion from conspiracy theorists, however, this song is not ‘the real suicide note’). The crown jewel of the setlist comes one track later, with the band completing a masterpiece of a cover of Lead Belly’s “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” arrangement. If you watch the recorded footage from this song, there’s a moment right before Cobain sings its final two words where he pauses to take a breath. He gazes downward at first, then appears to gasp as he suddenly looks up. To call the expression he makes at this instant ‘frightening’ is an understatement. His eyes seem like a window to his soul – fear, pain, and passion all rolled into one. And then it vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. I don’t know what he was thinking or what he felt in that moment, but I do know this – his outward expression was nothing short of haunting.

Throughout the set the bandmates engage in brief exchanges between songs, but one thing worth noting is that for nearly all of this mindless banter, the crowd is completely silent. The audience members are transfixed. And rightfully so. Nirvana was known for its raucous live concerts, but in this instance, it was brilliant in its simplicity. From the start, MTV Unplugged in New York was a highlight of the band’s career. Six months later, it was a sad reminder of a tortured, talented life cut short. And now, with two decades having passed, plain and simple – it’s a classic.

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