Above my desk I have a postcard-sized picture of Kurt Cobain, a garish, iconic (and, appropriately, ironic) portrait on black velvet that someone gave me as a birthday gift a long time ago. Recently, my 13-year old brother-in-law pointed at it and asked, "Who is that?" I told him it was Kurt Cobain. "You know, the lead singer of Nirvana." This kid is a music fan. He digs Eminem, Jay-Z, and Kanye West, in particular, but Linkin Park and P.O.D. are also in the mix. He'd never heard of Nirvana.
Journalist Neil Strauss tells a similar story in the book included with this odds 'n' sods box set, of polling teenagers in a California record store and realizing only about a third of them had knowledge of Cobain & Co. Usually, this sort of unscientific rock crit device involves bands like The Replacements and is meant to demonstrate that, despite perceived greatness among fans, the group in question was denied access to the big time. But Nirvana was the global rock band for a few years not so long ago, so if it's true that Generation Z is ambivalent at best, well, that seems a little strange-- especially considering how much every popular American rock band-- the P.O.D.s and Linkin Parks, for example-- owe them.
After allowing Nirvana to lie fallow for almost a decade following the release of the live album From the Muddy Banks of the Wishkah, Dave Grohl, Krist Novoselic, and Courtney Love are now working to reverse this trend. A box set containing a promised mother lode of unreleased recordings was first discussed a few years ago, but it was delayed by legal squabbles. Eventually, Love was granted her wish to release an eponymous best-of complete with "You Know You're Right", considered the cream of the then-unreleased crop. Nirvana did little to bolster the band's legacy, though, and with its lone new song, the collection-- otherwise pulled from a tiny catalog-- was most often discussed to explain the appeal of illegal file-sharing.
Now the long-awaited box arrives, bearing three music discs, a live DVD, notes by Strauss and Thurston Moore, a wonderfully obsessive recording history (though no discography), and ugly metallic packaging that would have made Cobain, an accomplished visual artist, throw up. Only nine of the set's 51 tracks have been previously released (though many have been bootlegged), and those are culled from B-sides and compilation appearances. It's a scruffy hodgepodge of solo acoustic and full-band demos, radio shots, and live recordings, hugely variable in terms of sound, songwriting, and performance quality.
So, first, the bad news: Those hoping for a trove of overlooked gems will be disappointed, as too much of With the Lights Out sounds like nothing so much as a dull-edged instrument lifting flakes of material from the bottom of a barrel. Simply put, there's enough good stuff here for a solid single disc. Beyond padding the release to box-set length, why include a sub-Barlow stab at four-track tape manipulation ("Beans"), two versions of "Polly" to go with the four already released (every Nirvana record on Geffen except In Utero features this middling song), two demos of "Rape Me" showcasing Cobain at his self-conscious worst, and a number of live tracks that sound like they were recorded on overused speech cassettes? If tossed-off experiments and poorly recorded demos of familiar songs are fair game, one imagines the Nirvana vaults stretching into bottomless "Dick's Picks" infinity.
Still, the live and demo overkill can't erase Cobain's status as a great songwriter and (usually) one of rock's best vocalists, so there's still a fair amount of content here to enjoy. "If You Must" and "Pen Cap Chew" immortalize pre-Bleach Nirvana as self-loathing, drop-tuned stoners-- endearing qualities that never quite disappeared from their better known recordings. "Even in His Youth" has that classic combination of short, tense verses with a defusing swoop of chorus. And 1991's "Old Age" is loose and midtempo, showing Cobain stretching himself melodically, breaking free of the clipped phrases and soft/loud style that was serving him so well at the time.
Elsewhere, "Verse Chorus Verse" is a completely different song than the one released under the same name on the No Alternative compilation (that one was originally called "Sappy", and is also included here), but shows a similar easy restraint. The nine-minute instrumental jam on "Scentless Apprentice" was also worth rescuing, showing the lumbering riff monster Nirvana could summon when in the mood. Additionally, versions of four Leadbelly songs, including "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?", document Cobain's strange obsession with the early folk singer.
Oddly, despite its big holiday marketing push, this is probably a set for the Nirvana fanatics in search of a complete picture of the band, particularly because many of its pleasures are purely historical. There's no definitive date on the horribly recorded rehearsal demo of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" but it's interesting to note that the structure of the song, down to the tiniest detail, was already complete. And Cobain's off-the-chain scream is completely exhilarating despite the bad sound. Same goes for "Dive", which remains powerful though the band is ragged and Cobain can't quite muster the vocal power of the Incesticide version.
About 20 of these tracks are solo acoustic demos, offering a leering look into Cobain's creative process. One thing we learn is that he wasn't a good acoustic guitarist, at least not when he was sitting at home on whatever he was on. The sloppy strumming on "Sliver" and "Pennyroyal Tea" is distracting, but not nearly as disconcerting as the solo demo of "Rape Me", on which Cobain seems to be struggling to maintain consciousness. This is where the box set makes you feel a little gross, pawing through the musical equivalent of Cobain's journals, listening to things he never intended to release.
The DVD, on the other hand, includes some more lighthearted voyeuristic moments that are the highlight of the box. The first nine tracks are given over to a 1988 rehearsal at Novoselic's mom's house, and it's a huge kick to see Cobain and Novoselic so young and goofy, hanging out with a few neighborhood dudes and jamming like any other local band. For whatever reason, Cobain sings facing a wall with his nose two inches from the simulated wood paneling. They have a ball with Zep ("Immigrant Song"), but then they bust out "About a Girl" and we remember that this is not your everyday garage band. When they crank up the strobe light and hold a bottle of Rainier up to the camera, it's adorable enough that you might feel inclined to hug somebody. Fittingly, most of the remainder of the DVD features pre-fame shows and miscellaneous tour footage; technically, it's generally of poor quality, but enjoyable nonetheless.
Though With the Lights Out is in many respects unsatisfying and shows Geffen to be rudderless with their handling of the Nirvana legacy, in the end, it's nearly enough that it documents so much material we haven't heard a million times before. And despite the complete predictability and heavy-handedness of closing the set with the solo demo of "All Apologies", the effect is still emotionally devastating. When Cobain was numb on heroin he missed the comfort in being sad, and if nothing else, With the Lights Out brings us back to this nourishing place.
