Nirvana destroy Top Of The Pops
Following on from Michael Lavine’s seminal portrait of Kurt and Courtney for the cover of Sassy! [pssst, he also took the photo for the Nevermind album cover], we got the inside word from British music journalist, and infamous Nirvana bedfellow (in the least literal sense of the word), Everett True on Kurt, Courtney, and those damn persistent rumors: ‘No, I don’t believe he was murdered. I don’t particularly go into this in my most recent Nirvana book — partly through lack of time, partly through lack of interest — but let’s view it this way. Examine any event that has happened in the past, however trivial, and discrepancies will appear. 9/11. John F Kennedy. The death of Princess Diana. The fact my cat had to be put down at the age of sixteen. Why I forgot to take my iPod to London this morning. All of these could be contested, violently and with real — and valid — opinion. That’s because history does not exist except in books. Suicide is particularly ripe for innuendo: after all, the only person who can tell you what really happened is — er — dead. Still. I have nothing against conspiracy theories, especially if they’re fun’.
‘That moment in the Nick Broomfield film Kurt And Courtney where Il Duce is talking about how Courtney offered him 20,000 bucks to knock off Kurt – genius! In a weird twist of fate, Krist Novoselic and Kurt Cobain actually fronted a mid-Eighties Aberdeen tribute band to Il Duce’s former sex-fuck group, The Mentors.
‘Still. What do I know? I have only information and hazy recollection and paranoia on my side, and they rarely are decent bed companions. You believe what you believe and I’ll believe my version — isn’t that what history is all about? Here’s another ironic slant: for a decade, I refused point blank to speak to people wanting to speak to me about Kurt Cobain, sometimes quite rudely. ‘How’s the bloody money going?’ I pointedly enquired of one professional biographer. Who’d want to be Johnny Rotten for thirty years, continually retracing the same three months of your life for an ever-dwindling circle of admirers?’