As millennials would have it told, grunge is dead. Even the early artists hated the term, which originated as a marketing ploy by Seattle-based music labels. But the legacy of the music is rather harrowing in light of the genre's almost cursed run.
Grunge arrived on the scene in the 80s. It isn't the decade most people think of, but it's where the genre's foundation was built. The style fit the rock mold sure enough, but lacked the speed and punch of punk and metal. All artists knew was that they wanted to play gritty music with heavy distortion and feedback.
Born in 1976, Cobain quickly became the face of the movement. After dropping out of high school, he started a band dubbed Fecal Matter. While most of the music remains unreleased, some were made available in boxed sets.
Nirvana was, to Cobain "freedom from pain, suffering and the external world." The band's debut album Bleach was released in 1989 and established them as part of a group known as Skid Row.
Nirvana was supported in popularity by other emerging bands such as Soundgarden and Alice in Chains, whose name originated from a glam metal act that played drag shows around the city. There's a common denominator: sludgy rhythms and showcasing verbose guitar riffs. And thus, the "Seattle sound" was born.
If punk was for rebels, grunge was for outcasts. In contrast with the in-your-face lyrics of Misfits, Cobain rose to acclaim for his laid back approach- counter-culturalist nihilism bleeding into lithium-induced existentialism. At the heart of the subject were themes of isolation, desire for belonging. "I need an easy friend" Cobain sings, "I do want an ear to lend."
In the wake of Nirvana's global notoriety, countless bands tried to replicate their success with the grunge sound. From Stone Temple Pilots to Garbage, everyone wanted a piece of the pie that Billboard acts had cultivated over years of hard work and innovation. But that all changed in 1994 when Kurt suddenly died by suicide.
Alice in Chains had also lost Wood in 1990 to a heroin overdose, and later Layne Staley in 2002 and Mike Starr in 2011. The same fate ultimately awaited Soundgarden's Chris Cornell in 2017. Grunge was losing its momentum with each fallen champion.
To say the evolution of the genre was contingent on its front line would be an understatement. Bands reinvented themselves almost spherically: Temple of the Dog was created by Cornell as a memorial tribute to Wood, who got his start in Malfunkshun. Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament of Alice in Chains went on to form Pearl Jam, and so on.
By the mid 90s labels had begun abandoning the sound altogether, shifting toward a rapidly emerging post-punk audience. The gritty melodies and sometimes cryptically grotesque lyrics find themselves often imitated, yet too niche to be replicated.
Born in 2000, I was late to the party. Rock and alternative always appealed to me, and having grown up in the throes of post-punk and pre-emo, I considered myself an open-minded audiophile in spite of my sheltered upbringing. Admittedly, my initial exposure to punk rock came from the pop charts and consisted of downloaded Avril Lavigne files on my MP3 player.
I came a long way. While popular tracks like "Smells Like Teen Spirit" garnered my interest, it was deep cuts like MTV Unplugged recording of "The Man Who Sold the World" that held my attention.
Then 2013 rolled along, and social media was transformed by 90s and early 2000s aesthetics-Tumblr, Pinterest, and Instagram flooded with cotton-candy filtered photographs of grunge idols.
But life in the scene wasn't all rose-colored photo filters, it was also the deification of dead celebrities and glorification of egregious substance abuse–users touting mental illnesses in their bios like profile badges. The sensationalization of suicide and all things morbidity came and went as a trend intended to harvest likes and follows by scrolling through hashtags.
If that's all the substance the movement has to offer, then maybe it should have died a long time ago. Like a ghost, the spirit of the decade echoed into the eternal limelight.
Cobain didn't set out to become a pop-culture icon, nor could he have anticipated his resurgence in post-mortem popularity. But the digital age arrived just in time to capture the essence of in time to preserve a nostalgia.
This wave revitalized the music scene by reaching different target audiences from fashion to cinema. "Something in the Way" saw a surge in streams following the release of Batman (2022). Maybe grunge was ahead of its time.
Despite efforts from dozens of artists and thousands of imitators in various musical genres, grunge would remain firmly entrenched in its underground origins as a counter-culturalist movement. With each successive generation discovering classic acts on platforms like Spotify or Pandora, today's youth are rediscovering one of rock music's most influential eras.
In recent years, celebrities have begun to follow suit in breaking industry conventions by adopting an authentic and often edgy approach to their artistry. Many of these stars have even paid homage in their performances, like Miley Cyrus' tribute to Chris Cornell at Forum in Los Angeles. Even supermodels are falling in line with the "heroin chic" trope of stringy hair and smudged eyeshadow.
If the sentiment of the Seattle sound is a raw and obscure perspective on life and society, trying to appeal to uniformity would be missing the mark entirely. Still, it seems every teen has a pair of Doc Martens on their feet, exemplifying the appropriation of punk by mainstream society.
Gen Z has mastered the art of not giving a fuck. It has nothing to do with self-help books or internet gurus, but is an expression of their anti-establishment ideologies. They're rebellious and radical, but in a way that's inclusive and empowering. As a result, they've created their own subculture that blends elements of punk rock, grunge, and alternative- the perfect fusion for individuals who are tired of being told what to do.
Grunge is alive, kicking and screaming, refusing to say die. It isn't a phase to outgrow or a cause to be won. "Into the flood again," writes Staley, "same old trip it was back then..." The music of the era is but a scream into an ever-expanding cultural void. If they recognize that, then maybe the kids are alright after all.
