Writer's Block: Untimely Passing
John Lennon was shot exactly one year, two months, and sixteen days before I was born. I used to daydream about what things would've been like if he was still with us.
I cried when Steve Irwin died. I mourned him for almost a week. I still have trouble watching Crocodile Hunter.
...but...
I was twelve years old when Kurt Cobain died.
I grew up in a strict household and was not permitted to watch a lot of popular TV or listen to just about all popular music. However, for all of the work my parents put in to keeping me from it, one couldn't walk outside in the early 90s without hearing "Smells Like Teen Spirit". I still remember the first time I heard that song; it is a frozen moment in time for me. 1993. My fifth grade class was having a party of some sort (Christmas?) and we had a radio on. I was hiding in the back by my desk when the song started playing. The opening chords grabbed my brain and distracted me from the misery that is junior high. The riff mesmirized me. I must've been a sight, standing there in my school uniform and beat-up tennis shoes and staring at the little radio on the shelf, but there I was - feeling stupid and contagious with the colors going off all around me.
I have another frozen moment, too. Not long after his death I was at the local mall with my mother. We walked by the music store and their walls were lined with Nirvana and Kurt t-shirts. One of them was a black shirt with picture of his face on it and "Kurt Cobain - 1967-1994" written underneath it.
...and I was pissed. I suddenly became aware that not being allowed to listen to popular music was about more than just not knowing the songs or how to dance or who the people were. I missing out on my musical culture, my place in musical time. John Lennon had died, and his fans mourned. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin. Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens. Elvis Presley. All taken by surprise, and their fans had nothing but memories and music to soothe them. They were connected in their love for the person and their appreciation for their art.
But I? I was an awkward new kid with scraggly hair, depressed (although not really aware of it), shunned by her peers, and with only snippets of Kurt to remember him by.
I never was rebellious. But, if I had any teenaged chip on my shoulder, that was surely it.
Oh, well. Whatever. Nevermind.
Honestly, it is all water under the bridge now - I'm nearly 27 years old and I can listen to whatever I damn well please. I was able to craft some musical identity back then and, now that I am older, I am expanding my musical horizons to include more than just the radio edits.
I've never told anyone that before.
Sarah
I cried when Steve Irwin died. I mourned him for almost a week. I still have trouble watching Crocodile Hunter.
...but...
I was twelve years old when Kurt Cobain died.
I grew up in a strict household and was not permitted to watch a lot of popular TV or listen to just about all popular music. However, for all of the work my parents put in to keeping me from it, one couldn't walk outside in the early 90s without hearing "Smells Like Teen Spirit". I still remember the first time I heard that song; it is a frozen moment in time for me. 1993. My fifth grade class was having a party of some sort (Christmas?) and we had a radio on. I was hiding in the back by my desk when the song started playing. The opening chords grabbed my brain and distracted me from the misery that is junior high. The riff mesmirized me. I must've been a sight, standing there in my school uniform and beat-up tennis shoes and staring at the little radio on the shelf, but there I was - feeling stupid and contagious with the colors going off all around me.
I have another frozen moment, too. Not long after his death I was at the local mall with my mother. We walked by the music store and their walls were lined with Nirvana and Kurt t-shirts. One of them was a black shirt with picture of his face on it and "Kurt Cobain - 1967-1994" written underneath it.
...and I was pissed. I suddenly became aware that not being allowed to listen to popular music was about more than just not knowing the songs or how to dance or who the people were. I missing out on my musical culture, my place in musical time. John Lennon had died, and his fans mourned. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin. Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens. Elvis Presley. All taken by surprise, and their fans had nothing but memories and music to soothe them. They were connected in their love for the person and their appreciation for their art.
But I? I was an awkward new kid with scraggly hair, depressed (although not really aware of it), shunned by her peers, and with only snippets of Kurt to remember him by.
I never was rebellious. But, if I had any teenaged chip on my shoulder, that was surely it.
Oh, well. Whatever. Nevermind.
Click to viewHonestly, it is all water under the bridge now - I'm nearly 27 years old and I can listen to whatever I damn well please. I was able to craft some musical identity back then and, now that I am older, I am expanding my musical horizons to include more than just the radio edits.
I've never told anyone that before.
Sarah