Journal Journey
Week 15: 10 April 2016
The anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s death passed this week with very little fanfare. It’s been 22 years. Twenty-two years since he took his own life. Or was murdered, depending on what you want to believe. It’s not an anniversary that I want to dwell on, but I do want to share with a story that’s at the heart of one of the many reasons he death still resonates so deeply.
11 April 1994
Kurt’s suicide has fucked me. Sitting in Afro-American Lit class thinking about Mark Lanegan’s “Where Did you Sleep Last Night,” Sonic Youth’s “100%,” and Blake Babies “Nirvana.” Glen Torbert wrote a great article in the Flambeau. I never met Kurt. I felt like I knew him. Maybe nobody knew him. His songs made me feel good. They still do. He touched me in a very real way. This isn’t something I’ve manufactured. My pain is real. The loss is real. The anger is real. I can touch it — it rolls down my face.
Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be another post about depression. And I’m not going to make you relive that other tale that’s mildly related to Nirvana. Instead, let’s focus on where I was when I found out about Kurt’s death.
A few days before I wrote that 11 April entry, I was sitting in the music office of WVFS-FM. At the time, I was its Metal Director which is a fancy way of saying that I co-hosted a show every Wednesday night where I got to play the heaviest stuff sent to the station in a glorious five-hour block of headbanging mayhem. It also meant that I had to take phone calls from record labels and promotion companies who were trying to make sure the bands they represented were getting played on one of the very few shows in Florida still dedicated to heavy music.
It was Friday morning, probably around 10 a.m., and the phone rang one more time. When I answered, I was happy to hear a familiar voice on the other end. “How are you?” The question wasn’t out of the ordinary, but the timing was. I usually talked to Christine earlier in the week, but a surprise call from an ex — both girlfriend and V89 employee — was a welcome reprieve from the pressure to play certain bands.
“I’m great,” I probably said, because I never wanted her to think I was still pining for her.
“Oh, shit — you don’t know, do you?”
This quote I remember vividly. But our next hour or so on the phone is still a blur.
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I spent a ton of time at V89. Christine was the one who talked me into auditioning for an on-air spot. We met when I was working at Vinyl Fever, and she told me about an upcoming Cattle Call, an open audition for anyone who wanted to work at the station. After a couple of interviews, and a ton of training, I hosted my first solo shift.
At 2 a.m. on a summer Sunday morning, I cued up the first song I was ever going to play on V89: “Dirt” by the Stooges. I was in love.
Those next four hours were a combination of panic and elation, but I couldn’t have been happier. Ever shift after that was no different. I was learning about new bands every time I took to the airwaves. I had no idea if people were listening most of the time, but it didn’t matter. I had access to the largest collection of music I’d ever seen, and I was determined to listen and learn about each and every disc.
What I didn’t realize was how much I was learning about myself. The years I spent in and out of that booth in the Diffenbaugh Building introduced me to a DIY attitude that has helped in so many, immeasurable ways.
Want to see a band?
Invite them to play your house.
Want to be in a band?
Grab some instruments and get some fellow staff members in a room.
Want to record some songs?
Figure out how the production room works.
Want to release those tunes?
Form your own record label.
Want to be with people you love?
Volunteer for another shift.
I’ve always loved music. Kiss was, and I guess still is, somewhat of an obsession. But V89 is what led me to find so much more. Jack Rose. Rahsaan Roland Kirk. Neurosis. Drive Like Jehu. Nirvana, of course. And thousands more.
In some respects, V89 is as crucial in creating the man I am today as my parents are. It helped define me. It’s where I found my tribe. It’s where I’ll always feel at home. And today, it’s where I’ll be sending some of my money to make sure they can continue doing what they do best: giving people like me the opportunity to immerse themselves in the music they love.
I got here #viaV89. But I’ll never be able to fully repay them. Maybe you can help?
