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Pounding the Pavement and Cobain stories

by John Sewell

Choosing a summer read is often a challenge: especially if you’re not interested in the usual paperback editions of pop bestsellers, chick lit or the pernicious deluge of diet books. Sure, nobody wants to read Tolstoy on the beach. But then again, nobody with a brain is seeking out another romance novel or spy thriller.

The rock bio is a good alternative for music lovers and for the average Joe who enjoys a little celebrity dirt-dishing. There are three variations to the rock bio: band forms, gets huge, somebody dies; band forms, gets huge and subsequently breaks up; or band forms, gets huge, breaks up, gets back together and becomes a chart-topping monolith of boring old farts (see Aerosmith).

The summer of 2004 has ushered in a couple of interesting glances back into the early days of grunge and the Gen-X “alternative nation.” Funny, it seems like that stuff was happening just last week...

Author Rob Jovanovic, who has previously mustered up tomes on Beck and R.E.M., returns to the fray with Perfect Sound Forever: The Story of Pavement.

Though the book gets off to a slow start for neophytes to the band, it quickly takes shape as an engaging look into the world of indie cum commercial rock music and of the interplay and ego clashes between musicians.

Pavement, who quickly rose from a 7-inch vinyl phenom to become standard-bearers of ’90s college rock and later graced the stages of Lollapalooza, was a staple of college radio (remember college radio?) in the grunge era, never exactly falling into a fashion-dictated niche.

Perfect Sound Forever starts off with a little too much information about the members’ pre-band days, wallowing in the minutiae of embryonic music influences (What teenager from the ’70s didn’t like KISS?) and collegiate comings-and-goings. But once the coverage centers on the band, readers—even those who are relatively unfamiliar with Pavement’s oeuvre—are drawn in.

The primary conflict within the ranks of the band was lead singer/guitarist/lyricist’s Stephen Malkmus’ emergence as figurehead: the sole member to eventually call all the shots. You’ve probably heard similar tales of rock ‘n’ roll power struggles, but author Jovanovic shows all sides with a gamut of quotes from band members, tour crew, and anyone else involved.

Personally, I’ve never been a huge fan of Pavement. But reading Perfect Sound has inspired me to check out the band’s back catalog, which, incidentally, has just been remixed and reissued.

Pavement might’ve been big players in the ‘90s, but they were far, far eclipsed by the Gods of Grunge, Nirvana, and the subsequent legend of St. Kurt.

Authors Max Wallach and Ian Halperin, who previously penned the conspiracy tome Who Killed Kurt Cobain?, are back with another whodunit on the same subject, Love and Death: The Murder of Kurt Cobain. Funny, the book appeared in stores around the 10th anniversary of Cobain’s death and the accompanying deluge of dead-horse-flogging at the wailing wall of the music press.

Love and Death’s subtitle suggests that the authors will present concrete evidence of Cobain’s murder, the book instead serves up a smattering of conflicting details of Kurt’s last days that never gel into anything conclusive.

Nonetheless, Love and Death brings readers salacious details of Kurt’s sordid last days, which will certainly entertain the legions of gravediggers, young and old, who have selected Cobain as their suicide savior. And that’s just the first half of the book.

The key player in the book’s second hemisphere is that ever-engaging rock ‘n’ roll trainwreck and coattail-rider, the ubiquitous Courtney Love. With what probably amounts to too much detail, Wallach and Halperin do prove that Love, who is as pharmacologically conflicted as one can be, was broadcasting conflicting messages to friends and media alike in the days immediately after Cobain’s death. The authors never make any clear accusations, only showing that Courtney was trying to skew public perception of Kurt’s suicide.

Dear Ms. Courtney, who seems to prefer negative press and claims to be a feminist while employing the talents of male scenesters (Cobain, Corgan, Trent Reznor, Falling James, the drunk guy at your local punk club, et al...) to write the bulk of her music, clearly was up to something, but the “evidence” served up in the form of endless phone transcripts and decade-old rumors can only provoke some head-scratching—not a murder warrant.

A few other rock ‘n’ roll losers (El Duce and wannabe porn rocker Allen Wrench) throw in their two cents in Love and Death, but it’s clear that these two flakes were mere pawns who would use any negative press to make it in the news.

Both Love and Death and Perfect Sound are interesting and entertaining reads, for different reasons. While Perfect Sound provides an overview of the machinations of the rock ‘n’ roll business and the interchange between band members, Love and Death is pure tabloid fodder and shoddy “journalism.” Clearly, Perfect Sound is superior in terms of writing and insight. But sometimes, especially for poolside (or toilet seat) reading, everybody can enjoy a little trash—just for the heck of it.

June 10, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 24 © 2004 Metro Pulse