Maria

Cut to 1989: Portland was cheap. I was a high school social studies teacher living in a spacious $350-a-month, two bedroom apartment (with balcony and a yard!) in the Belmont neighborhood. It was the good gray time in Portland, before the invasion of irony and long conversations about beer in dive taverns. I could afford to drink cheap Pacific Northwest lagers then still brewed in the Pacific Northwest by union men, and watch band after band and contract hangover after hangover in the exquisitely seedy rock club Satyricon (don’t go there, it’s not there anymore), waiting for a sonic Red Sea to wash away all the leather-clad hair metalers. I remember seeing Nirvana at least a half-dozen times and thinking, well… nothing. I never once had any interaction with the band or their various hangers on, or with anything connected to the burgeoning scene at the time. I just went there to get drunk, listen to loud rock and roll, and throw glasses against the wall.

— Oregon writer Matt Love on Powells.com, in the essay “Nevermind” 20 Years Later: My Liner Notes

(Source: powells)

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