A few weeks ago there was a thread about the acts which defined each of the preceding decades. During the course of that thread, as is the way of the Afterword, the mighty Nirvana were once more traduced as being not all that great. Obviously, I – and, I’m sure, all right thinking others – harrumphed righteously at the very notion, and then promptly disappeared down a months-long rabbithole of Nirvana listening which has lead me to emerge more convinced than ever before that they’re fanfuckingtastic and shit all over your favourite band, so there.
However, in what is a sure sign that I’ve now spent too much time with all the misty-eyed, retrowanking nostalgics who patrol these halls, I did more than just listen to Nirvana. I also went on a major early-90s culture jag: maybe it’s the dual-effect of the Cerebus thread, but suddenly I experienced a burning desire to go back and re-tread much of the music, film and literature I was discovering at aged 14, circa 1993.
If I may go full-Hepworth, for a moment, the exercise served to clarify for me that 1993 was a wonderful year for music if you were young and » Continue Reading.