In Utero
Nirvana
Geffen, 1993
Reviewed by
Patrick Kastner
Like a broken promise, Nirvana's third album, In Utero, hints at
greatness to come - only to have it snuffed out less than a year after its release with
the suicide of the band's heart and soul, Kurt Cobain. With angular riffs and caustic wit,
the album draws a map that alternative bands are still trying to follow to a treasure that
will forever remain buried.
Seeing the Bushes and Tools of the rock and roll world follow In Utero's formula
for the better part of the decade makes me really wonder just what would have happened if
Cobain hadn't taken his own life. Surely with him in the lead, most of modern rock music
would not be stuck in the rut it has been for the past few years.
Grating at first listen, classic every time after, In Utero picks up where Nevermind
left off and improves on the former exponentially. Where much of Nevermind owed a
great debt to the Pixies and Hüsker Dü, In Utero's riffs are like nothing we've
heard before. Cobain turns the classic rock guitar riff on its side, marrying dissonance
with rhythm and offering twisted takes on classic pop structures. (No wonder Courtney Love
stood outside the door as Cobain was writing, hoping to catch a discarded riff for her own
use.)
"Serve The Servants" delivers Cobain's trademark irony with amazing and
innovative fret work and a pop backbeat. "Teenage angst has paid off well / but now
I'm bored and old / self-appointed judges judge / more than they have sold," Cobain
challenges to open song and album. Clearly the stakes have changed since Nevermind's
runaway success. His aversion to that success and mainstream approval well-documented,
Cobain purposely made In Utero difficult and abrasive. He dares you to listen,
burying his pop hooks under avalanches of distorted guitars, drums and screams.
Cobain is still a man at odds with his place in the world - musically and otherwise. At
one point he reassures, "I just want you to know that I /don't hate you
anymore," only to follow that line lamenting, "There's nothing I could say /
that I haven't thought before."
This dichotomy is the blackened heart of In Utero. For half of the songs, Cobain
gives his fans sublime ballads that even manage to transcend his past genius. In the other
half, the singer lashes out, seeking to turn off many of the multitudes who had bought Nevermind
but hadn't really gotten the point.
To achieve the latter, Cobain enlisted famed indie producer Steve Albini to rough up the
band's sound. To Albini's merit though, the plan backfired. His sparse production simply
highlighted the virtuosity of the album's players and placed emphasis on Cobain's biggest
strength - his songwriting. Even a song as inflammatory as "Rape Me," with
lyrics begging to be misunderstood, became a radio hit and sort of '90s rallying cry for
those of us being bent over backward by The Man.
Cobain's efforts at caustic songwriting just made the album all the more brilliant. In
Utero is truly one of the few albums made this decade that sounds like nothing that
came before it. Nevermind is definitely the more influential album (It was the
catalyst that started the whole damn thing). But Nevermind is a nod to the past
with a new twist. In Utero is alien territory.
As musically brilliant as In Utero is, its overall tone is darkly disturbing.
Images of corrupted life fill the album. The anatomical model on the album's cover has its
hands open in a Christ pose with angel's wings on its back and transparent skin revealing
inner organs. The back cover (which almost got the album banned from Wal-Mart, pricks.) is
a collage of dead fetuses. And a gaunt, sickly Cobain peers out from In Utero's
liner notes.
Over a driving, urgent rhythm and ultra-distorted, slash and burn guitar, Cobain screams
"You can't fire me because I quit / Throw me in the fire and I won't throw a
fit" on "Scentless Apprentice." Escape, to heaven or hell, is a recurring
theme on the album. On "Dumb," Cobain sings "I'm not like them but I can
pretend" and "I think I'm dumb / Or maybe just happy," seeking tranquility
in naivete of the mentally handicapped.
"Dumb," along with "Pennyroyal Tea" and "All Apologies" are
those aforementioned ballads that transcend the album's irony and cynicism. Cobain thought
so much of "All Apologies" that he had R .E.M.'s
producer, Scott Litt, remix it. A more fitting suicide note than anything he could write
on a piece of paper, these songs speak straight from Cobain's heart.
On "Dumb," Cobain yearns for a better, simpler life, free from the burden of
rock stardom and money. "Pennyroyal Tea" chronicles the singer's struggle with
chronic stomach ailments and the heroin he used to escape the pain. "Pennyroyal tea,
distill the life that's inside of me," Cobain pleads.
"All Apologies" wraps up more than the album. "What else could I write? I
don't have the right," Cobain laments. It's a sadly poignant line, as on top of all
his other struggles, Cobain faced writer's block in his final months. "Everything's
my fault / I'll take all the blame / Aqua seafoam shame," he sings to his family, his
band, his friends, us. He ends repeating "All in all is all we are" fading into
the silence. It was the last new song we'd hear from Kurt Cobain. And it was so magical,
the best thing he'd ever done, a simple circular guitar riff, repeated over and over. All
in all was all he was. And we are all the better for having been a part of it.
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"Truly one of
the few albums made this decade that sounds like nothing that came before it."
Patrick Kastner
- NATN
Contributor
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Related Links
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