honky cracker: Here We Are, Now. Entertain Us. Well folks, it looks as though that wacky Courtney Love has kissed and made up with the REAL surviving members of Nirvana. And it looks like we'll all be treated to a box-set full of unreleased Nirvana material just in time for Christmas. Personally, I'm hoping that the long-lost Nirvana album of all Tom Jones covers makes it out as part of that box set, but I'm not holding my breath.
The settlement was reached mere days after some anonymous person (who deserves to be canonized as the Patron Saint of Rock and Roll Fans) leaked "You Know You're Right" on the Internet. Apparently, that song was Courtney's big bargaining chip in the whole affair. Record Industry insiders dubbed that track "The Song that would Sell 15 Million Albums". Now it's out there. In the public domain. Where Courtney can't make another dime off her dead husband's talent.
What's next for Love? I don't know. Kurt's not around to write the next Hole album, and Billy Corgan certainly won't let her steal his music again. So who knows? (What? Hole broke up? You don't say...) I don't know if there's any truth to the rumor that Love has started dating Justin Timberlake, but I wouldn't be surprised. But I'm kinda hoping that Justin and Love team up, and maybe form a band. Maybe they could call in N*Hole or something. I don't know.
What I'm really hoping for is a return to the spotlight for Krist Novoselic - the unsung hero of Nirvana. Who could forget Krist? He was the funny looking, 6-foot-8 or something bass player who threw bass guitars over his head. Sometimes they would even crash down on his head. I always liked Krist.
These are dark days for us Children of the Grunge era. First there was the whole Courtney/Nirvana battle over the rights to Nirvana's remains. Then the Smashing Pumpkins broke up. Tori Amos got married somewhere in there. Pearl Jam turned into something neither Pearly nor Jammy. Pavement broke up. And I can't even find my flannel shirts!
In any event, if anybody wants to fly me out to Mountain View, California next month, I would be much appreciative. I'd give just about anything to catch Thom Yorke's solo acoustic set.
I think I was trying to make a point somewhere along the line, but I forget what it was by now. It probably had something to do with the fall setting in, and how I love the fall - it's cooler, the colors are nice, and there's always a wonderful smoky scent in the air - but no matter how much I try, fall always feels like the Season of Death. And as fall quickly approaches on me, I look back and see all the things that once were a part of me, and now are gone. Like Nirvana. Like my flannel shirts. Like getting out of school at 4:30 and going to the park to watch the sunset with Kat. Every day it feels like I'm going to a funeral for some part of myself that's no longer relevant. That's no longer there. And I miss those things.
Actually, what I really miss is going to the park with Kat. But who knows where the hell she is now. Looks like those days of my life are long over.
Nowadays at 4:30 I'm closing out my crap at work, and instead of watching the sunset in a park, I'm watching it from a barstool with a pint in my hand. Not bad times. Just different times. And I'd gladly trade my pint and my barstool for a seat on the jungle gym floor with Kat by my side.
So I'll attend my daily little funerals. And I'll eulogize the dead wistfully with my many glorious, sepia-toned memories over a pint of Belhaven, listening to Nevermind and Siamese Dream and whatever other classic 90's album catches my fancy. 'Cuz that's what I do.
