NIRVANA STORIES

'...in the middle of the crowd. I need to get this right. I

need to feel it, sense it, digest and take this in. It’s my last

night; I need to be part of it. I’m looking around at the

legions, all in grunge uniform. The heat, the power, a small

framed, stooping, pale, left-handed guitarist squeals out 24

years’ worth of psychoanalysis and vents his spleen to a crowd

so caught up in the overall event that they don’t care about

the singer’s shit, just how it all sounds. Imagine a huge moth

asleep on a cold light bulb...'

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