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Nirvana
Kurt Cobain could have dyed his skin green, put a dinosaur bone through his nose and sang opera in Eskimo, but if two million people bought his product, he was not alternative. The word "alternative" in the 90's faces the same problem that occurred with the word “soul” in the ‘60's. Does it define a style or a classification? For instance, soul music as a classification encompassed virtually every black artist and also white artists who fit the stylization of black music, whether or not their music was soulful. In the early 90's, alternative began to mean virtually every artist that had long hair, ripped jeans and a grunge jones, whether they sold three or three million records. But what is so "alternative" about selling in mainstream quantities? Once you outsell Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey, the word “alternative” is useless.
Cobain and his band, Nirvana, became trapped by this inherent contradiction, and he obviously didn't like it. The alternative tag was O.K. when he was traipsing around Seattle playing local gigs but once he became super-famous, nothing made much sense anymore. It wasn't his fault that the media liked labels, but it did become his problem. Perceptions became screwy. Old fans were disenfranchised and confused, while millions of new ones were hopping onto the media bandwagon and celebrating the 'next big thing,' Alternative Music.
I'm not implying that the media were responsible for Cobain's suicide, but they sure didn't help to alleviate his problems, either. The more miserable he was, the more strung out, the more unpredictable, angry, and sullen, the happier the media became, because they could point to how well he fit into the cubbyhole that they filed him under to sell copy. It was beneficial for them to say "See, we told you he was alternative," but for Cobain, his life was at stake. In this light, his demise seems almost predestined, which is a shame. His talent warranted more than that and he deserved better, both as an artist and as a human being.
Before his death, the scathingly bitter lyrics of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" had a humorous tinge. You could laugh at Cobain's insights regarding the hopeless predicament of his generation. He railed against the machinations that kept him fed and stimulated but never satisfied, but his railings seemed simply to be a means of relieving his ennui. He sounded like a waif screaming into a hurricane. It probably felt cathartic, but it was essentially an exercise in frustration. Obviously, he touched a chord, and more than a few million kids who shared his frustration picked up on this once obscure "alternative" rock act. In a flash, he was designated a 'spokesman' for his generation.
In the aftermath of his suicide, the lyrics now ring hollow with resigned disappointment and a cancerous frustration. It was never really about "teen spirit," (i.e., the mental state of youth), but about Cobain’s own mental state; his perception of a generation that he wanted no part of, yet which embraced him unquestioningly. The lyrics cover a lot of ground, but a recurring image is his inability to articulate. When communication dwindles to an echo ("Hello, hello, hello, hello") and even the echo is meaningless ("oh well, whatever, never mind"), it is hard to remain incensed. Eventually, you just surrender. Had he chosen to live, a lot of people might have derived strength by watching and listening to Cobain as he struggled with his personal demons. His pain and rage might have made others aware that they were not alone. Instead, he bailed out, leaving a generation that already felt abandoned and rudderless even more alienated.
 
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