Track #29 - “The Man Who Sold the World” by Nirvana (1994)

From the album MTV Unplugged in New York, recorded live in November 1993

Original version on The Man Who Sold the World by David Bowie (1970)

Music and lyrics by David Bowie

Performed by:

Kurt Cobain – lead vocals, electro-acoustic guitar

Krist Novoselic – acoustic bass

Dave Grohl – drums

Pat Smear – acoustic guitar

Lori Goldston – cello

US Billboard Alternative Airplay - #6

US Billboard Mainstream Rock - #12

We passed upon the stair

We spoke of was and when

Although I wasn’t there

He said I was his friend

Which came as some surprise

I spoke into his eyes “I thought you died alone

A long, long time ago”

Oh no, not me

I never lost control

You’re face to face

With the man who sold the world

In the almost thirty years since its release in 1994, I’ve found it nearly impossible to separate Nirvana’s Unplugged in New York from the events of April 8th of that year, the day frontman and co-founder Kurt Cobain’s body was found at his Seattle home, dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Investigators determined Cobain had taken his own life three days before, on April 5th, just five days after he checked himself out of a rehabilitation center in Santa Monica, and about a month after he was hospitalized in Rome after an overdose of painkillers and alcohol. I still remember where I was and what I was doing when MTV’s Kurt Loder broke into the broadcast and made the announcement. My family and I were about to have cake for my brother’s birthday, and I remember standing there in the living room, feeling shocked, but not surprised. Only a month before I had heard on the radio while I was driving to work that Cobain had “accidentally overdosed”, but something told me it was more than that, and that he had tried to kill himself; my next thought was that eventually, he’ll succeed. If Cobain intended Unplugged in New York to be the band’s swan song, then it’s damned near perfect; 14 songs, a mix of Nirvana hits and covers, all captured live in one long take, a perfect snapshot and punctuation on the band, and in my opinion, on the grunge era that had begun only three years before. Recorded just five months before his death, you can hear the sad vulnerability in Cobain’s performance, and especially in his banter between songs. From the very first intro, “This is off our first record, most people don’t own it”, to his relief of getting through another track (“Wow I didn’t screw it up”), to asking aloud before performing “Pennyroyal Tea”, “…I’ll try it in a normal key, if it sounds bad, these people are just gonna have to wait,” there is so much unedited honesty in the performance, it’s heartbreaking to think about what was going through his mind at the time. Younger generations may not understand when my generation says everything changed after Nirvana, but it’s all true. One minute Michael Jackson’s Dangerous was the #1 album in the country, and the next minute it was Nevermind. In late 1991, and early 1992, MTV was still playing 1980s hair metal bands, and after Nirvana, they stopped playing their videos, like on a dime…they simply turned their backs on the bands that were mainstays for years in favor of Nirvana and bands like them. Radio stations completely overhauled their formats, stacking their playlists with alternative and grunge bands. And for your host, it was no different; all that great 1980s metal and hard rock I grew up on became dinosaur music in an instant and was no longer cool. It sounds crazy to say this, and those that are not Gen X’ers will not get it, but I knew after I heard those first few chords of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that things would never be the same and that I had just heard something that was beyond special and truly groundbreaking. I jumped on the alternative and grunge train at a time in my life when things could not have been worse, and then Unplugged in New York came at a time when I was about to climb over yet another hill and come out of almost a year of anxiety and depression. That album, a final statement from the band that has defined my generation became a timely soundtrack at that point in my life, and although it meant Nirvana was no more, it turned the tragedy of Kurt Cobain’s death into a somber awakening for me. And one track from that album, one of the cover songs no less, has stood out all these decades later as the definitive song from that performance, and the one that I think encapsulates Cobain’s state of mind at the time. For me, the song is sad, happy, beautiful, and painful all at once. Where does the road to “The Man Who Sold the World” begin? In my friend Todd’s basement in Long Island, where Kurt Cobain’s jangly guitar chords smacked me in the head and changed everything.

I first met Todd Gallose in the summer of 1991. Our girlfriends at the time knew each other, so when the four of us unexpectedly crossed paths in a shopping center parking lot, introductions were made and as the girls talked to each other, Todd and I awkwardly stood there, waiting for them to wrap up their conversation. We took turns alternately sizing each other up and staring at the ground. I remember Todd was wearing cargo shorts, a baggy t-shirt and white hi-tops, pretty standard for young guys in the early 90s; he may have been wearing a New York Islanders hat. He also carried his car keys on a long coach’s lanyard in one hand. But what I clearly remember even more than what Todd was wearing, was what he was carrying in his other hand. Now, there were guys I knew back then that spent more money on their car stereos than on the car itself, but they weren’t really in my circle of friends; they were friends of friends, or guys from the neighborhood. But right there in front of me was this guy I just met, carrying what was probably his very expensive car radio by a handle as we listened to our girlfriends talk. My first thought was, “His car is probably a piece of shit,” (it wasn’t), and my other thought, much more importantly, was, “This guy must really be into music.” That would turn out to be true. I tried to get a look at the stereo, to see what brand it was, an Onkyo, an Alpine, or the Holy Grail, a Blaupunkt. I began to picture his car stereo, and what it might sound like, and what kind of CDs he had. Did he have a big subwoofer that made the car shake? Did he pull into parking lots with the windows down, announcing his arrival with a distorted, thumping bass? After standing there with him for a few minutes, I decided he wasn’t the type; in fact, we were both so shy at the time, it’s amazing we ended up becoming friends. Soon, the girls had made plans to meet up again, so Todd and I probably shook hands, mumbled goodbyes, and off we went. We all did in fact, meet up again; in fact, the four of us spent the next few months seeing each other quite frequently, and quickly, Todd and I began to hit it off. Turned out he was a big hockey fan, specifically the Islanders, and he loved music as much as I did. However, I wouldn’t truly know how much until I ended up at his house in Sayville a couple of months after we met. Before the end of that year, my girlfriend and I went over to his place to pick him and his girlfriend up before going out, and I finally got to have a look at where he lived. Todd basically had the basement of his parents’ house to himself, which included a huge bedroom with a sofa, TV, and the most amazing stereo system I had seen since my father’s stereo back in Brooklyn. He had two turntables, a receiver and amplifier, CD changer and multiple tape decks, not to mention waist high speakers that made the room shake. So, this would have been more than cool enough for me, until I got a look at his music collection: hundreds of CD’s and cassettes in towers and cases, all perfectly arranged, and milk crates literally full of vinyl records, were everywhere. I immediately began looking through his collection and of course discovered a lot of rock and pop, but what stood out was all the hip-hop, rap and R&B he had, especially on vinyl. I didn’t know anyone at that time who had that much of that genre of artists, and it made me curious how he developed an ear for that music. I liked a lot of it, but not enough to buy it. At the time, any R&B or hip-hop I heard I got from the radio. Todd and I continued to hang out, sometimes without our girlfriends, and when our respective relationships ended in quick succession at the start of 1992, I found myself in his basement more and more, listening to his music collection, watching movies, and lamenting why I got dumped. I was glad to see the mess that was 1991 finally end, but this was not the way I saw the new year beginning. So, it was on one of these occasions, a cold evening in late January, just listening and lamenting in Todd’s basement, that I heard the chords that would change everything. I remember we had the radio on, and we may have been killing time before heading out for whatever 2 for 1 beer special we could find that night, and I may have been flipping through one of the many milk crates of albums, when I heard a guitar riff that literally made me stop what I was doing. It was jangly, and disjointed, and then the drums began, and the guitar rose into more of a roar; and then it settled down to just the bass and drums, with some guitar picking over it. And then the vocals started, and it was not the operatic, heavy metal vocals I was used to. It sounded…honest and sincere almost, delivered in a matter-of-fact way. When the chorus started, the roaring guitar started again, and now the singing was strained: “Here we are now, entertain us….I feel stupid, and contagious…” I loved that line: “I feel stupid and contagious…” Then the solo break, the guitar sound almost hugging the rhythm section, then bending itself around it, all the time maintaining that cluttered, hazy sound, until finally fading out, all distortion and no glossy effects. What the fuck was this?!?! For 5 minutes, Todd and I just sat there listening, not saying a word to each other, until finally the song ended in a fury, the vocals, guitar and drums coming together until the singer gave the lyrics a final scream, and the guitar faded out, all muddy and gritty. It was like nothing I had ever heard before, and not since I first heard Elton John’s “Captain Fantastic” did one song have that effect on me. Before I could ask Todd if he knew what just came out of his speakers, the DJ came back on: “And that was Nirvana with “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, they have the #1 album in the country, Nevermind!”

Nirvana?? Nevermind?? #1 album!! What rock had I been under?

You can guess what happened next. Within a week I had the Nevermind CD and began to hear them everywhere. As it turned out, I was late to the party; Nevermind had been selling like crazy since the late fall. And then I finally saw the video, the high school pep rally gone wrong, and again, it was unlike the videos I was used to. There was no hairspray, spandex, pink guitars, double bass drums or explosions. There was a janitor dancing with his bucket, the bassist was barefoot, “Chaka” was scrawled on the kickdrum, and there were cheerleaders with anarchy symbols painted on their uniforms. And the singer lip-synched while staring at the camera with the craziest eyes I’d ever seen. After Nirvana, the alternative and grunge wave began, and quickly. Red Hot Chili Peppers. Pearl Jam. Soundgarden. Smashing Pumpkins. Alice in Chains. Mudhoney. There were still pop songs on the radio and MTV, of course, but if you wanted to be cool, these were the bands you listened to. It all changed on a dime, and it’s all true. There are moments now when I force myself to remember hearing those chords back in January of 1992, and still saying to myself, “What the fuck was that?” because I never want to forget how it felt to hear “Smells Like Teen Spirit” for the first time.

Kurt Cobain grew up in Aberdeen, Washington, a small town about 100 miles from Seattle, the son of an auto mechanic and a waitress. He met Krist Novoselic through members of local alternative punk band the Melvins. The two quickly formed a musical bond, each young man a dedicated fan of hardcore punk and failing at finding like-minded musicians to play with. The two formed a band with Novoselic on bass and Cobain on drums. They rotated out guitarists, singers, and band names for almost two years until Cobain agreed to play guitar and sing lead vocals. They settled on the name Nirvana in 1987, and after adding drummer Chad Channing, they played their first shows together in 1988. The new band signed to legendary Seattle record company Sub Pop, and released one single, “Love Buzz”, before releasing their first full-length album, Bleach, in June of 1989. Famously recorded for only $600, the album was well-received and became a college radio favorite, and gained popularity among the Seattle underground music scene, despite selling only 40,000 copies in the US. Dissatisfied with Sub Pop’s promotion of the album, Cobain and Novoselic sought out other record companies, and in 1990, signed with DGC Records. That same year, the Melvins’ Buzz Osborne would introduce them to former Scream drummer Dave Grohl, and he joined Nirvana soon after. With the new lineup set and having secured the services of producer Butch Vig, they began to record what would become Nevermind in the spring of 1991; the album was released that August. The record company originally believed they could move 100,000 to 250,000 copies and have a successful first album. However, after the release of the first single, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, and the subsequent heavy airplay the video received on MTV, the album began to shoot up the charts, and was selling 400,000 copies a week by the end of 1991. It would topple Michael Jackson’s Dangerous from the #1 position on Billboard’s Album Chart in January 1992, and was certified triple platinum by February. It would eventually be certified Diamond (10 million copies) in the US and sell 30 million copies worldwide. The success of Nevermind was so fast and the changes in the music industry so swift that the record company and the members of Nirvana did not know what to make of it; no one was prepared for that level of success, and the band quickly shunned, and often ridiculed, their newfound popularity. Nirvana would end up on the cover of Rolling Stone (with Cobain donning a “corporate magazines still suck” t-shirt) in April of 1992, make numerous appearances on MTV, and perform on Saturday Night Live and the MTV Video Music Awards before the year was over. They declined to tour in support of Nevermind in 1992, playing only a few shows, exhausted from their extensive touring in 1991 and their obligations after the explosion of the album. They would not release a follow up to Nevermind until September of 1993. In Utero was a complete departure from Nevermind; it had a rawer sound than its predecessor and was purposefully not as commercial sounding. Still, it received almost universal acclaim, as much for the band not bending to the will of what the world was expecting as for the music itself, and the album would go on to sell 5 million copies in the US. The band would go out on tour in the US in October of 1993, their first US shows in two years. They also agreed to a European tour which would begin in early 1994, but not before recording what would become Unplugged in New York in November. On March 1st, 1994, Nirvana performed for the final time in Munich. On March 4th, Cobain’s wife Courtney Love found him unconscious after he combined tranquilizers with alcohol; the rest of the tour was cancelled. A month later, Cobain was dead.

I previously wrote about my struggles with anxiety and panic attacks in 1994 when we discussed Soundgarden’s “Fell On Black Days” a few months ago. Most of that year was spent in various doctors’ offices complaining about random physical symptoms and worrying that I would die in my sleep of a heart attack or drive off the road because of vertigo. Once I accepted that I needed help and sought out a psychiatrist who promptly prescribed anti-anxiety medication, I started to feel better; better enough to find a new job in New York City and get back out in the world. Most of all, the all-day panic attacks I was having finally began to stop. By the fall of that year, I was able to reduce the dosage, and as the holidays approached, I was able to stop the medication completely. At the time, it was one of the biggest challenges I had ever faced, and while I knew I’d have to manage it my entire life, I was grateful I had it under control. In between dealing with my mental health, I did find time to immerse myself in what was a landmark year for music; it was a welcome distraction. In terms of alternative music, it might have been the biggest year ever. Several alternative albums broke into the mainstream album charts that year and received heavy radio airplay: Dookie by Green Day, The Downward Spiral by Nine Inch Nails, Vitalogy by Pearl Jam, Live Through This by Hole, Superunknown by Soundgarden, Purple by Stone Temple Pilots; Smash by the Offspring. Add in debut albums by Weezer, Dave Matthews Band and Korn, Johnny Cash’s comeback album American Recordings, Alice in Chains’ EP Jar of Flies, and the Beastie Boys’ Ill Communication and it’s almost unreal that all these records were released in the same year. As these alternative bands made their presence known on the pop charts, Swedish pop band Ace of Base had three songs in the year-end Top 10, rapper Coolio’s debut It Takes a Thief spawned the million selling “Fantastic Voyage”, and Elton John’s The Lion King Soundtrack would end up selling 5 million copies that year. And Reality Bites, Ben Stiller’s directorial debut about post-grad slackers trying to figure out what to do next with their love and professional lives came out in April of that year, with a killer soundtrack that produced the #1 single “Stay” by Lisa Loeb, the first time an unsigned artist had ever had a #1 song on the Billboard Hot 100. So, like 1989, all this music was impossible to ignore. Ace of Base’s “The Sign” was on the radio so much, there were some days I remember getting in the car and just leaving it on, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel while I drove. As the year was ending and the holidays drew closer, I was really looking forward to spending Christmas with my family and having a couple days off from the commuting grind to relax. I felt like I had come a long way that year, and that I had grown because of the challenges I had faced. I still thought about Kurt Cobain’s suicide often; it was such a dark moment in a dark year, and the parallel of his death that year to my own mental health struggles are not lost on me. I continued to listen to Nirvana that year and looked forward to the release of Unplugged in New York that November. This was before the internet obviously, but I had read enough about it in magazines and heard about it on MTV to know I desperately wanted to hear those songs and that performance. I resisted the urge to buy it myself and put the bug in everyone’s ear that the only thing I wanted to see under the tree was the Nirvana CD, and my parents, like they always did, delivered that year. Not only was Unplugged in New York there Christmas morning, but I also received a new Sony Discman to play it on, the one with the anti-skip feature. So, an aside here: I have used a rotary phone, Atari video game system, dial-up internet, Sony Walkman, iPod, and owned a full desktop computer with a printer, but for some reason, when I talk about the Sony Discman, of all things, I feel old. Anyway…I waited until I could sequester myself on the sofa on Christmas Day and take a break from my family so I could listen to Unplugged; there was no way I’d be able to wait until the next day. I broke the cellophane on the CD, popped some batteries in the Discman (which I would replace the next day), put the headphones on and pressed play. I scanned the track listing again while I did this; there were not a lot of Nirvana songs, but that didn’t matter. I loved unplugged performances and just wanted to hear whatever interpretations Nirvana had in mind for these 14 songs. The opening track, “About a Girl” from Nirvana’s first album Bleach begins with Kurt Cobain announcing, “This is off our first record. Most people don’t own it.” Then it’s “Come As You Are” from Nevermind; very familiar with that one. Both stripped down versions of these songs were excellent, especially “About a Girl”; it sounded much more refined than the frenzied version on Bleach. “Jesus Doesn’t Want Me for a Sunbeam” was next, a song I was definitely not familiar with; this was a cover of song by a band called The Vaselines. Then, right before the fourth song, Cobain utters, “I guarantee you I will screw this song up.” Then there’s some band banter, and the song begins. The first few chords of “The Man Who Sold the World” did not sound familiar, nor did they sound like they were coming from an acoustic guitar that was “unplugged”; Cobain’s guitar, at least for this song, was coming through an amplifier with some effects on it. I had never heard of this song, but I loved the title. Those first chords sounded sad and had a melancholy dirge to them. Once the verse began, the guitar sounded like an acoustic guitar again; “We passed upon the stair, We spoke of was and when, Although I wasn’t there, He said I was his friend…” Wow…the lyrics were thoughtful and introspective…and sort of creepy. It continued and the rest of the lyrics captured me, and I lost myself in this song; this song I had never heard before, but knew was not a Nirvana song; “I gazed a gazeley stare, We walked a million hills, I must have died alone…” And so, it went on, for four-and-a-half minutes I listened to what almost sounded like a confession and an admission of some of the pain Cobain may have been going through. The song ended, and Cobain said, “That was a David Bowie song…” And my jaw dropped again. I mentioned a few posts ago when we discussed “Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth” that I went back in Bowie’s catalog to hear some of his classic albums, but obviously this was one of his more obscure songs from an album I regrettably missed. The Unplugged album could have ended there, and I think I may have been OK with it. But of course, it went on. Ten more songs, some Nirvana songs, some covers, all of them beautifully arranged, and some with the help of additional musicians, most notably guitarist Pat Smear (then of the Meat Puppets), and cellist Lori Goldston, who played on eight of the fourteen tracks. My thoughts while I was listening ranged from being sad, to being uplifted, to being grateful for being able to hear this performance, raw and unedited. When the CD ended, I let it start again. It was then that my mother gave me a look that said, “Are you going to join your family today?”, so I knew I would have to remove my headphones and make my way to the dinner table, but not before I got through tracks 1-5 again, including “The Man Who Sold the World” one more time. I just could not hear it enough. I managed to get through the album one more time that Christmas Day and left the house that evening to meet some of the guys at the Ronkonkoma train station parking lot to play roller hockey, but the music of Unplugged in New York was never far from my mind; I fell asleep with the headphones on later that night. I listened to it on the train the next morning on my way into the city, and as I mentioned, I had to replace the batteries in the Discman that evening from listening so much; those things literally ate batteries. And as I continued over the next month or so to listen to what was Nirvana’s final album, I started to really think about what Kurt Cobain was thinking about during that performance, just four months before his death. I had read so much about why he may have taken his own life: a stomach ailment, addiction, depression, pressures of fame; was he thinking about any of those things? Did he have a feeling this would be one of his band’s final performances? Over the decades since the album’s release, I sometimes look at it differently. I think he poured every ounce of his soul into that performance and wanted to be at his very best. It’s evident in the quality of his vocals, and even the song selection; he wanted it to mean something, and not just be a re-hashing of Nirvana’s greatest hits. There is definitely some pain and vulnerability there, but I don’t believe he was thinking about any of the aforementioned issues at all; I do think the realities of those challenges came right back when the curtain fell, however, and that’s ultimately why I can’t separate Unplugged in New York from Cobain’s death. Maybe it’s all right there in “The Man Who Sold the World", or even "Something in the Way” or even “Dumb”. Maybe Kurt Cobain was trying to tell us all something. Whether or not he was, it’s one of the few albums in my lifetime I truly feel we’re lucky to have. Not only does it make you realize how talented Cobain and Nirvana were, and how big a loss it was, but it also makes you wonder what we missed out on. Over these long years, I’ve learned to shed that longing for more Nirvana when I listen to Unplugged now. And there was also something else…Nirvana’s final album was a reminder I had come out on the other side of my own mental health challenge. I had no idea why I was having those symptoms and feelings, so it was a struggle to understand them, and then to admit I needed professional help. I’m not suggesting for a second I was ever in the type of abyss that Kurt Cobain may have been in. I had some awful days that year when I didn’t want to get out of bed, but I made it through, and I know I’m fortunate I was able to get my anxiety problem under control. Unplugged in New York, and especially “The Man Who Sold the World” will always be the inspiration for me when those feelings sometimes return (and they still do), to just fight through them.

Nirvana’s entire performance on MTV’s Unplugged is available here on YouTube. Here is the clip of “The Man Who Sold the World”, but if you have an hour, watch the entire performance. 😊

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Next time…are they the greatest heavy metal band ever? Probably not, but there are some that think the next song, and the album it’s from, might be the best ever.

P.S.

David Bowie’s version of “The Man Who Sold the World” was released on the album of the same name in 1970, Bowie’s third. Although it was never released as a single, it’s regarded as one of his greatest recordings. Bowie draws influence from horror writer H.P. Lovecraft and poet William Hughes Mearns for the lyrics and explores how he is losing his identity the more he shares his feelings through his music, and how he’s losing control over parts of his life. In 1997, he told the BBC, “I guess I wrote it because there was a part of myself that I was looking for…You have this great searching, this great need to find out who you really are.” Original Nirvana drummer Chad Channing introduced Kurt Cobain to the album, and it quickly became one his favorites. Of course, now it’s easy to see the lyrics and dissect the themes of the song and perhaps understand why Cobain connected with it and chose to play it for what would become one of Nirvana’s final performances. As I’ve said, it’s hard to separate Unplugged from Cobain’s death, but was he literally telegraphing his state of mind with his song selections? It’s hard to say, but the selections of cover songs and obscure ones at that mean something. Bowie returned to the song numerous times during his career, and re-recorded it several times, including an acoustic version that appeared on a 2020 album of live recordings, ChangesNowBowie. The song has also been covered by hundreds of artists; besides Nirvana, other notable versions include Scottish singer Lulu’s version in 1974, and Midge Ure’s take in 1982. Of Nirvana’s version, Bowie said, “I was simply blown away when I found out that Kurt Cobain liked my work, and have always wanted to talk to him about his reasons for covering ‘The Man Who Sold the World’”

There is a bounty of content and accounts about Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged performance which I used to research this piece, but easily the most comprehensive is The Ringer’s “Three Feet from God: An Oral History of Nirvana ‘Unplugged’”. It’s dense, but completely worth reading. Writer Alan Siegel sits down with MTV producers, Geffen Records execs, and former members of Nirvana and the Meat Puppets to unearth the history, the preparation and the recording of one of the greatest concerts ever. Some of the best takeaways: Cobain wanted candles and stargazer lilies onstage so it resembled a funeral; drummer Dave Grohl was given brushes and sizzle sticks to “lighten his touch” right before the taping; Cobain didn’t like the stool he was given to use onstage, so he grabbed a chair from one of the offices to sit on; the show was recorded in one take, no replays or overdubs, unheard of back then for an “unplugged” show; the band refused an encore; and yes, Cobain played his 1959 Martin D-18E acoustic guitar through an amplifier, with effects, because he was worried he wouldn’t be able to hear it during the performance. That guitar, by the way, was sold at auction in 2020 for $6 million to Peter Freedman, of Rode Microphones. And the thrift store sweater Cobain wore that evening? It was purchased by an anonymous buyer in 2019 for $334,000.

MTV first broadcast Nirvana’s Unplugged performance in December 1993, right after the taping. For reasons unknown, I did not see it. After Cobain’s death the following April, MTV aired it frequently; again, I never saw it, which is somewhat of a miracle considering how much I watched MTV back then. I will admit being somewhat distracted that year dealing with mental health issues, but I still can’t understand how I never caught Unplugged in New York when it aired. Long Island radio station WDRE may have played songs from the forthcoming CD but again, I don’t remember hearing them. So, my point here is that I consider the first time I heard any of those songs was on that Christmas Day in 1994, when I listened to the Unplugged CD in its entirety, three times. Of course, I eventually did see the performance on MTV, and I’ve viewed it several times since. It’s just a random mystery to me why I never saw the MTV special when it was airing repeatedly.

After Cobain’s death, Nirvana immediately disbanded. Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl attempted to compile a live album but found going through the tapes too difficult and abandoned the project. Unplugged in New York was released in its place, in November 1994, and debuted at #1 on the Billboard Album Chart, and to date has sold over 10 million copies worldwide. In 2002, a Nirvana compilation was finally released after years of legal wrangling, and in late 2004, the box set With the Lights Out was finally released. Nirvana was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2014 by Michael Stipe, and several guest vocalists stepped in for Cobain, including Joan Jett.

Since Nirvana, bassist Krist Novoselic has appeared onstage numerous times with Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters and contributed bass and accordion on the track “I Should Have Known” from Wasting Light. He is also extremely active politically; he is a lifelong independent, a member of the Forward Party and has joined efforts to reform elections. And Dave Grohl…well, he became fucking Dave Grohl; founder, leader, singer, guitarist, songwriter and sometimes drummer in the last great American rock and roll band, the Foo Fighters. Started as a project after Nirvana ended, the Foo Fighters have released eleven studio albums, won fifteen Grammys, and were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2021. More importantly, the Foo Fighters have become one of the most important rock bands ever. If there is any kind of silver lining to losing Kurt Cobain so tragically and so young, it is the emergence of Dave Grohl as a true rock star, and musical ambassador. And Grohl has endured not only the death of Cobain early in his musical career, but the recent death of bandmate and close friend, Foo Fighters drummer Taylor Hawkins, in early 2022. Despite all that, he just keeps going; the Foo Fighters soldiered on with new drummer Josh Freese and released But Here We Are in June 2023, and he shows no signs of stopping. The guy was just born to make music.

In case you’re wondering, Todd and I are still friends and still chat, but I don’t see him as often as I’d like, especially since I moved off Long Island in 2014. But he still loves hockey and the Islanders and is still the biggest music fan I know. He and his wife will often fly to concerts for overnight trips, and he takes some awesome photos while at the shows. I included one of Todd’s photos of Chris Cornell in an earlier post. There are some tremendous memories in that basement in Sayville, and we had some great times back in the day. If you’re reading this old friend, I hope we can spin some records soon. 😊

Since there’s one more cover song and one more unplugged song on the 50 At 50, I will hold off on making playlists for those categories. But here’s a Spotify playlist that covers the best of 1994; all of the artists mentioned above are on there, plus additional tracks from that amazing year for alternative artists. I am not kidding when I say that 1994 is one of the greatest years for music ever. Did I miss any of your favorites? Let me know in the comments and I’ll add them!

Finally…I quickly realized as I was researching and writing this piece that “The Man Who Sold the World” is the second most important song on this list, right after Elton John’s “Captain Fantastic”. Just as the Elton John track began my obsession and subsequent love for music, the Nirvana track was an end of sorts, and put a bow on my early 20’s and marked the end of challenging year full of change for me. It also made me realize that this grunge and alternative era we were in might be ending. Sure, bands like Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and Green Day managed to stick around, but we also saw too many bands get popular trying to sound like them (cue up some Creed), and that eventually, there was just too much of it. As the 90’s progressed, hip-hop, nu-metal and boy bands began to take the place once occupied by alternative and grunge; you still had alternative music, but the landscape had changed. For me, I think that’s why “The Man Who Sold the World” is the definitive performance from Unplugged in ; it marked an end, and in many ways, a beginning. It was a farewell from a reluctant generational spokesperson. And when history looks back, I believe Unplugged in New York will be considered a more important record than Nevermind. It just brings that era full circle.

See you next time…

JS

10/20/2023