If you’ve ever met me, you know I’m an early 90s girl through and through. Think flannel, think Bill Clinton buttons, think impassioned arguments about Pearl Jam vs. Nirvana (Just kidding. I don’t talk about Nirvana, ever.)
“Grunge” to me never meant a movement, never meant ONLY dirty, disheveled, disenchanted. Grunge was an evolution of rock and roll, a transition away from the glam and excess of the 80s and into a culture of DIY—homemade mixed tapes, friends designing posters for other friends in bands, garage punk, guitars around campfires with people you love. Basically, love itself, plus creativity and a healthy dose of cynicism. A reincarnation of hippie culture, with a world-wise edge. A consciousness, and a conscience, about being a good citizen, making art, helping others, and, you know, stickin it to the man. Beyond the music and the ripped jeans, those ideals are still my ideals, even if they got warped into marketing tools. Grunge 4eva.
A lot of people ask me why I listen to the same music over and over again. Continue reading