Review of Live at Reading by Nirvana (sort of)

Posted on 25. Feb, 2010 by Justin Veals in Music Reviews

I started this post to write a review of Nirvana’s new DVD, Live at Reading. However, from the moment I began watching the concert I found myself unable to listen to Cobain’s screeching vocals, Grohl’s thundering drums, or Krist Novoselic’s meandering bass lines without remembering what this trio used to mean to me.

It was a troubled time in my life when I found Nirvana. I was 11 the year that Nevermind came out. Everything about the album spoke to me. I was a child then, but somehow my situation had made me so angry, so hateful, and so full of angst. The crunching guitars and pounding drums held an excitement for me. I was a little boy with an awful stepfather. I hated him so much, and Nirvana’s music seemed to hold an understanding of that hate. I would pop in that CD and drift off to a happy Rock n’ Roll place.

I think everyone needs such a place. A space somewhere outside of reality where you can forget about the abusive drunk in the other room and just lose yourself completely and absolutely in a fervent fire of sweet, sexy, distortion-filled relief.

The first song I learned on guitar was About a Girl from Nirvana’s first album, Bleach. The first time I kissed a girl, Lithium was playing on my CD player – awesome make out music I know. Also, their music led me to other bands that I now love: The Pixies, The Melvins, Sonic Youth, and Weezer. Yeah that’s right, Weezer did not always suck.

As I watched Cobain, clad in a hospital gown, being pushed out onto stage in a wheelchair by journalist Everett True, all these things came back to me, and I watched the remainder of the concert with a heavy heart.

On Friday, April 8^th 1994, I was standing outside of my middle school with my friend Stephen. We were waiting for his mother to pick us up, and Stephen was making fun of this girl who had hairy armpits and liked to wear tank tops. I don’t remember her name. We were laughing when his mother arrived. Her car rolled up and came to a stop. She leaned over in her seat and said something that I did not believe.

“Kurt Cobain is dead.” She said.

Stephen and I stared at her for a long minute.

“What?” I asked.

“It just came over the radio. He killed himself.” She answered.

We got in the car and listened. We went to Stephen’s house and turned on MTV. Back then, they actually covered music news, and we watched all night and all the next day. I remember crying when a recording of Courtney Love reading his suicide note was played during a Vigil that MTV broadcast on the 10^th. For most of the next week, I did nothing but watch their videos and listen to their CD’s. I was only a child but this moment profoundly implanted itself in my memory. Look, Kurt Cobain was no John Lennon, but Lennon was dead before I was ever born. Cobain was much more important to those of us coming up at that time. I just remember watching their Unplugged performance, and looking into his bright blue eyes, and thinking that he somehow understood. He was a thousand miles away; I had never met him, but somehow I knew he understood.

It has been 16 years since his death, and I still listen. Maybe, it’s the little angry kid that is still inside of me. He still feels the fresh sting of his stepfather’s hand, and goddamn is he still angry.

Live at Reading is one of the best concert films that I have ever watched. The pure embodiment of what Rock n Roll was when I was growing up. It was loud. It was not pretty. No one was singing harmony or wearing eyeliner. They were doing one thing: shooting unfiltered musical heroin straight into your veins, and once the high kicked in all you wanted to do was get up, bang your head, and tell your parents to fuck off.

This DVD easily gets 5 out of 5 from me. Go buy it now, and try to remember what it was like to really lose yourself in some ball crunching Rock n Roll. Rest in peace, Kurt Cobain.

Thanks for reading!

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