Acenando adeus a Chris Cornell, ícone da Geração Grunge – In Memoriam [1964 – 2017]

Uma das vozes mais extraordinárias do rock global nas últimas décadas calou-se para sempre, aos 52 anos, deixando como legado algumas canções imorredouras e um rastro indelével na história do Grunge.

Chris Cornell (1964 – 2017), que encantou e comoveu cantando no Soundgarden, no Audioslave, no Temple Of The Dog e em sua carreira solo, agora adentra o panteão de mortos ilustres da revolução sônica noventista, nascida e explodida deste Seattle, onde já estavam Kurt Cobain (Nirvana), Layne Stanley (Alice in Chains), Mia Zapata (The Gits), Andy Wood (Mother Love Bone), Scott Weiland (Stone Temple Pilots), dentre tantos outros mortos precoces do hypado cenário musical da terra natal de Jimi Hendrix.


“Words you say never seem
To live up to the ones
Inside your head

The lives we make
Never seem to ever get us anywhere
But dead

The day I tried to live
I wallowed in the blood and mud with
All the other pigs…”
The Day I Tried To Live

Ao enforcar-se em um banheiro de hotel, Chris Cornell põe um ponto final em sua existência em carne-e-osso de modo a lançar uma luz de crepúsculo sobre toda a sua obra anterior, como que sublinhando que seus lamentos musicados e seus berros de angústia impregnados não eram mera dramaturgia e jogo-de-cena. Eram a expressão genuína de um coração dilacerado pelos fardos que tinha em suas mãos e pela lida louca de tentar viver nesta estrepitosa estrada – “cheia de som e fúria e que não significa nada”? (Macbeth) – que ele batizou de Superunkown.


Chris matou-se e nos deixou chafurdando numa lama de porquês, meditando sobre vários “talvez”. Talvez, sem nenhuma intencionalidade consciente, Chris Cornell tenha partido do mundo deixando-nos uma série de emblemas.

Acenou adeus ao mundo enforcando-se na metrópolis que é uma encarnação da distopia Yankee, a outrora próspera capital-mundial-do-automóvel Detroit, hoje uma autêntica Devastolândia. Uma terra histórica para a música estadunidense (Motown, MC5, Stooges, White Stripes…), hoje reduzida a escombros do que foi outrora, prova viva da insanidade do american way of capitalism.

Ali Cornell rompeu com as grades desta jaula enferrujada que para ele tinha se tornado a vida.


Ele quis, talvez, com este ato derradeiro e fatal, demitir-se da Era Trump, que afinal não permite esperanças róseas de futuro erguendo-se no peito de ninguém (o que se ergue é o pavor da hecatombe nuclear e da estupidez da guerra devastadora on repeat). Quis afastar-se de vez do “pesadelo climatizado” de que falava Henry Miller, para enfim dar entrada naquele Trágico Olimpo onde habitam figuras que o mesmerizavam – como Kurt Cobain, Ian Curtis, Jeff Buckley, Mia Zapata † R.I.P etc.

Demitiu-se da vida, talvez, sonhando que valia a pena acabar de uma vez por toda com todo o sofrimento – também com toda felicidade – e ganhar de brinde, ainda que jamais sorvível por sua consciência, enfim uma consagração ao panteão dos deuses da música, dos mestres da voz? Não: talvez ele não estivesse pensando em fama póstuma, talvez estivesse simplesmente cansado de tudo, solitário mesmo ao cantar diante de multidões, sentindo-se como uma minoria de um, uma fading light, “The Disappearing One”.

Tudo o que ele mais temia veio à vida, tudo o que havia buscado construir como ninho mostrou-se no fundo como um túmulo disfarçado. À questão que, em O Mito de Sísifo, Albert Camus julga ser a mais fundamental das fundamentais, Cornell respondeu em ato, como antes havia feito Cobain: à pergunta “a vida vale a pena ser vivida?”, ele respondeu: “não mais”. Talvez ele apenas tenha caído em dias sombrios, mas sem ter tido mais a paciência ou a persistência para atravessá-los.


Talvez Chris Cornell sentisse que estava ficando pra trás, que o Audioslave já tinha sido sepultado e que seus ex-companheiros de banda já seguiam jornada, sem ele, sem precisar dele, sem ligar pra ele, profetas da raiva na nova empreitada de thrash metal hip hopper dos Prophets of Rage.

Chris, talvez, não sentisse mais em si queimando a chama vivaz da rebeldia, só o demônio malfazejo da depressão. A depressão, aliás, contra a qual ele parece ter lutado por toda a vida, e que enfim venceu a batalha, fatal demônio do meio-dia, sugador de vidas criativas em profusão, como mostram os casos de figuras como Sylvia Plath e Virginia Woolf, dentre tantas outras (Cf. ALVAREZ, O Deus Selvagem)


Talvez o Soundgarden fosse pra Chris já um jardim arrasado, um mamute lendário cuja força titânica já havia ficado no passado, envelhecido T-Rex perdendo seu vigor e que já não seria capaz de fazer jus, em seu futuro, aos clássicos Sabbáthicos do grunge que foram discaços como Badmotorfinger ou Superunkown. Não deve ser fácil conviver com uma relativa obscuridade, com uma sensação de decadência, quando em tempos idos já tivemos um grau de reconhecimento tão maior do que o atual.

Talvez aquele que lastimou-se ruidosamente por sentir-se “Outshined” estava sentindo-se obscurecido por um eclipse íntimo duradouro, uma noite que não passava, um “Black Hole Sun” que ele foi descobrindo tratar-se de um buraco negro devorador de toda luz.


Ah, Chris, que sedução estranha e irresistível veio exercer seu fascínio de Tânatos sobre ti, neste Maio de 2017, quando contavas 52 anos de idade, para que tenhas decidido encerrar sua estadia entre os vivos? Você foi com fé ou foi totalmente ateu? Foi com a esperança de que, lá do outro lado, beberia um vinho com Jeff Buckley e vocês cantariam em dueto as lindíssimas melancolias musicadas de “Grace”?

Talvez, quem sabe, Chris tenha pensado em Andy Wood, morto por overdose antes de tornar-se o rock-star que todo mundo esperava que se tornasse. Talvez Chris tenha se lembrado de que, sobre o cadáver do Mother Love Bone, ergueram-se monumentos da música estadunidense: o álbum de estréia do Temple Of The Dog e as sementes do Pearl Jam.

Terá morrido com o reconfortante consolo de que algo musicalmente esplendoroso seria erguido em sua homenagem, depois de sua partida? Que nova “Hunger Strike”, cantada em dueto com Eddie Vedder, virá para celebrar a vida e a morte de Cornell?



Chris, você deixa-nos lotados de perguntas e perplexidades. O fim da tua vida faz emanar algo semelhante à tua arte: a sensação de que, como diz Albert Camus, “a angústia é o habitat perpétuo do homem lúcido”. Teus wails eram o lamento de um homem cujo fardo eram enxergar bem demais as agruras do mundo. Tua alma atormentada era grungy como a garganta abissalmente profunda de Mark Lanegan. Alguns de teus berros são tão viscerais quanto Cobain dando uma de blueseiro e rasgando um Leadbelly ao fim do Acústico MTV.

Chris Cornell: em ti eu encontrava, comovido, um artista capaz de catarse e de expressão emocional impressionantes, conjugadas com um domínio técnico de seu métier de cantor que o tornam, sem dúvida, um dos gênios-da-voz no rock contemporâneo.O grunge, afinal de contas, tinha um pé fincado na lama do blues e outro pé saltando no lodo do punk; Chris Cornell, que também tinha algo de headbanger e foi muito celebrado por metaleiros como uma espécie de Dio de Seattle, tinha uma tamanha capacidade de musicar seus tormentos íntimos de modo hiperbólico e teatral, que pode até considerado uma das figuras prefiguradoras do emocore (tal como se manifesta no At The Drive-In ou no Linkin Park, por exemplo).

Assisti Chris Cornell em ação sobre o palco duas vezes, ambas muito impressionantes: um show de sua carreira solo em São Paulo e um show recente do Soundgarden no Festival d’Été de Québec. Aquela voz era de fato merecedora de ressoar por um vasto espaço, ecoando pela arena, pois carregava uma imensidão de sentimentos e de nuances, nos seus melhores momentos evocando O Grito de Munch. Se aquela pintura cantasse, talvez soasse como Chris Cornell no auge de suas catarses?

Sua vida e sua obra não serão esquecidos – com o perdão deste clichê de necrológios que é aqui mais uma vez tão válido. Seu organismo esfacelou-se, seu gogó calou-se para sempre, mas sua música fica entre nós, legado imorrível que não cessará de nos emocionar e nos empolgar. Que essa morte seja uma semente, que a plantemos em nossos campos e que dela sigam crescendo as Screaming Trees de nossa sublime e dilacerada grungidade.

Em “Wave Goodbye”, do seu disco-solo de estréia Euphoria Morning, o homenageado era o talentosíssimo Jeff Buckley, que afogou-se aos 30 anos tendo lançado apenas um álbum, “Grace”, uma das obras-primas da música global no fim do século XX. Agora é nossa vez de cantar, com a voz embargada, um “Wave Goodbye” para Chris Cornell, recém-embarcado numa estrada da qual nenhum viajante jamais retornou: a Superunkown que vai ao Hades e é uma via de mão única. Para aquele que criou e extroverteu tanta música cheia de alma, it’s just the end of the world.

E se alguém ainda nutre dúvidas de que perdemos um baita dum Poeta Grunge, antena de seu tempo e geração, relembro uma canção obscura de “Euphoria Morning” (1999), chamada “O Travesseiro Dos Teus Ossos” (“Pillow of Your Bones”). Ela ganha hoje uma nova camada de densidade enquanto a carne que recobria os ossos do cantor do Soundgarden e do Audioslave vai se desintegrando no seio da Phýsis e ele prepara-se para a sina sem dores de esqueleto.

Aí, nesta canção impressionante, Chris Cornell – que neste álbum já havia evocado nada menos que um fim do mundo, testemunhado e compartilhado por um eu-lírico “Radioheadiano” – segue explorando uma escrita hiperbólica, que deve ter lá suas similaridades com as tempestades psíquicas de poetas como um Rimbaud, um Lautréamont, um Poe… Cornell destila um lirismo sombrio através de sua pictórica poiésis, escancara paradoxos verbalmente cheios de wit (“the rising of my low”), e prova que é um letrista ainda muito sub-estimado e sub-apreciado.

Eis um compositor merecedor de mais estudo até mesmo por nós filósofos, que muitas vezes ficamos discutindo o conceito de catarse em Aristóteles, não avançando além dele, o que nos deixa desagradavelmente antiquados, pois poderíamos muito bem discutir catarse – e Estética – também, por exemplo, através da Geração Grunge e das obras de Cobain, Vedder, Cornell, Stanley, Lanegan (por uma sala de aula com mais Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains e Screaming Trees!). Ladies and germs, listen to an awesome grungy poet:

PILLOW OF YOUR BONES

The embers of the saint inside of you
Are growing as I’m bathing in your glow
I’m swallowing the poison of your flower
And hanging on the rising of my low
Colorful and falling from your mouth
Like a painted fever in recoil
Like a lie without the pain

On a pillow of your bones
I will lay across the stones
Of your shore until the tide comes crawling back

A waning hand on silver granite ways
Will mend my broken limbs and bend my haze
I’m sleeping in the silence of your voice
I’m cradling the peril of my only choice
Colorful and falling from your mouth
Like a painted fever in recoil
Like a lie without the pain

On a pillow of your bones
I will lay across the stone
Of your shore until the tide comes crawling back
Throw my pillow on the fire
Make my bed under the eye
Of your moon until the tide comes crawling back

Even though the truth can burn inside or fall behind
I will wander through your open mind
And you will find no lie can hide
Until the tide comes crawling…

COMPARTILHAR NO FACEBOOK

– Uma homenagem a Chris Cornell (1964 – 2017), in memoriam.
Por Eduardo Carli de Moraes para A Casa de Vidro.

13 DOSES DE “CANÇÕES DO CONTRAGOLPE” – Criolo, Legião, Chico Buarque, Cazuza, Cássia Eller, Emicida, Bezerra, Wilson das Neves, Apanhador Só, Flicts e outros

“Num tempo…
Página infeliz da nossa história
Passagem desbotada na memória
Das nossas novas gerações

Dormia…
A nossa pátria mãe tão distraída
Sem perceber que era subtraída
Em tenebrosas transações

Seus filhos
Erravam cegos pelo continente
Levavam pedras feito penitentes
Erguendo estranhas catedrais

E um dia, afinal
Tinham direito a uma alegria fugaz
Uma ofegante epidemia
Que se chamava carnaval…”

Chico Buarque,
“Vai Passar”

* * * * *

“Vamos celebrar a estupidez humana
A estupidez de todas as nações
O meu país e sua corja de assassinos
Covardes, estupradores e ladrões
Vamos celebrar a estupidez do povo
Nossa polícia e televisão
Vamos celebrar nosso governo
E nosso Estado, que não é nação
Celebrar a juventude sem escola
As crianças mortas
Celebrar nossa desunião
Vamos celebrar Eros e Thanatos
Persephone e Hades
Vamos celebrar nossa tristeza
Vamos celebrar nossa vaidade.

Vamos comemorar como idiotas
A cada fevereiro e feriado
Todos os mortos nas estradas
Os mortos por falta de hospitais
Vamos celebrar nossa justiça
A ganância e a difamação
Vamos celebrar os preconceitos
O voto dos analfabetos
Comemorar a água podre
E todos os impostos
Queimadas, mentiras e sequestros
Nosso castelo de cartas marcadas
O trabalho escravo
Nosso pequeno universo
Toda hipocrisia e toda afetação
Todo roubo e toda a indiferença
Vamos celebrar epidemias:
É a festa da torcida campeã.

Vamos celebrar a fome
Não ter a quem ouvir
Não se ter a quem amar
Vamos alimentar o que é maldade
Vamos machucar um coração
Vamos celebrar nossa bandeira
Nosso passado de absurdos gloriosos
Tudo o que é gratuito e feio
Tudo que é normal
Vamos cantar juntos o Hino Nacional
(A lágrima é verdadeira)
Vamos celebrar nossa saudade
E comemorar a nossa solidão.

Vamos festejar a inveja
A intolerância e a incompreensão
Vamos celebrar a violência
E esquecer a nossa gente
Que trabalhou honestamente a vida inteira
E agora não tem mais direito a nada
Vamos celebrar a aberração
De toda a nossa falta de bom senso
Nosso descaso por educação
Vamos celebrar o horror de tudo isso
Com festa, velório e caixão
Está tudo morto e enterrado agora
Já que também podemos celebrar
A estupidez de quem cantou esta canção.

Venha, meu coração está com pressa
Quanta esperança está dispersa
Só a verdade me liberta
Chega de maldade e ilusão.

Venha, o amor tem sempre a porta aberta
E vem chegando a primavera –
Nosso futuro recomeça:
Venha, que o que vem é perfeição….”

LEGIÃO URBANA,
“Perfeição”
@ Descobrimento do Brasil

* * * * *


APANHADOR SÓ, 
“Mordido”
“Vídeo produzido pelo Coletivo Tatu Morto para dar as boas-vindas a Copa do Mundo.”

Do álbum “Antes Que Tu Conte Outra”:

* * * * *

“Será que nunca faremos senão confirmar
A incompetência da américa católica
Que sempre precisará de ridículos tiranos?

Será, será que será, que será, que será
Será que esta minha estúpida retórica
Terá que soar, terá que se ouvir por mais mil anos?

(…) Ou então cada paisano e cada capataz
Com sua burrice fará jorrar sangue demais
Nos pantanais, nas cidades, caatingas e nos gerais?

Será que apenas os hermetismos pascoais
Os Toms, os Miltons, seus sons e seus dons geniais
Nos salvam, nos salvarão dessas trevas e nada mais?”

(…) Eu quero aproximar o meu cantar vagabundo
Daqueles que velam pela alegria do mundo
Indo mais fundo, Tins e Bens e tais…”

CAETANO VELOSOPodres Poderes

* * * * *

FlictsCanções De Batalha (True Rebel Records) [Full Album]

* * * * *


CÁSSIA ELLER, Tô Na Rua (de Luiz Melodia)

* * * * *

“Pátria amada
O que oferece a teus filhos sofridos
Dignidade ou jazigos?”
CRIOLOLion Man

* * * * *


EMICIDA, “Samba do Fim do Mundo” (Feat. Juçara Marçal e Fabiana Cozza)

* * * *

OURO DESÇA DO SEU TRONO – Um samba de Paulo da Portela

Paulo da Portela 3

Acima: Paulo da Portela, autor do samba “Ouro Desça Do Teu Trono”; ouça na interpretação de Candeia e seus bambas:

Ouro desça do seu trono
Venha ver o abandono
De milhões de almas aflitas
(Como gritam!)

Sua majestade a prata
Mãe ingrata indiferente e fria
Sorri da nossa agonia

Diamante, safira e rubi
São pedras valiosas
Mas eu não troco por ti
Por que és mais preciosa!

De tanto ver o poder
Prevalecer na mão do mal,
O homem deixa-se vender
A honra pelo vil-metal.

Ouro desça do seu trono,
Venha ver o abandono
De milhões de almas aflitas!
(Como gritam!)

Sua majestade a prata
Mãe ingrata indiferente e fria
Sorri da nossa agonia

Nessa terra sem paz
Com tanta guerra
A hipocrisia se venera
o dinheiro é quem impera

Sinto minha alma tristonha
De tanto ver falsidade
E muitos já sentem vergonha
Do amor e honestidade.

* * * * *


#MúsicaPelaDemocracia – Mobilização de Abril ‘2016


“O morro mandou avisar”, de Flavio Renegado e Tico Santa Cruz

* * * * *

“Mas se você achar
Que eu tô derrotado
Saiba que ainda estão rolando os dados
Porque o tempo, o tempo não pára

Dias sim, dias não
Eu vou sobrevivendo sem um arranhão
Da caridade de quem me detesta

A tua piscina tá cheia de ratos
Tuas idéias não correspondem aos fatos
O tempo não pára

Eu vejo o futuro repetir o passado
Eu vejo um museu de grandes novidades
O tempo não pára
Não pára, não, não pára…”

CAZUZA

BONUS

* * * * *

DIZ AÍ BEZERRA:



Pra tirar meu Brasil dessa baderna
Só quando o morcego doar sangue
E o saci cruzar as pernas…”

* * * * *


“O dia em que o morro descer e não for carnaval
ninguém vai ficar pra assistir o desfile final
na entrada rajada de fogos pra quem nunca viu
vai ser de escopeta, metralha, granada e fuzil
(é a guerra civil)

No dia em que o morro descer e não for carnaval
não vai nem dar tempo de ter o ensaio geral
e cada uma ala da escola será uma quadrilha
a evolução já vai ser de guerrilha
e a alegoria um tremendo arsenal
o tema do enredo vai ser a cidade partida
no dia em que o couro comer na avenida
se o morro descer e não for carnaval

O povo virá de cortiço, alagado e favela
mostrando a miséria sobre a passarela
sem a fantasia que sai no jornal
vai ser uma única escola, uma só bateria
quem vai ser jurado? Ninguém gostaria
que desfile assim não vai ter nada igual

Não tem órgão oficial, nem governo, nem Liga
nem autoridade que compre essa briga
ninguém sabe a força desse pessoal
melhor é o Poder devolver à esse povo a alegria
senão todo mundo vai sambar no dia
em que o morro descer e não for carnaval.

WILSON DAS NEVES

 COMPARTILHAR NO FACEBOOK

* * * * *

LEITURA SUGERIDA:
por Alexandre Matias

Como a crise política brasileira está fazendo a cena musical se organizar

No incerto futuro próximo brasileiro há ao menos uma certeza: a patética crise institucional que se instaurou sobre o país ajudou a mobilização política da classe musical, um movimento que vem crescendo desde que os protestos deixaram de ser focos isolados e ganharam as ruas naquele histórico junho de 2013. De lá pra cá manifestações de músicos, cantores, produtores e compositores vêm ganhando corpo pouco a pouco e a música começa a ser usada como ferramenta de mobilização popular e meio de comunicação. Protestos contra a Copa do Mundo, a favor do movimento estudantil paulista ou em solidariedade com as vítimas do crime ambiental em Mariana, em Minas Gerais, foram ganchos para diferentes artistas se expressarem politicamente.

O foco desta vez é a crise política no país. Músicos, produtores, intérpretes e outros artistas começaram, na segunda-feira passada, dia 10, uma ocupação de shows gratuitos no Largo da Batata, na zona oeste de São Paulo, em que dezenas de artistas apresentam-se para conscientizar a população da forma como o impeachment da presidência vem sendo conduzido. O movimento #MúsicaPelaDemocracia já teve apresentações de nomes como Chico César, KL Jay dos Racionais MCs, Aláfia, Eddie, Rodrigo Ogi, Lucas Santtana, Rafael Castro, Rashid, Iara Rennó, Marrero, Jonnata Doll e os Garotos Solventes, entre outros. O show da quinta-feira reúne as principais atrações do evento, com Tiê (às 17h), Guizado (às 18h), Anelis Assumpção (às 19h), Lira (às 20h), Tulipa Ruiz (às 21h), BNegão Trio (às 22h) e Bixiga 70 (às 23h). As apresentações continuam até sábado, com shows de Naná Rizinni, Sílvia Tape & Edgar Scandurra, Jaloo, MC Soffia, Black Alien, Felipe Cordeiro, Maurício Pereira e discotecagens de Bárbara Eugenia e Tatá Aeroplano.

“A idéia surgiu em uma reunião de produtores e artistas, em São Paulo”, explica uma das organizadoras do evento, a produtora Heloísa Aidar, dona da distribuidora Ponmello. “O foco do encontro era debater o cenário atual e pensar em formas de mobilização da classe artística, mas especificamente, da música, a favor da democracia. Alguém teve uma primeira idéia de uma vigília, e a partir daí pensamos em uma ocupação, onde poderíamos agregar outras atividades.” Também há atividades extramusicais, como oficinas, apresentações de clowns, aulas de yoga, debates, exibições de filmes, apresentações de dança, circo e leituras. Maiores informações podem ser encontradas na página do Facebook do movimento. – LEIA ARTIGO NA ÍNTEGRA

70 DOCUMENTÁRIOS COMPLETOS SOBRE A MÚSICA BRASILEIRA

“Chorinho” (1942),
de Candido Torquato Portinari (1903 — 1962)

 

70 DOCUMENTÁRIOS COMPLETOS
SOBRE A MÚSICA BRASILEIRA & SUA HISTÓRIA

[CONTRIBUA! Sugira filmes que ainda não estão na lista nos comentários ou via Facebook – a construção colaborativa é essencial para a expansão desta playlistona só com a fina flor dos documentários sobre a música brasileira. Evoé!]

Shortlink: http://bit.ly/1OWm31B – Compartilhar

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Tropicalia-Salas

Tropicália (de Marcelo Machado, 2012)
DOWNLOAD TORRENT [1.56 gb]


Canções do Exílio: A Labareda que Lambeu Tudo

Canções do Exílio: A Labareda que Lambeu Tudo (2011),
Diretor: Geneton Moraes Neto, Duração: 1h 31min
DOWNLOAD TORRENT (1.3 gb)


o-homem-que-engarrafava-nuvens

Humberto Teixeira: O Homem Que Engarrafava Nuvens (2008)
um filme de Lírio Ferreira


nasparedes-594x848Nas Paredes da Pedra Encantada (2011, 1h57min)
A história por detrás do mítico álbum “Paêbirú” – Caminho da Montada do Sol, de Lula Côrtes e Zé Ramalho

Leia: Scream and Yell


A MPB nos Tempos da Ditadura


Chico Buarque – O País da Delicadeza Perdida (2003)


Chico Buarque – Meu Caro Amigo


Itamar Assumpção – Daquele Instante em Diante


Elza Soares – O Gingado da Nega


Vinícius de Moraes – Centenário (Globo News)


Isto é Noel Rosa (de Rogério Sganzerla, 1990)

DOWNLOAD TORRENT


Cartolacartola-musica-para-os-olhosCARTOLA – MÚSICA PARA OS OLHOS (de Lírio Ferreira e Hilton Lacerda)
DOWNLOAD TORRENT


BBC – Brasil Brasil, Episódio 01: DO SAMBA À BOSSA


BBC – Brasil Brasil, Episódio 02: REVOLUÇÃO TROPICÁLIA


BBC – Brasil Brasil, Episódio 03: UMA HISTÓRIA DE QUATRO CIDADES


A Música Segundo Tom Jobim


Tom Brasileiro (1987)


 

Clara Nunes – Band, 1973


LokiiiiLÓKI – ARNALDO BAPTISTA (de Paulo Henrique Fontenelle, 2009)
DOWNLOAD TORRENT


Candeia – 80 Anos


Eclats Noirs Du Samba (de Janine Houard, 1987)


Napalm – o Som da Cidade Industrial


Do Underground ao Emo


Saravah (1969, de Pierre Barouh)


Clube da Esquina – Sobre Amigos e Canções

História do Clube da Esquina – A MPB de Minas Gerais


Elis Regina – Por Toda A Minha Vida


Filhos de João – O Admirável Mundo Novo Baiano (2009)


Novos Baianos F. C. (1973)


Paulinho da Viola – Meu Mundo É Hoje (2003, de Izabel Jaguaribe)


Adoniran Barbosa – Por Toda a Minha Vida


Velha Guarda da Portela – O Mistério do Samba


Nelson Cavaquinho (de Leon Hirszman)


Partido Alto (de Leon Hirszman, com Candeia, Paulinho da Viola e outros)


Samba (2000, de de Theresa Jessouroun)


Bezerra da Silva: Onde a Coruja Dorme


A Sede do Peixe – Milton Nascimento e amigos


Uma Noite Em 67


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Coração Vagabundo – Uma Viagem Com Caetano Veloso (2008)
de Fernando Grostein Andrade
DOWNLOAD TORRENT


Mosaicos – A Arte de Caetano Veloso


Lenine – Isto É Só O Começo


Alquimistas do Som


Os Doces Bárbaros (Gil, Caetano, Bethânia e Gal)


062649Cássia Eller (de Paulo Henrique Fontenelle)


O Som do Vinil –  Tropicália


Fabricando Tom Zé (2007)


Jards Macalé – Um Morcego Na Porta Principal


Chico Science e o Movimento Manguebeat


Wilson Simonal – Ninguém Sabe o Duro Que Eu Dei


Raul Seixas – Por Toda a Minha Vida


Revista Bizz – Jornalismo, Causos e Rock’n’Roll


Titãs – A Vida Até Parece Uma Festa


Botinada – A História do Punk No Brasil (2006, de Gastão Moreira)


Guidable – A História dos Ratos de Porão


Ruído das Minas – Heavy Metal em Belo Horizonte


Tim Maia – Por Toda a Minha Vida


Siba – Nos Balés da Tormenta


Los Hermanos – Esse É Só O Começo Do Fim Da Nossa Vida


Sabotage – Nós


O Rap Pelo Rap


Psicodália – Consciência em Transe


Hang The Superstars – Causos do Rock Proibidão


Zimbo Trio – Jazz Brasileiro

MÚSICA CLÁSSICA

Nelson Freire (de João Moreira Salles)


Heitor Villa-Lobos – O Índio de Casaca (1987)


História da Música Brasileira – Episódio 01 a 10









Ernesto Nazareth


A Maestrina Chiquinha Gonzaga – Série 500 anos de História do Brasil (1999)


Entrevista com o Maestro Julio Medaglia (Provocações)

RIOT GIRLS & GRUNGY CHICKS [25 CLIPES NA CYBERJUKEBOX]

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Sleater-Kinney – “You’re No Rock’n’roll Fun”

The Breeders – “Cannonball”

Garbage – “I Think I’m Paranoid”

The Kills – “The Heart Is A Beating Drum” (AO VIVO)

The Distillers – “The Young Crazed Peeling”

Hole – “Malibu”

Veruca Salt – “Seether”

The Gits – “Another Shot Of Whiskey”

Bikini Kill – “Rebel Girl”

Babes In Toyland – “Bruise Violet”

L7

L7

L7 – “Pretend We’re Dead”

Joan Jett, “I Love Rock’n’Roll”

Wild Flag – “Romance”

Elastica – “Connection”

Lunachicks, “Light as a Feather”

Huggy Bear, “Fuck Your Heart”

Bratmobile – “Cool Schmool”

Team Dresch – “Personal Best” LP

Patti Smith – “25th Floor / High on Rebellion”

Björk – “Declare Independence”

Garbage

Garbage – “Only Happy When It Rains”

Brody Dalle & Shirley Mason – “Girl Talk”

PJ Harvey – “Good Fortune”

X-Ray Spex – “Identity”

Siga viagem: The Guardian – Top 10 Riot-Grrrl Albums

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“Riot grrrl is a raw, incendiary brand of feminist punk that emerged from the early-’90s indie-rock scene and sparked a subculture that lasted well after the initial movement began to fade. Riot grrrl was a blend of personal catharsis and political activism, though most of the attention it drew was due to the latter. Many (but not all) riot grrrl lyrics addressed gender-related issues — rape, domestic abuse, sexuality (including lesbianism), male dominance of the social hierarchy, female empowerment — from a radical, militant point of view.

The similarly confrontational music favored raging, willfully amateurish blasts of noise, with only a rudimentary sense of melody or instrumental technique. Riot grrrl’s abrasiveness served several purposes: it ensured that the anti-corporate music would never achieve alternative rock’s crossover success (the label that released the highest percentage of riot grrrl records was called Kill Rock Stars); it defied stereotypes of women (and female musicians) as meek, overly sensitive, and lovelorn; and it found a powerful expressive tool in noise.

To most riot grrrl bands, the simple act of picking up a guitar and bashing out a screeching racket was not only fun, but an act of liberation. To outsiders, the musical merits of riot grrrl could be highly variable, but to fans, what the movement represented was arguably even more important than the music.

The riot grrrl movement was mostly centered in the Seattle/Olympia, Washington area; several exceptions included England’s Huggy Bear, as well as several grungier groups like Babes in Toyland and L7, who fit the spirit of the style but were more tangentially related to its ideology. It was mostly rooted in punk’s DIY ethos and tradition of protest, but in terms of direct inspirations, Joan Jett was lionized in many quarters of the movement for her simple, punky hard rock, confident sexuality, and independent business sense.

Riot grrrl’s emergence coincided with an explosion of female talent in other wings of alternative rock, and the term was frequently misapplied in media accounts of the phenomenon, which incorrectly labeled more accessible alt-rockers like Hole and PJ Harvey as riot grrrls. True riot grrrl bands — Bratmobile, 7 Year Bitch, the queercore outfit Team Dresch, and the center of the riot grrrl universe, Kathleen Hanna’s Bikini Kill — never even approached popular acceptance.

Since most bands weren’t very prolific, the movement’s initial flash of enthusiasm faded after a few years, but it continued to enjoy a lasting impact in indie culture, where the original bands helped inspire countless feminist zines and were still looked up to as icons and role models. Kathleen Hanna continued to record with several different projects, and scene veterans Sleater-Kinney became critically revered indie stars several years later, thanks to their ability to blend riot grrrl’s passion and ideals with hookier songs and intricate instrumental technique.” AMG All Music Guide

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ÁLBUNS COMPLETOS:





A ORAÇÃO PUNK DO PUSSY RIOT – Documentário escancara os detalhes do levante anarco-feminista russo-ucraniano

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PUSSY RIOT: A PUNK PRAYER

De Mike Lerner e Maxim Pozdorovkin (2013, 1h 28 min)

ASSISTA O FILME COMPLETO:

“Art is not a mirror to reflect the world, 

but a hammer with which to shape it.”

BERTOLT BRECHT

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Provocativo, excitante, instigante, indignante, hilário… esses são alguns dos adjetivos que acodem à mente para descrever este documentário sobre o Pussy Riot. Veja cenas explícitas e sem-censura das performances do grupo – incluindo “Orgia No Museu” e “Occupy Praça Vermelha”. E saiba mais sobre o contexto do aprisionamento das garotas, que foram condenadas a 2 anos de prisão por terem entrado em uma catedral de Moscow e berrado um punk-rock desafinado contra o “ditador Vladimir Putin”.

As garotas do Pussy Riot transformaram a performance artística, o teatro improvisado e a provocação punk em um espetáculo-freak que sacudiu a Rússia inteira e inflamou o debate sobre liberdade de expressão, fanatismo religioso, perseguição política contra dissidentes. O caso ecoou mundo afora, e até figuras como Yoko Ono e Madonna saíram em defesa do “Levante da Buceta”.

Segundo o diretor Maxim Pozdorovkin, todo o bafafá e polêmica causados pelas riot grrrrls do Pussy Riot equivale ao fuzuê que ocorreu na Inglaterra, circa-1977, com a explosão dos Sex Pistols, cuspindo na cara da Rainha, da EMI e do caralho-a-quatro. As cenas do julgamento do Pussy Riot indicam claramente que o processo criminal contra as garotas tem a ver com outra causa além da liberdade de expressão e o direito do artista de se manifestar sua discórdia com o status quo: o que está em questão também é o Estado Laico, ou melhor, sua ausência na Rússia de Putin, onde o Estado e a Igreja Ortodoxa agem em estreitas e íntimas ligações.

O Pussy Riot só foi em cana por causa da “blasfêmia” que foi entrar numa Catedral e botar a boca no trombone contra o governo Putinesco e suas frequentes violações da laicidade do estado (que era um dos ideais da Revolução bolchevique de outubro de 1917). Enfim… vale a pena embarcar neste filmaço que relata como o punk rock feminista e a arte de protesto sacudiram a Rússia e desnudaram a faceta autoritária e repressiva da era Putinesca (com suas leis homofóbicas e suas gulags na Sibéria para artistas blasfemos…).

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Pussy Riot 5

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NOW magazine (Toronto):

“Note to authoritarian regimes: don’t think you can mount a show trial if the defendants are more media-savvy than you are. This and about a dozen other ideas – including the value of performance art and the power of Putin – are behind this kick-ass doc about Russian punk art collective Pussy Riot and the trial that ensued after the group put on a guerrilla performance – playing an anti-Putin anthem – in Moscow’s central cathedral. Charismatic arrestees Masha (Maria Alyokhina), Katia (Yekaterina Samutsevich) and especially Nadia (Nadezhda Tolokonnikova) and coverage of the trial and demonstrations both for and against Pussy Riot give this pic electrifying energy. See it.”

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Maxim Pozdorovkin, director of

Maxim Pozdorovkin, director of “A Punk Prayer”

Hail Pussy Riot. But, says doc director, learn some basic history first. By SUSAN G. COLE
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Ah, Pussy Riot! Instinctively, we love them – especially given their home country’s human rights record – but many of our assumptions about the brazen Russian art activists are false.

The case of the female threesome who became a worldwide cause célèbre when they were charged with hooliganism and jailed after their anti-Putin performance in a church is badly misunderstood.

So claims Maxim Pozdorovkin, co-director of Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer.

For starters, Pussy Riot isn’t a punk band. The arrested women are members – though their standing among their comrades is in question now that they’ve blown up worldwide – of a loose collective of artists, filmmakers and journalists working to create a different iconography for protest.

“They see themselves as contemporary artists determined to bring theatre into life,” says the hyper-articulate director on the phone from New York City. He’s there on the eve of an Amnesty International benefit, where recently released activists Maria Alyokhina and Nadezhda Tolokonnikova are set to appear – introduced by Madonna. He’s hanging out with them and planning to make a short film of the event.

“I always said that the story was misrepresented in Russia and in the West – I’m not sure where it was worse,” Pozdorovkin declares.

In Russia, they’re wrongly accused of being anti-religion, he claims.

“And in the West, it’s assumed that because they were a punk band singing an anti-Putin song, they went to jail. That’s nonsense. If they’d sung the song outside of the church, or anywhere else, no one would have cared.

“They had done so many things before that you’d think would’ve landed them in jail. In the U.S., for example, you couldn’t do the orgy in the National History Museum [explicitly shown in the film] and not go to jail.”

Pozdorovkin, who grew up in Moscow, played in punk bands and has a PhD from Harvard in found-footage filmmaking, is almost apoplectic at the idea that Putin’s regime can be compared to even the lighter anti-gay side of Stalinism. He sees more chaos than control in the new Russia.

“One of the biggest mistakes Westerners make is seeing the oppressive aspects of the arrest and trial as somehow organized and coming from the top down. That’s simply not the case.”

It was the women themselves – not the Russian authorities – who requested in a motion that the trial be filmed. The motion was granted, resulting in some of the doc’s most mesmerizing footage. A Russian news agency did the shooting, and Pozdorovkin, blown away by the quality of the initial rushes, then set the project in motion.

Though he allows that Pussy Riot are incredibly media-savvy, he says they weren’t totally aware of what they were getting into by making their statement inside a church.

“They didn’t mean to offend people. They felt they had the right to do what they did, and that maybe they’d be fined for, say, trespassing, but not be criminally charged. There’s something about the story that’s anachronistic, beautiful, idealistic.”

But the radical troupe is changing the way people look at performance and politics, which was precisely Pussy Riot’s intention. Soviet culture had never before been confronted by punk ideals and conceptual art on a mass level.

“The public awareness that you got with [the Sex Pistols’] God Save The Queen, that never happened in Russia until Pussy Riot.”

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PATTI SMITH: Discografia completa de 1975 a 2012 (“There’s a million membranes to break through…”)

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PATTI SMITH
Discografia completa de 1975 a 2012:
http://bit.ly/1lFmtzp (torrent, 320kps, 2.6 gb)

1975 – Horses [30th Anniversary Legacy Edition] 2 Disc
1976 – Radio Ethiopia
1978 – Easter
1979 – Wave
1988 – Dream Of Life
1995 – Paths That Cross – 2 Disc
1996 – Divine Intervention
1996 – Gone Again
1997 – Peace And Noise
2000 – Gung Ho
2002 – Land – Best Of 1975 To 2002 – 2 Disc
2004 – Trampin
2007 – Twelve
2011 – Exodus – Live 1978
2012 – Banga

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“It’s better to burn out than to fade away” – 20 Anos Sem Kurt Cobain (1967-1994)

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It seems to me quite ironic and ambiguous that a band named Nirvana was actually the living and struggling embodiment of what Buddhists call Samsara. As if he was bound to the wheel of craving and suffering, Kurt Cobain screamed his guts out just like I imagine Prometheus (so beautifully depicted in Rubens’ painting) screamed day after day as the eagle devoured his liver. Nirvana is perhaps the most tragic rock and roll band there was, seen from the perspective of Cobain’s death, but it ‘s also one of the most exciting pages of rock history in the 1990s. It inspired us, with its punkish courage, to take mainstream culture by assault. Off with commercial shitty kitsch! He wanted art to be undiluted expression of raw and true emotion, communicated through the means of songs bursting with juvenile energy, suicidal tendencies, drug experiences, Beatlemania, and an up-bringing in what he called “a punk rock world”.

 He violently departed from us, 20 years ago, in April 1994, by blowing his brains out with a shotgun on his 1-million-dollar mansion, chez lui on Trigger-Happy America. When he chose suicide as a way-out-of-the-Samsarian-mess, his daughter Frances was 20 months old and couldn’t possibly understand anything about the struggles of a heroin addict with his condition as an international pop-superstar. Singing as if he was a tree rooted in dark angry soil, his voice seemed to arise from an abyss of suffering, especially located in an intense point of pain inside his belly. That invisible wound made tremendously audible by his music rang so true and filled with authenticity, in an era of poseurs and fakers and hair-metal yuppie cowshit. Lester Bangs once wrote that “expression of passion was why music was invented in the first place”, and Cobain also seemed to believe in this – and he wasn’t ashamed to put his “dark” emotional side, from depression and paranoia to sociophobia and alienation, to craft the punk-rock hymns that turned him unwillingly into The Spokesman Of A Generation. Extraordinarily capable of expressing his feelings, Cobain’s heart poured out of himself like lava from a volcano, letting us peek through a sonic keyhole into the labyrinths of an anguished life seeking release and craving for pain to end.

Cobain’s musicianship was spectacularly exciting and innovative – even though he borrowed a lot from a similar heavy, distorted and fast guitar-sound, similar to the one invented and mastered in previous decades by Johnny Ramones and Mick Joneses – he created out of that something that was distinguishable his own. Cherishing intensity rather than complexity, and emotional catharsis more than rational self-controlness, Nirvana’s music carried within it some much power that the whole thing mushroomed into one of those rares episode in music history when a band becomes History, defines an Era, before burning-out instead of fading-away. I call them “The Exploding Stars”. I would argue, If you permit me to trip a little bit on some stoned hypotheses, that Cobain’s voice spoke to millions, and his music stirred up such an intense commotion, because of the authentic and desperate artistical expression that he was able to create out of his Samsarian suffering. In 1991, the kitsch of American pop culture – from Michael Jackson to Guns’N’Roses – was suddenly kicked in the butt by the 1990s equivalent to MC5’s Kick Out The Jams to the 1960s and Nevermind The Bollocks, Here’ The Sex Pistols to the 1970s.  

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And here we are, 20 years after he took a shortcut into that land which no voyager ever comes back from (like Shakespeare’s Hamlet said), discussing his legacy and trying to understand his life and his death. Violent deaths occur every day and all the time, of course, and why should the death of a rock star be made so much fuzz about? The thing is: American Culture is deeply influenced by the realm of Pop, which is a money-making-machine mainly, of course, but sometimes explodes out of control and becomes a cultural force that manages to transcend the markets. It becomes something to be dealt with by Art History, by Sociology, by Philosophy, by Anthropology, by Existential Psychology etc. Or do you perhaps think that the more than 60 people who committed copycat suicides after Cobain’s demise in 1994 related to Cobain only as consumers do with manufacturers of products? Could we possibly say that the more than 5.000 people who went to his funeral, and joined in a candlelight vigil, were merely mourning because they had lost one of their hired entertainers? What about more than 50 million records sold (how many billions of downloads, I wonder?): did all these listeners heard Cobain just as a manufactured commodity? No! Cobain had an authenticity arising from the trueness of feeling underlying his music, and this set him apart from everything that was going on in “Mainstream American Culture” in that era.

Nirvana kicked the door to the ground for Underground America to step into the spotlight in 1991, “The Year that Punk Broke” (when Sonic Youth signed to a major; when Pearl Jam and Soundgarden skyrocketed to the top of charts; when Seattle’s scene became “The Big Thing” in a process juicily conveyed by Hype! , the documentary). Violent and untimely deaths happened all around Cobain while he experienced and interacted with people from the music scenes of Aberdeen, Olympia, Tacoma and Seattle. Prior to Cobain’s suicide, there had been other tragedies in Seattle Rock City: for example, Mia Zapata‘s cold-blooded murder in July 1993, when the singer-songwriter of The Gits (one of the awesomest “grunge” bands that never made it to the Mass Media…) was raped and killed after leaving a bar in Seattle. Or the fatal-OD that took to an early grave Andrew Wood, singer in Mother Love Bone (whose remaining members went on to build Temple of The Dog and then Pearl Jam).

* * * * *

TWO GRUNGY TRAGEDIES BEFORE COBAIN:  MIA ZAPATA’s murder (watch below the full The Gits doc) and ANDREW WOOD’s fatal OD (listen below to the tribute album by Temple Of The Dog, wich contains the grungy-hymn in which Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell share vocal duties, “Hunger Strike”).

* * * * *

Suicide is common currency in rock’n’roll mythology. The Who had screamed in the 1960s, for a whole generation to hear: “I hope I die before I get old”. Neil Young’s “Hey Hey My My” stated that “it’s better to burn out than to fade away” – a phrase later to become one of the most quoted from Cobain’ suicide letter. The Dead-at-27 Club had already a plentiful of members – Hendrix, Morrison, Janis… – when Nirvana’s lead singer joined them on this fraternity of bones. His originality was in his means-of-death: he was the first of them to have commited suicide. But did he really choose to leave life in order to become myth? Or such ambitions were not the case for someone craving to escape a labyrinth of angst, rage, stomach-aches, annoying fame, never-ending tours and chronical dissatisfaction? To get back to my point in the beggining of this trip: isn’t suicide, in Cobain’s case, an succesfull attempt simply to blow to smithereens the whole damned Samsara? After all, this man was an extremist not only in art but also in life, and it’s quite possible he entertained extreme notions about what Nirvana was all about.

 Nirvana’s music was not Zen at all – it was the sound of fury delivered in packages of Beatlesque melody and punkish attitude. When, 20 years ago today, he chose utter self-destruction, this was hardly a surprising ending for someone who had talked openly about suicide for years and years, and who had previously attempted it some times before, and who almost named the follow-up to Nevermind with the phrase I Hate Mysef And I Want To Die… Not surprising, but still mysterious and fascinating and hard to fully understand. Some writers and interpreters see Cobain’s suicide as something despicable, and criticize him for being a sell-out who couldn’t enjoy his success, or a kid who couldn’t stand his “tummy-ache” and chose some dumb radical medicine. In his article “An Icon of Alienation”, Jonathan Freedland writes, for example, about Cobain’s Last Days (also portrayed in cinema by Gus Van Sant):

“Generation X-ers are meant to be the slacker generation, yet here was the slacker-in-chief living the yuppie dream: married, padding around a $1.1 million luxury mansion with a garden for his baby daughter to play in, and Microsoft and Boeing executives for neighbours. It proved to be no refuge for Kurt Cobain, the boy who had come from blue-collar nowhere and made himself an international star and millionaire. Holed up inside the house overlooking the perfume-scented lake, he pumped his veins full of heroin, wrote his rambling suicide note, and did so much damage to his head that police could only identify his body through fingerprints. Dental records were no use, because nothing was left of his mouth.” – JONATHAN FREEDLAND, An Icon Of Alienation.

Some say some sort of suicide gene or tragic curse ran in the Cobain family: three of Kurt’s uncles had killed themselves. But the picture, of course, is much more complex than the “family tree” explanations wants to admit. It’s well known that Kurt Cobain was deeply pained both by stomach-aches and by childhood traumas (he was, every journalist repeated to exhaustion, the “son of a broken home”). His heroin-addiction, which he justified as a means of self-medication, it seems to relate also to some frantic need to numb his existential discomfort and disgust, to reach periodically some “artificial paradises” similar to the ones experienced by Baudelaire, De Quincey, Burroughs, Ken Kesey and tons of other artists and mystics. But no explanation of his bloody choice of escape from life can be convincing without a discussion about Celebrity, Fame, Success. As Will Hermes wrote in Rolling Stone magazine: “The singer-songwriter, who wrestled with medical problems and the drugs he took to keep them at bay,  was also deeply conflicted about his fame, craving and rejecting it.”

That’s what makes Nirvana so interesting: a punk band kicking out the jams in Sub Pop records turns into the highest-selling band in the world and becomes rich on the payroll of a major record company – Geffen. I would like to attempt to reflect briefly upon some of the reasons that explain Cobain’s suicide, but without venturing to give a comprehensive biography of the man or his band – a job already done brilliantly by Charles Cross’s Louder Than Heaven, by the Nirvana bio written by Everett True, or by the documentary About a Son by A. J. Schnack.

Let’s head back to 1991, when Nevermind exploded into the mainstream pop arena and became a cultural phenomenon of huge proportions. This landmark album wasn’t only a big commercial hit, destined to sell more than 30 million copies worldwide. It wasn’t only one of the greatest rock’n’roll albums ever made, with songs so powerful that Simon Williams describes them as “savage indictments of the rock ethos, eye-bulging, larynx-blistering screamalongs”. It wasn’t only a passing fancy of youngsters who would completely forget about the band when the next wave of pop novelties came along. Nevermind was an era-defining masterpiece of epic proportions, the most important album of the whole grunge era, the record that stands out in the 1990s as something unique and unsurpassed. It kicked out the jams with its raw power and heartfelt catharsis, and finally punk rock aesthetics and ethics became common currency and were delivered to the astonished masses. “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, a song named jokingly after a deodorant, and in which Cobain said he was merely ripping off The Pixies, took MTV by storm in 1991 and buried for awhile the Disco-Yuppie-Crap and the Hair-Metal-Bullshit. It kick-started the Grunge Era and opened the gates wide open for the Seattle scene to become immensely influential through Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Mudhoney, The Screaming Trees, and many others. For the first time ever in the U.S., it seemed like Punk Rock was gonna win its battle and inject rebelliousness and dissent into the veins of American suffering from a hangover after the Reagan-years in Shopping Centerish Yuppie America.

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 “Nirvana have also been seen in sociological terms: as defining a new generation, the twentysomething ‘slackers’ who have retreated from life; as telling unattractive home truths about a country losing its empire and hit by recession; as representing the final, delayed impact of British punk on America. They have also shocked people by trashing male gender codes: kissing each other on the national network show Saturday Night Live, appearing in dresses in the video for their single ‘In Bloom’, doing pro-gay benefits. We may be more used to this in Britain, but America is a country with much more machismo in its popular culture. A sensational appearance on last year’s globally broadcast MTV Awards, where they smashed their equipment and mocked rock competitors Guns N’Roses, sealed their status as America’s bad boys…” JON SAVAGE, Sounds Dirty – The Truth About Nirvana

 Nirvana wasn’t political like The Clash, but yet they certainly did a political statement with their career. Kurt Cobain shoots himself in the head and his brains get splattered all over the American Dream – that thing that, George Carlin said, “you have to be asleep to believe in”. Nirvana was much more about a provocation, à la William Burroughs (Cobain’s favorite writer), on the despised Square Society of White America. It’s punkish agression against Yuppie bullshit. It states that music shouldn’t be seen only as product or merchandise, and that it can convey emotions that can “infect” large portions of society with its groove, its stamina, its mind-expansion and energy-raising powers.

Kurt Cobain could be described by psychopathologists as clinically depressed or bi-polar – it’s known he had familiarity with Ritalins and Lithiums and other creations of the Pharmacological Industries in Capitalist America. But Nirvana’s music is not only a downer – on the contrary, Nevermind cointained so much power that it seemed like it was capable of awakening a whole generation out of its lethargy and inaction. But Cobain couldn’t and wouldn’t be the “leader of a generation”, the preacher telling in the microfone for the converted masses which way to follow. He wouldn’t become a parody of himself (“I hope I die before I turn into Pete Townsend”, he said), he wouldn’t be a happy millionaire smiling for the papparazzis, he simply wouldn’t conform to letting Nirvana become a sell-out act of merely market-wise relevance. With his death, he turned Nirvana into a symbol for decades to come, a band never to be forgotten.

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 “The sleeve of Nevermind shows a baby swimming underwater towards a dollar bill on a fish hook. The intended meaning is clear: the loss of innocence, the Faustian contract that usually comes with money. Take it, but if you do, you’re hooked for life. It’s a parable of Nirvana’s current dilemma: they’ve taken the bait, but the contradictions of their success are threatening to tear them apart. How can the members of Nirvana retain their integrity, which is very important to them, in a situation which demands constant compromise? How can they sing from the point of view of an outsider now that they’re in a privileged position? How can they suffer relentless worldwide media exposure and still retain, in Grohl’s words, ‘the spontaneity and the energy of something fresh and new’ that has marked their career?” – JON SAVAGE

“Teenage angst paid off well, now I’m bored all old”: that was the statement that began In Utero’s sonic ride. In it, Cobain wants to take us with him on his downward spiral, never afraid to let the songs show his inner confusion and Samsarian suffering. He didn’t believe in a loving God acting as a Daddy up above on the clouds, looking out for their pet-children, but rather was seduced by Buddhist notions, for example that of Karma. Nirvana’s music seems like some sort of ritual of Karmic cleansing, in which Cobain attempts, through a visceral outpouring of emotions, especially the ones that are burdensome, to attain some release.

But he didn’t arrive at no Enlightnenment – not even plain and simple piece of mind. In Rome, March 1994, he attempts suicide with more than 50 pills of Roipnol. He couldn’t stand the never-ending tours, the stupid interviews, the persecution by papparazis, the fans acting like Neanderthals, the need to repeat for the thousandth time “Smells Like Teen Spirit” – even in those nights when we didn’t felt like doing it. He simply wasn’t able to “enjoy” the ride of popstardom inside the Commercial Machinery of Profit Seeking Corporate America. When Rolling Stone did a cover issue with Nirvana, Kurt Cobain wore a t-shirt that read: ‘CORPORATE MAGAZINES STILL SUCK’. Even tough he hated Corporate America, he was immersed in it, and it had the means for him to take his message to larger audiences instead of limiting himself to the narrow world of punk-rock and indie concerts where you only preach to the converted. Nirvana never did corporate rock, but instead they did dangerous music that the industry soon discovered that resounded with millions of people worldwide. To call them “sell-outs” is narrow-mindedness. They tried instead to deeply transform Mainstream culture by taking it by storm. This is one of the most influential bands in the history of rock because it inspired us to reclaim the airwaves out of the hands of those fuckers Terence McKenna talks about in “Reclaim Your Mind”:

He never felt at ease or at home under the spotlight of mass media, gossip magazines, commercial TV shows. Always a punkish outsider and underdog that never quite fitted into the mainstream’s machinery of popstardom, he identified himself with feminists, oddballs, weirdos and other non-conformist and eccentric individuals and urban tribes. He despised pop icons like M. Jackson or Axl Rose, and loved The Pixies, The Raincoats, Young Marble Giants, all sorts of lo-fi and low-budget underground “indie” stuff. Even tough proto-grungers such as Husker Du’s Bob Mould, Black Flag’s Henry Rollins or The Replacements’ Paul Weterberg done something similar to Cobain both musically and lyrically, neither exploded internationally like Nirvana to wide-spread impact on thousands of lives.

I remember him as punk rock kid from a fucked-up town filled with macho-men rednecks, and who expressed his rage against mainstream American culture with extraordinary talent. I remember him as an aesthetic extremist who loved William Burroughs stoned literature, and who entertained himself in his Aberdeen years with peculiar fun such as watching Faces of Death after eating hallucinogenic mushrooms. I remember him also as a sometimes sensitive and tender guy who had pet-turtles in his bathtub and hated in his guts all sorts of homophobia, misoginy and Neanderthal stupidity. I remember him as a music geek that loved underground music and did everything in his power to invite his audience to listen to his favorite “indie” artists (like Pixies, Breeders, Meat Puppets, Vaselines, Daniel Johnston, Beat Happening, Flipper, Bikini Kill, Half Japanese, Billy Childish, Butthole Surfers…).

David Stubbs, in his article “I Hate Myself And I Want to Die”, writes:

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“Rock’n’roll mythology is fed and defined by its occasional deaths. Usually, these are due to some excess or other – driving too fast, getting too high, taking too much, going too far, the romantic pushing back of life’s envelope, testing the limits, wanting too much, wanting it now, forfeiting tomorrow in the bargain. Rock’n’roll mythology dictates that its heroes die because they wanted to live too much. Kurt Cobain, however, didn’t want to live. He wanted to die.”

It can be said that he’s the most perfect embodiment in rock music of  Nihilism, that cultural phenomenon which Nietzsche predicted, in the 19th century, that would become wide-spread. Cobain radically acted upon his nihilism, towards his self-destruction, what sets him apart from other famous nihilists, like Emil Cioran or Arthur Schopenhauer, who died of old age and so-called “natural causes”.

The man died, but his deeds are still with us, haunting us like Prometheu’s scream as he’s being eaten by an eagle, inspiring us like a Punk Monument to raw power in an age of slumber, provoking us like a tragic character which awakens us to a life that ain’t no picnic. There’s reason to mourn and get the paralysing blues when we considerer Cobain’s suicide, but there’s also reason to cherish and celebrate a life that has left a legacy that millions of us feel that have enriched our lives. Cobain struggled in Samsara and that makes him a member of a brotherhood called Humanity. Nirvana always sounded to me like the music of a brother, expressing what we, his brothers in suffering, also experienced but were unable to express so powerfully and unforgettably as he did.

[By Awestruck Wanderer]