Volumes upon volumes have been written about Nirvana over the past two decades—their effect on underground rock, pop music and eventually pop culture—and especially on enigmatic frontman Kurt Cobain, his childhood, the meaning of his lyrics and journals, his influences, shoe size, favorite candy bar, right down to retracing the last 48 hours of his life. Sometimes it feels as though the band’s music can get lost in the minutiae.
That seems especially true of Nirvana’s third and final studio album, In Utero, a record that understandably remains obscured by the shadow of 1991’s Nevermind, as well as the band’s own legend. Grunge would become damn-near as popular as disco 15 years before, as labels gobbled up watered-down versions as fast as they could, and established rock bands scurried to make darker, heavier, “grungier” records. Not to mention Nevermind—along with Metallica’s Black Album—simultaneously made it OK for jocks and moms to listen to punk rock and metal. It turned into Bizarro World for those who had been listening to underground music for years.
In Utero was, of course, an ideological reaction to all of that—from the choice of Big Black’s Steve Albini to produce, to the album’s imagery and recurring themes. And it was effective, and at times effectively ham-fisted in its delivery. But viewed as a singular artistic vision, In Utero is easily Nirvana’s best work.
Cobain committed suicide seven months after the album’s release. An overdose on prescription drugs and alcohol in Italy on March 3, 1994—which left him in a coma, one month before his death—proved to be the writing on the wall. Cobain’s death, in a way, diminished what the band had accomplished on In Utero. It was seen more as Nirvana’s final record, the final document of a band that changed the world, than something to be listened to and enjoyed.
Twenty years has a way of making you re-evaluate things. Important things, as well as music. I was 20 when I purchased In Utero in September of 1993. Listening to it now I still get goosebumps, but for different reasons. Instead of trying to decipher the meanings behind Cobain’s lyrics, I’m more preoccupied with the way he sings and screams them. And rather than getting caught up in the record’s thematic “fuck you” to Cobain’s unwanted, but deeply desired success, I find myself getting completely lost in the tangle of guitars helping to deliver that message.
In Utero is a fantastic guitar album. Along with 1989’s Bleach, it’s full of deceptively nimble guitar work and well-timed noise bombs (I’m always surprised when people gripe about Cobain’s name appearing on “Best Guitarist” lists). Look no further than opener “Serve the Servants,” which explodes on a sour note, presumably meant to immediately let listeners know that this thing would not smell like Teen Spirit. It’s one of the best songs on the album, with a wiry riff and an even squigglier solo. From there you get the heavy pop of “Very Ape” and the rusty hook of “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle.” More noteworthy are songs like “Scentless Apprentice,” “Milk It” and “Radio Friendly Unit Shifter,” which forego Cobain’s proclivity for Knack power pop, and dig deeper into the darker, less tuneful noise of Sonic Youth and Saccharine Trust. “Milk It” is especially rigid and torched, and it still makes you wonder if this was the sound of future Nirvana albums that were never to be.