In April of 1994, Nirvana frontman and grunge pioneer Kurt Cobain died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He was 27 at his time of death. And though few things are as inexorable as time’s passing, it’s remarkable to think that today he would have celebrated his 50th birthday.
The legendary all-female grunge band L7 is back, playing their first round of shows in 15 long years. They played two New York gigs this week, at Irving Plaza in Manhattan and Warsaw in Brooklyn. They sound fucking great. They look fucking great. It was so much fun. Never go anywhere again, L7.
This is excellent: L7’s original lineup reunited for the first time in 18 years, playing a sold-out show at the Echo in L.A. According to Pitchfork, the bulk of the setlist was from 1992’s Bricks Are Heavy, the best grunge album ever written. Finally, this wave of ‘90s nostalgia bring us something awesome.
It was remarked recently that you know when you're a grown up when you no longer find Ethan Hawke's scruffy, smart-ass character in Reality Bites charming, but see him as the dirty hipster he is. I don't wanna grow up.
Since the 1990s, zines have played a crucial role in bringing awareness of feminism to young women. But with the publication of a new book devoted to Zine culture, one has to wonder, are zines obsolete?
"Why is there this division all of a sudden between people in support of me and people against me? How did this happen? I haven't done anything to anybody! I look at Karl Lagerfeld and John Galliano—everybody has their shtick. And just because this wasn't my shtick two years ago, it's a problem."
Last night's episode of The Simpsons was a flashback look at Marge and Homer's life in the early '90s before they were married, when Homer was in a grunge band called Sadgasm and Marge had a Melrose Place-y hairdo while attending college. The nearly didn't make it, since Marge briefly fell in love with her douche bag…
Once in awhile, by which we mean every Thursday about midway through of the New York Times, a story comes along that is so reedick, on so many levels, its preposterousness reaches a realm of stupidity we'll call metatextual, which is a word we learned (and forgot) back when we were studying for the SATs, which was —…