Nirvana biography captures the heyday of the grunge era

"Nirvana" the book is a lot like Nirvana the band: fascinating, troubling, with long stretches of darkness and tedium, and flashes of brilliance that make it all worthwhile.

"Nirvana: the Biography" (DaCapo, $19.95), published today — the 13th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's suicide — is an inside account by Everett True, the British rock journalist who performed with Nirvana onstage many times, introduced Cobain to future bride Courtney Love and is "Uncle Everett" to Frances Bean Cobain, their daughter, now 14.

True formerly took credit for coining the word "grunge" to describe the explosion of punk-rock that came out of the Northwest in the late 1980s and early '90s, but he admits in the book that Lester Bangs, the late rock critic, should get credit for applying it to punk. True confesses to first using the word as a writer for New Musical Express, or NME, the British rock weekly for which he wrote under the name The Legend! (his real name is Jerry Thackray; he adopted his current nom de plume when he went from NME to its rival, Melody Maker). Still, the book's cover touts True as "the man who invented grunge." True first came to Seattle in 1989, shortly after joining Melody Maker. SubPop, the local record label that was the first home to grunge, paid for the trip. And, while journalistically questionable at best, and outright unethical at worst, it was a wise investment, eventually making SubPop's owners millionaires.

But True was more interested in Olympia than Seattle, and the overarching theme of the book is that laidback Olympia was the true source of grunge. It all started to go wrong, according to True, when grunge — essentially Northwest because of its wild, crazy edge, going back to the Sonics, the Wailers and the Kingsmen in the '50s, and its heavy beat — migrated to the big city of Seattle.

At first, True preferred Mudhoney, whom he says is the essence of grunge, and Tad, mainly because the guys in those bands became his drinking buddies. But the more he sees Nirvana perform, and watches them grow, the more he appreciates Cobain and company. He calls "Nevermind," Nirvana's masterpiece, released in 1991, "the album that defined an era."

More than anything, True's book captures that era. If you want to know what it felt like to be in the middle of the exciting grunge movement in its heyday, when it was all ours, True is by far the best guide. He captures the noise, heat, excitement, close quarters and dance madness of early grunge shows in Aberdeen, Hoquiam and Olympia dives and, finally, in Seattle's. Like those dives, "Nirvana" is alcohol-soaked. Everybody, including True, seems to be drunk all the time. True says that he doesn't remember a lot because he was drunk, and writes "Half the time, doing interviews for this book feels like being at an AA meeting." You hope that he eventually writes about quitting, but he never does.

While True is passionate about what he likes, he is even more so about what he hates.

Eddie Vedder is dissed in the second paragraph of the book, and Pearl Jam is constantly ridiculed. True despises local author Charles R. Cross, making fun of his acclaimed Cobain biography, "Heavier Than Heaven" ("mythology," True sniffs), and the music monthly Cross edited and published, The Rocket. True delights in pointing out factual errors in Cross' book, like the first Nirvana show in Seattle (it was at the Central Tavern, not the Vogue), when Kurt met Courtney (a year before Cross claims), and that the heart-shaped box he supposedly gave her and immortalized in song never existed (Love made that story up, True says). True excoriates The Rocket for not championing grunge before he did.

He takes great pride in being the first with the most when it comes to grunge and Nirvana. He admits that he delighted in being the ultimate source everyone turned to when grunge ruled, and that the gates of the Cobain mansion in the Denny-Blaine neighborhood were opened to him after Cobain's death. "I couldn't help feeling I was being allowed access to the rock journalist's ultimate dream," he writes. "A guest list to die for. Sorry for the black humour."

True's book does go on — for 688 pages. There are way too many tangents, including copious notes at the end of every chapter. He can't seem to edit anybody, including himself. There are long interviews with seemingly everyone remotely associated with Nirvana or grunge. There are even too many pictures, although some that have never been published before are interesting.

"Listen to the music," he writes in the introduction. "Why do you feel the need to know more?"

And he's right. While reading this book, I listened to Nirvana's music. And, more than 15 years on, it held up. Sounded better than ever, in fact, because we're back in a time of bland, corporate rock. Right now, we need another Nirvana.

Patrick MacDonald: 206-464-2312 or pmacdonald@seattletimes.com