Nirvana
Like all the widow Cobain’s public statements, it was taken with a grain of salt. But other sources confirmed her claims that Kurt had left behind more than 100 cassettes of unheard music–mostly solo acoustic material, from fleshed-out songs to workbook noodlings–in addition to the already well-documented trove of unreleased live and studio recordings from Nirvana. The makings were there for the end-all be-all collection of Nirvana rarities, one that could stack up as one of the most historically important box sets ever.
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Despite this wealth of unreleased material, though, With the Lights Out is a badly compromised collection, with as many problems as the child of a nasty divorce. There’s a shortage of material from Cobain’s cassettes, of which Love has sole control–and sources close to the project say she’s holding on to some of the best tunes with the intention of releasing a Cobain solo retrospective in the future. There’s also a conspicuous change in the character of the set after 1990, when drummer Dave Grohl joined the band. The number of solo Cobain tracks falls off sharply, and there’s a sudden glut of previously released Nirvana B sides, including “Marigold,” which Grohl wrote and sang (and Cobain reportedly hated). Many of the 90s solo tracks that did make it on are just Cobain-only versions of Nirvana songs, and there are multiple full-band versions of some of the group’s best-known tunes. It’s not hard to guess what happened behind the scenes when this thing was getting put together.
The lead track, a boom-box recording of Led Zeppelin’s “Heartbreaker” from Nirvana’s first show (a March 1987 house party in rural Raymond, Washington), ought to remind fans and biographers inclined to see the band as the second coming of punk that its aesthetic was at least as deeply rooted in metal and classic rock. Other live cuts from the early part of the box include “Downer,” “Floyd the Barber,” and “Raunchola” (with a detour into Zep’s “Moby Dick”), all played with lethal ferocity for tiny but appreciative audiences.
Tracks like that are too few and far between, however. Well-known material is overrepresented, and the solo renditions of “About a Girl,” “Serve the Servants,” “Very Ape,” and “Polly” (which also resurfaces with an electric bubblegum arrangement) won’t add much to fans’ understanding of the songs. There are two versions of “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” but thankfully one of them at least has some historical significance: it was recorded in rehearsal in 1991 just minutes after Cobain first taught the song to the band. (The other is a raw early Butch Vig mix from later that year.) The two dramatically different takes of “Rape Me” justify their presence too: a workbook acoustic version contrasts with a full-band demo that features a newborn Frances Bean Cobain wailing eerily throughout.
With the Lights Out is pleasant enough, but that’s exactly what’s wrong with it. It’s too predictable, too nostalgic, too reassuring. Given Cobain’s obsession with chronicling Nirvana’s short, strange trip from total obscurity to A-list fame, how much more challenging and interesting could this box set have been? One hundred cassette tapes hold a lot of music–it’ll be interesting to see what turns up on any forthcoming Cobain box.
