This weekend I am attending my 10-year high school reunion. I suppose that dates me pretty well. John Hughes flicks were my point of reference for misunderstood teen angst; the irreverent irony of Moonlighting was the chosen mood for my generation; and Appetite for Destruction was the defining statement of us-against-the-world rebellion. I suppose you might as well just tattoo a big X on my forehead.

In fact, it was 10 years ago this month, on my birthday, that Guns N’ Roses released the long-awaited follow-up to Appetite, Use Your Illusion I & II—which my mother, sweetheart that she was, bought for me. I’m sure she never bothered to check out the lyrics of “Back Off Bitch” or “Pretty Tied Up” to see what Axl was teaching us. But unbeknownst to me at the time, the Use Your Illusion albums wouldn’t serve as a proclamation for my generation the way Appetite had. If anything, it would define the childish self-indulgence of arrogant youth that we were leaving behind. No, on this eve of our first steps out into the world, it would be another new record, Nevermind, that characterized this new phase of our lives.

The most powerful changes tend to come out of the blue, but nobody could have predicted that the obscure Seattle trio Nirvana would be knocking the self-proclaimed “King of Pop” Michael Jackson off the top of the charts by the end of the year. But they did, and it was largely due to the cathartic appeal of the moody, inscrutable anthem “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

The first time I ever heard the song, I was driving home from college for a long weekend, listening to the Clarence Thomas hearings on NPR. I recall being exasperated with the testimony, wondering who in the world would think that placing a pubic hair on a Coke would be funny or seductive, and why they happened to be carrying one around in the first place. Switching the station, I looked for something familiar but instead found this song that jumped out of the speaker and demanded that I listen. I recall, even on that initial hearing, being able to connect with this mumble-to-scream statement of raging ambivalence. When you consider the utter interchangeability and insignificance of most of what you hear on the radio today, that’s pretty remarkable.

Thanks to the 10-year anniversary, a lot of writers will be dissecting “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and Nevermind this month. As part of the audience that Nirvana first captivated—and that the media tried so fruitlessly to understand—I know why they struck a chord. In many ways, Nevermind really was everything those Use Your Illusion albums weren’t. Although it shared a similarly defiant attitude, it wasn’t filled with braggadocio or cockiness. Despite the commanding guitars and authoritative drums, it was suffused with a sense of guilt and insecurity. There was something more up-front, more honest about it, even if the words seemed at times oblique—we’ll probably argue to the end of time just what the “denial” is that Cobain’s screaming about at the end of “Teen Spirit.”

I think texture and structure were key to this song. That switch from mid-tempo, halfheartedly articulated sentences to an exultant wail was the sound of coddled kids inheriting a changing world that offered no clear definitions of right or wrong. It was the sound of desperately wanting a direction and sense of purpose. It was the sound of a generation that, to paraphrase Paul Westerberg, had no war to name them.

And for a while there, it seemed like maybe we’d find a purpose. Nevermind, along with the entire scene of Seattle bands and other like-minded “alternative” artists, seemed to unite this generation, despite the recurrent themes of alienation and apathy. You certainly have to wonder whether, without this galvanizing album, Bill Clinton would’ve had the youth vote that helped put him in office. But just like the ’60s’ quick fade into the commercialized ’70s, we find ourselves a decade later with a Bush in office and a skin-deep pop culture that’s more interested in racking up sales than in evoking feeling.

Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl wanted to remind you of different times with an anniversary boxed set of unreleased Nirvana material. Unfortunately, and perhaps significantly, Cobain’s self-absorbed widow, Courtney Love, may have prevented that by legally blocking the use of one song in the set—which was already in the works for an October release. She argues that the song would be better served by being included on a single-disc greatest hits package. Thanks, Courtney. Great way to honor everything your husband stood for and the fans who loved him, by favoring commerce over art. It may not be my generation on MTV these days, but we need a “Smells Like Teen Sprit” now more than ever.

Prophets of rage

Kurt Cobain’s music led him to becoming something of an idol for a generation—a status cemented, unfortunately, by his misguided suicide. Most of us involved in any sort of creative pursuit have an idol from the impressionable days of our youth. In my own case, it would be the late standup comedian Bill Hicks.

If Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor are the respective Father and Son of the standup world, Bill Hicks is undoubtedly the Holy Ghost. Starting out at the age of 15, he was part of a group of daring, abrasive comedians who came out of Texas—a group that also included his friend Sam Kinison. Hicks would never achieve Kinison’s notoriety, which most likely is because he had bigger fish to fry. Rather than exorcise the pain of relationships and a wild lifestyle like Kinison, Bill Hicks was obsessed with destroying hypocrisy and elevating mankind beyond its tired, arcane beliefs.

This might sound like fairly heavy stuff, something Hicks himself acknowledged whenever he would interrupt a fiery rant to reassure the audience not to worry, “there’s more dick jokes coming.” But the weight of his topics never ruined his infallible comic timing and unyielding wit. Hicks died of pancreatic cancer in 1994 at the age of 32, right when he appeared poised to break through to a bigger audience.

Regrettably, he never got the chance, but you have a chance to expose yourself to this long-buried treasure when Rykodisc releases the retrospective Philosophy: The Best of Bill Hicks on Sept. 18. It’s an excellent primer, and if you find your curiosity piqued, check out his full-length concerts Reckless, Dangerous, Arizona Bay, and Rant in E Minor, all on Rykodisc. As much as we could use a “Smells Like Teen Spirit” these days, we also need somebody willing to tell us the truth the way Hicks did.

Programming notes

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a piece on Mariah Carey’s troubles and my disdain for all the sympathy she’s drummed up. I received several letters damning me for my cold shoulder to this overprivileged superstar. That’s not a big deal; I’ve gotten hate mail before. What really rubs me the wrong way is that I wrote an opinion piece on the highly contentious issue of stem cell research recently, and not one reader wrote in with a rebuff or a harangue.

It’s good to know that everybody’s got their priorities straight. If you too have been worried about poor Mariah, you can see her do the healthy thing and air her traumas in a nationally televised interview with hard-hitting, tough-as-nails journalist Barbara Walters (yes, I’m being sarcastic) Sept. 12 on ABC’s 20/20.

Quotidian Challenge

"I love myself better than you! I know its wrong. So what should I do?”

Be the first to e-mail the origin of this useless bit of trivia to poplife the shame of your name printed as the winner and some free useless crap from the Nashville Scene!

Previous week’s answer: “What’s the ugliest part of your body? Some say your nose. Some say your toes. But I think it’s your mind.”—“What’s the Ugliest Part of Your Body?” by Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention, off the album We’re Only in It for the Money.

Winner: Kenneth DeGraf

Quotidian Challenge

"I love myself better than you! I know its wrong. So what should I do?”

Be the first to e-mail the origin of this useless bit of trivia to poplife the shame of your name printed as the winner and some free useless crap from the Nashville Scene!

Previous week’s answer: “What’s the ugliest part of your body? Some say your nose. Some say your toes. But I think it’s your mind.”—“What’s the Ugliest Part of Your Body?” by Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention, off the album We’re Only in It for the Money.

Winner: Kenneth DeGraf