I like Nirvana and Death Cab for Cutie.
There, I've said it.
"Are you kidding?" you say? "All that pomp and circumstance for … that? Big deal, everyone loves those bands!"
Well, that's the problem. I've spent nearly a third of my 18 years constructing and developing a highly (in my own twisted mind) pretentious musical persona that values mediocrity and esotericism over extraordinariness and popularity. And in those years, I denigrated both Nirvana and Death Cab, put listening to them in the same category as being shepherds to the respective Hot Topic and Urban Outfitters worshipping flocks I judged with every ounce of my being. My being, of course, always remained higher and mightier than the mere mortals that are my peers.
My problem with Nirvana was that I was just plain sick and tired of the pain and complaining. I rolled my eyes whenever I saw someone wearing a Nirvana shirt or I saw band memorabilia in a friend's bedroom. It wasn't necessarily the music, which in high school I believed to be just average, but the fact that these well-loved, spoiled Long Island brats (who were barely toddlers when Kurt Cobain died) actually thought they had something to moan about. So I projected my dislike of these "nonconforming" conformists onto the music and Kurt Cobain, whom I also found to be a real whiner. I wrote an editorial about it in my high school newspaper and, frankly, it was the most-talked about piece of the year considering I had offended about half the school. But I was glad of it. I wanted to push their hero off his pedestal. In my own words: "He was not a tragic hero who succumbed to his flaw of self-loathing. He was a musically talented young man who happened upon fame and found his life utterly unlivable. He cowardly chose to put his personal demons before the welfare of his family, particularly the young daughter he left behind. Instead of a martyr, he should be remembered as a pariah." I sent this article to Amherst along with my regular application. I wanted to show the College that I wasn't a sheep.
But I was wrong.
As with Nirvana, it was Death Cab's following that irked me more than the music. In fact, I refused to listen to the music. From the few snippets I had heard, I reduced it all to what I call "pussy music" and scoffed. But what really boiled my blood were the people that loved it. Bimbos and meatheads who had been listening to bubblegum boy bands and pop punk garbage at the tender age of 10, when at the same age I was listening to ska, metal and So-Cal punk. So all of a sudden they thought they were "alternative" and "indie" because they were finally listening to something that had a guitar in it and because the "cute/cool nerd" from "The O.C." turned them on to it in the first place? What morons!
But, as you must have deduced by now, it was I who was the true moron.
So exactly one year ago, I got to college. And in the process, I got a laptop (affectionately known as Lappy.) And decided to force my best friend to give me all the music she had on her computer because Lappy was lonely. And within the few hundred new songs I received were Nirvana's eponymous album and Death Cab's entire collection of works at the time. I paid no heed. Two months later, said best friend gave me an iPod (affectionately known as Poddy) for my birthday. And when I was putting all of my music onto Poddy, I sneaked "Nirvana" onto it when my friend wasn't paying attention, mainly because I had an embarrassing secret love for "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and didn't know at the time that you can't transfer individual songs without the accompanying full album. And sometimes, when I put Poddy on Shuffle and other Nirvana songs came, I didn't click the "Forward" button. I listened. I listened and listened until I (gasp) actually played "Nirvana" from "You Know You're Right" to "The Man Who Sold the World" without pausing. I was hooked.
So my first year ended and I was back at home. July 20th happened. I read "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" and when I finished the last page of the epilogue, I felt an overwhelming and all-encompassing sense of loss. I felt like playing something sappy on my iTunes. I chose Death Cab's "Plans" because I wanted to stick the knife in a little deeper and, well, because "Someday You Will Be Loved" sorta reminded me of the Snape/Lily ship if you stretched the lyrics a bit. I listened. I listened and listened until I finished the album. And instead of still feeling the expected heavy weight in my chest, I felt light and full of hope. Listening to "Plans" was cathartic and helped to lighten the great and terrible grief of finishing my beloved book series.
Now if you're expecting some kind of throwaway conclusion here about the value of keeping an open mind, then you'll be sorely disappointed. If anything, the moral of my tale, I suppose, is that you should get off your pedestal. I still think that Nirvana and Death Can fans are sheep, through and through. But what I've come to learn is that I'm a sheep, too. We're all sheep in one way or another. If we're not following the mainstream, then we're following the counterculture. Either way, we're following. And I have one thing to say to that.
Baah.