Hidden Tracks (+ Kickstarter news)

The idea that Henry would somehow save up to visit America had seemed ridiculous. But he set aside his wages from cooking burgers at Uncle Sam’s until he had enough for a flight and a hire car, even if he had to sleep in the car a few times.

It was all because of Nirvana. We’d been up to London to see them at SOAS the year before, missing the last train back because Henry tried to meet the band. They’d only released Bleach at that point, but we were obsessed by it. Henry had read some interviews and wanted to see the town they’d come from.

The trip to America lasted a couple of weeks, with Henry coming home a few days before his postcards. We went out for a drink, and he seemed different – not least because he now held his cigarette between thumb and forefinger. We sat in the corner of an old man’s pub and worked through a pack of Lucky Strikes that he’d brought back. Smoking American fags seemed so cool.

Henry told me about his adventures – dodgy bars, long drives, wandering through the woods – and a girl named Hazel, who drove with him from Seattle to Aberdeen for his pilgrimage to Kurt Cobain’s hometown. 

(Our friend Emily thought that Nirvana came from Aberdeen in Scotland, and couldn’t figure out why it was taking Henry so long to save up. When we realised, we took the piss. But Emily got a first in her degree and I was a long way from that)

Driving on the highway with Hazel, Henry felt like an outlaw. Him and Hazel had shared the stories of their lives, and he shared her story with me, a far off look in his eyes like he was back driving on the Interstate. He was in love with Hazel, and lay in bed smoking as she snored nearby, wondering what he should say to her. They were sat at a bar in Aberdeen, their last-but-one night together, when she told him she had a boyfriend at Evergreen State College, and could Henry drop her there on the way back?

Well, it was sad, but he told me the sadness of it wasn’t not the point… he’d fallen in love with an American girl, but he was also in love with the concept of American girls, as well as that Northwest landscape. I think he was gone from that point.

Henry started saving to return to America. The job at Uncle Sam’s was gone, but he found one in a chip shop that made his clothes stink. We still met for drinks, but he would make one pint last for three of mine. I remember him being particularly unhappy then, as his parents had announced a divorce, which he took as a personal insult – I mean, he’d expected them to break up when he left home, but holding on for another couple of years made it a shock.

Nirvana brought out their second record that next year. The day it came out, both Henry and I skipped work, buying the album that morning, listening to it on repeat while smoking squidgy black. We didn’t like the record’s production, but we were happy to have new Nirvana songs. We could tell Nevermind was going to be huge, but we had no idea how big. Nobody did.

It was a good time, going to pubs and gigs while dressed like lumberjacks. Even Emily stopped listening to hair metal and bought any grunge record the NME or Maker recommended, making tape copies for me and Henry. We still took the piss about how she’d thought grunge came from Scotland, doing bad accents whenever we talked music with her. Henry came out less, desperate to save money, not even going to see Nirvana headline Reading – and he loved the band more than any of us.

Henry told me how he used to put that last track on Nevermind on repeat – Something in the Way. There was ten minute’s silence before this abrasive noise jam. Henry spent an evening recording the last actual song onto a cassette so he could listen to it on repeat while he slept. You’ve heard that one, right? It’s ridiculously slight. It’s the song about Kurt Cobain sleeping under the bridge in Aberdeen.

I didn’t know Henry was going until he vanished. His flat was empty, he’d not even told the chip shop he was moving on. All I got was a postcard a few months later, a picture of the Seattle skyline – made it, I’ll be in touch. His mother wrote me a letter, god knows how she got my address, told me Henry was my best friend, and did I know where he was. I sent her a short note along with the card, and never heard from her again.

It was 1993 before I made it to America myself, a cheap flight in the Spring just after In Utero came out. I made the same drive from Seattle to Aberdeen that Henry once took with Hazel. When I reached that bridge from Something in the Way it was much smaller than I imagined, just a single-lane highway on slender metal supports. You’d not have been able to camp under it. The river Wishkah ran below it and seemed tiny, like something you’d see back home. I didn’t stay, just got in the car and drove back to Seattle.

Background

Thirty years ago today, Kurt Cobain was in Seattle, having cancelled Nirvana’s European tour following an overdose in Rome. There was a failed attempt at rehab in LA before Cobain returned to Seattle, shortly afterwards taking his life in an upstairs room above a garage.

At the time, I was a huge fan and had a ticket to see them play live. Cobain was an inspirational figure. For someone at an all boys school, surrounded by misogyny, Cobain’s interviews were a much-needed introduction to feminism. I was also uplifted by the interviews he gave promoting In Utero, talking about how he’d beaten his depression and was finally happy. That didn’t turn out so well.

I’ve written a few stories about Nirvana, and for a long time had intended to write a book-length piece about the band; about how the public perceptions of Kurt and Courtney’s love affair changed over the years. It was another one of those projects that ended up being more notes than text.

Kickstarter

I’ve been chatting with Dan from Peakrill Press, and we’ve set a date for launching the True Clown Stories kickstarter: March 21st. We’ve uploaded a preview page where you can sign up to be notified on launch.

The clowns in this book are not the creepy ones from horror stories. Rather, these are talented people who’ve found themselves in a world that doesn’t value their skills. These are stories about how they fight back against that disappointment.

This book has been far too long in the works and I’m excited about launching the kickstarter. Nervous too - it’s so much harder to promote things online these days. But we’ll see what happens.

Recommendations

On Sunday night, the winners of the 96th Oscars were announced. I had decided to watch all ten nominees for Best Picture. Tracking down screenings and streams took a little work but was fun. While several of them left me cold (and I loathed Poor Things) I’m glad I made the effort. I’ve done a quick summary of what I thought on my blog and there are more detailed responses on my letterboxd account.

For me, Oppenheimer’s victory was not particularly interesting. I thought that Zone of Interest was by far the best nominee. It’s a domestic drama about the life of Rudolf Höss and his family. Höss was commandant of Auschwitz and the film is a chilling portrayal of evil. We never see inside the walls, but there are sounds and smoke from what is happening. The film is shot in a dispassionate way, adding to the mounting horror.

I saw Zone of Interest in a cinema with my friend Katharine and it was an amazing experience. The sound design was incredible. I’m finding it very hard to forget the portrayal of normal life continuing alongside atrocity.