Sharing Nirvana

There have been a lot of tributes and eulogies written for Kurt Cobain on this, the 20th anniversary of his death, some very honest in the grim reality of suicide, others relying on sensationalist bullsh!t (to 'click~bait' their cheap articles). Me? I was (shotgun)bang in the thick of it: a 23 year old metalhead who after witnessing Gun n' Roses go from L.A. dive bar to Wembley Stadium thanks to the stunning Appetite for Destruction, was now seeing Nirvana throw a sonic nailbomb into the Platinum party. (And even for a fan of bands like Motley Crue and Poison, it was comical watching glam rockers cut their girly hair and attempt a shot at grunge music).
Grunge music was a venomous shot in the 90s arm after the bourbon soaked gems of 80s hard rock, and the awesome thunder of bands like Metallica and Slayer. To a creative twenty something, seeing the almost anarchic madness unfold before my eyes was was very exciting. Up until then, mainstream radio was reluctant to play what was labelled 'heavy metal' and most imagined fans to be long haired, shabby morons headbanging to a tuneless racket (no matter how much I tried 'educating' them with Motorhead's 'Ace of Spades').
The fact I am a poet/writer who, like Kurt, was also using alcohol and drugs whilst shrugging off the norm, made me understand him even more. Hell alive, take away the magazine covers and arena tours, we could have been the same lost kid, looking for a voice. Neither of us afraid to write about misery and death, me with my poetry, Cobain with his beautiful music (and it is beautiful. Afterall, agony has a unique glamour all of its own.
Nirvan were a great band, 'Nevermind' a permanent rainbow's arch.
I was thrilled (at first) when Nevermind shot them into the wider universe in 1991. It was the new Back In Black, Master Of Puppets, the fresh faced De Niro, eager to show a previously ignorant world just how pretty and hard (or pretty hard?) we liked it. This melodious slab of screeching guitars and orchestrated catastrophe topped with singed vocals was King. A shabby Elvis come to show that angry music could indeed win over the doubters. Heavy metal, punk, grunge, call it whatever, it suddenly became accepted, cool even (insert shocked smiley here). Nobody groaned when Nirvana came on the radio, or pub jukebox.
Here was a band lifted straight from the pages of Metal Hammer, suddenly appearing in 'serious' music magazines and even the 'Art/Culture' sections of broadsheet newspapers (where is that shocked smiley again)? It didn't stop there either (of course music fans know grunge didn't start with Nirvana but we won't go into that here), and soon Pearl Jam, Soundgarden et al were sharing the limelight.
A shame it was so short lived but then, and without being too overly dramatic, life's highs (both natural and chemical) and butterflies always find the quickest path to the morgue. Savour the good times for they are fleeting and seldom hang around to see an encore. So it was with Kurt and his boys (although the boys/songs remain). I was drinking in a pub in my hometown in west Wales when I heard news of Cobains suicide in 1994, and it soured my drink some. I always knew Kurt was a reluctant rockstar, you didn't have to be a genius to know that reading some interviews but suicide? By shotgun? It seemed so vulgar, especially after that gentle accoustic performance on MTV Unplugged.
Some would say it was a fitting end . After Kurt's suicide, the banshee guitars and murderous drum solos could retire back into denim covens where Lemmy was God, and trendy pop lovers could breathe a sigh of relief again as dance floors reverted to monotonous digital, pulse~like tunes. Poetry in music was gone, its chief bard, a shabby Shakespeare dead by his own hand.
And you want to know something? The young Dai Jakes was glad (though not by the frontman's passing obviously). Glad because I wasn't really happy sharing 'my' music for long. Initially I was proud to have the worlds ear cocking its head to grunge and heavy metal, it proved we were more than Jack Daniels soaked ruffians but it also felt like an invasion of privacy. I had something good, something cool and while it was nice sharing, it did feel good to have it back again.

Now we plum haired, coffee eyed darlings of the leather nights can go back to making magic between ourselves.

Toodle pip for now!

No Jake's Joy over Kidnappers Suicide

Looking nice?

So Ariel Castro, the Cleveland kidnapper has been found hanged in his prison cell? The creep was was found about 9.20pm yesterday at Correctional Reception Center in Orient, Ohio, just one month into his 1,000 year prison term.

Look, don't get me wrong here, im Pro death penalty, so its no loss in my eyes but! I am also in conflict with myself because I believe he got off way too lightly. Have you seen photos of the cell (or similar cells) this guy was kept in? There is one above. His suffering is over, I would also prefer the stiff n' blue option against spending any amount of time in one of those. Then of course there is the fear thing. Castro would have been a marked man in gaol, spending every day, every hour of that day, watching his back, wary of a 'shiv' being plunged into his podgy flesh. Or an eye gouging (these inmates can be terrible with their jailhouse retribution.) He is free of that now too.
Also, because I do not believe in such a place as 'hell', and think we all (sinners included) go to a gentle paradise after we die, its even harder to take this news and I cannot see much to be happy about. It is pretty evident to me that to a lot of folk death is a mighty taboo, the hideous dark to end all darkness; but to me (and there others who feel the same) death is not so frightening, it doesn't posses that dreadful clout and therefore my jubilation at the news of Ariel Castros demise will not include shouts of "YES!" and "Burn in hell!" Because I truly believe he has cheated the 'hangman'.
Here in Great Britain, the vile Ian Brady is on his 47th year in captivity and guess what? He is begging for the right to end his pathetic life. The worm has been on hunger strike for years but the high security hospital he so deeply despises, keeps on force feeding him in order to deny him his freedom. Death is escape. Death is no more weakness of flesh. Death is becoming pure. Death is freedom.
Of course we all hold different beliefs, this is the beauty of Life and there will be thousands of merry people today, celebrating Castro's descent into hell or some other eternal damnation. Good luck to you, enjoy your day but brief it will be. Rather like this cretins sentence.

Prank Too Far

Dai Jakes resisted the urge to air his views on the 'Royal Prank Call' until today because to be honest I have been too angry to get my thoughts in order; and had I published them on the day that the sad news broke it would have come out like a wall of 'white noise', seething with rage and spewing profanities toward anyone in a corked hat, drinking Fosters. But attacking blindly is the fools way so I decided to hold off the blog until I gathered my thoughts some more and calmed down.
We all know the story by now and my heart goes out to the loved ones of Jacintha Saldanha, a nurse who by all accounts was dedicated to her job and a devoted mother. Sad times indeed and I pray they have the strength to get through this awful time. Some cannot understand how a person could take their own life after being 'pranked' by a radio show but not everyone is the same, everyone has a different breaking point. Take internet trolling for instance. It doesn't bother me in the slightest because to me its just words on a screen but others find being trolled a real problem. Mrs Saldanha was humiliated globally by two Australian dimwits and the strain must have been immense, resulting in the tragic consequences.
The thing I don't understand is why prank calls are considered comical in the first place? Seems a very low form of comedy which doesn't need an awful lot of creativity. The type of stunt bored teenagers would do during breaks of Call Of Duty. Cheap humour aimed at those in even cheaper seats.
As for the DJs themselves, well the less said about them the better I feel. Especially when they turned their public apology into a sickening display of "we are victims too, sob". (I can feel anger pricking my skin again.) Victims? No. Halfwits? Definately and I hope their careers in radio are finished for good and we never see or hear from them again. It is supposed to be the season of good will toward all but Dai Jakes is all out in regards to these two. And now i'll sign off to calm down again. Cheerio!