I’m still getting over Kurt Cobain’s death.

Kurt Cobain died April 5, 1994. I was eleven years old, and I grew up with parents completely uninterested in popular culture or music, but somehow I had been able to learn about Kurt. I was a few months away from a move to Wyoming from Texas. So it was a big year of transitions.I wore plaid and holy jeans. If I had been a little older and a little bit more worldly I probably would have moved to Seattle and been a considerably die-hard grungy type. Instead I was an awkward pre-teen with violin lessons, bad skin and an addiction to Pringles. But I knew Kurt. I listened to him between TLC and Mariah. He was, undoubtedly, better. He was cool and he was real. I put his cds on the top of my cds. When MTV Unplugged came out I almost cried. And then he was gone. I thought it was a pity and forgot. But I kept remembering, because that’s what you do when something sticks. He stuck and his music stuck. “All Apologies” and “Where did you sleep last night?” Sitting in the back of my mind, comforting, forever he will be there.


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