I wasn’t a very happy teenager. I don’t know when I started being unhappy, probably seventh grade, but then it stuck with me, that unhappiness, down a long dark way and then, back out again, but still with me. I don’t know when I finally wasn’t just operating at a baseline of unhappiness, but eventually it happened.
The times, then, that I was happy felt like deep breaths of fresh air. Like the thing that would have to sustain me when I went back into the dark.
We watched that Wonderstone movie… Burt Wonderstone…. ? Obviously, it wasn’t that great (though not that bad). It suffers even moreso than a lot of movies from “boy meets girl, they fall in love, even though it makes no sense.” But Jim Carrey plays this Cris Angel-type magician who looks like some kind of evil Kurt Cobain.
And it’s hard for me to describe how much that portrayal both pissed me off and had me in awe. It’s like, somehow, in that one performance, Jim Carrey is exactly the kind of Nirvana fan Cobain hated, the guy who likes all their pretty songs and he likes to sing along, but he don’t know what it means. But man, fuck those dudes.
I can’t help, though, wondering sometimes if I was those dudes. Sometimes you need a song before you’re the kind of person the song was intended for. You need the song to work on you, even if you don’t know it yet.
I remember hearing Nirvana for the first time and feeling like it was a transmission from an alien place where I might be understood, if I could get there, if only understood by myself.
I don’t really have a point. I just thought Carrey’s performance was brilliant and uncomfortable.
Just because Cobain was a self-obsessed prick intent on punishing the world for making him famous doesn’t mean you have to second-guess your teenage self for liking Nirvana songs.