April 8th is a day that has two particular significances to me. This year, however, with the haste of daily life, I almost forgot about both of them.
The first is that April 8th is widely celebrated as the Buddha’s birthday. While not being a Buddhist, Buddhism played an essential role in my life during my college years. Before realizing that I was really a Gnostic, I “experimented” with some of the thoughts, ideas and customs associated with Buddhism. I became vegetarian. I contemplated moving to a Buddhist commune in Arizona. I went to see the Dalai Llama. I did everything except shave my head, listen to the Beastie Boys and watch a Richard Gere movie. I still think that no matter what faith one might proclaim, the Eightfold Path of Buddhism would make a valuable study to gain perspective on how to live a practical spiritual life. For example, even if people would just put Right View, the first step of the Eightfold Path, to work the world could be immediately and drastically transformed for the better.
The second important thing about April 8th is that it is the twelve year anniversary of the discovery of Kurt Cobain’s body. Kurt Cobain was in a band that was big in the 90s called Nirvana. Back when I heard about Nirvana, I thought they had some good songs and all, but I wasn’t really taken by Nirvana in the way that everybody else seemed to be. I was a huge pop music type of guy at that time. Nirvana seemed way too loud and unintelligible to warrant much of my attention. I mean, if they had something to say, maybe it would have been different.
The turning point, however, came when I awoke one evening during my ultra-depressing “first” freshman year of college. I turned on the TV to catch whatever show would make me forget about the struggles I was having at school. Lo and behold, the Nirvana Unplugged special was on. Maybe I was carried away by the lyrical sensitivity of the thing. Maybe it was all of the flowers and candles on the stage which made it look like a solemn funeral. Maybe it was the slightly more acoustic renditions of songs that I’ve heard on the radio. That performance changed my whole view of Nirvana and of music in general.
I went out and bought an acoustic guitar with a couple hundred bucks my dad gave me for Christmas and started taking lessons. When I got fed up with the structure of lessons, I played around on my own and started networking with other musicians. I wrote my own lyrics for a few songs the world may never hear. I expanded my musical horizons, knowing that this music was an alternative. The “alternative” to what, I always asked flippantly. In retrospect, it was an alternative to Color Me Badd, Milli Vanilli and New Kids on the Block and all sorts of other late-80s garbage that did a real disservice to me by turning me into a complete pussy.
Three months after the original airing of Nirvana Unplugged, Kurt Cobain shot himself. There is some “allegedely” in this, depending on who you talk to. Some days I tend to give credance to these rock-and-roll conspiratorialists. The state of music today might be a hell of a lot better with Nirvana still around. It’s not like Hole was able to carry the banner of rock-and-roll righteousness into the twenty-first century. So maybe someone offed Kurt Cobain and destroyed Nirvana so that the airwaves could now by ruled by Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Hillary Duff and other tone-deaf sluts from the Disney Channel. Maybe one band didn’t make a difference in the overall scheme of things, but to me it did. Whenever I’m tutoring a high school student, the discussion of music usually comes up. I typically say something like, “In my day, we had a band called Nirvana”. They would give me the official “you’re a stale fart” look and tell me that they have never even heard of Nirvana.
So what do these two seemingly unrelated things have in common? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, close to absolutely nothing, other than Nirvana being a concept in Buddhism and part of Kurt Cobain’s ashes having been spread at a Buddhist temple. To me, however, they’re commemorations and reflections on two things that were important to me more than ten years ago. Thinking about them makes me a little happy, but also a little sad. But like some sappy lesson from some tear-jerking movie, no matter how removed from the everyday, these things are still with me. So perhaps this week, I’ll fold my legs over each other, take a few deep breaths and clear my mind. Then, I’ll pull out my old six-string or maybe even rip an oldie-but-a-goodie and rock out for a few hours. Either way, I’ll just end with a “Hey Man, Nice Shot“.
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