On Tuesday night Boog City held a “40th Birthday Party” for Kurt Cobain at Cake Shop.

I’m going to wax nostalgic for a bit. I remember the teenage angst, skater sneakers, and borrowed cardigans. At my parochial school, it was pure bliss when some deejay blasted Nirvana at the school dance, an automatic allowance for moshing.  Forget slow dancing with the requisite space for the Holy Ghost between two pimply pubescents.

Kurt was the original UNCOOLKID: drawn out, dirtied, admittedly confused about his sexuality, embittered, and maybe just a little bit bored. He hated the public’s fascination with him (not like most celebrities today, who complain about the attention during sit-down interviews, then mug for the cameras as they make their ever-graceful exits). The more we loved him, the more he hated us. If he was alive, he would be disgusted with his own birthday party, and he probably would have showed up strung out, if he showed up at all.

Look, the guy was a mess. But the mess was his music, and the music was beautiful, no matter how ugly he tried to make it with his wretched voice.

In spite of all this, or maybe to spite it, it all came to a bullet in the head in April of 1994, but the intrigue lives on. Tortured souls have since tried to mimic, but it will never work the same way.

So on Tuesday my friend and I were really looking forward to hearing Nirvana tunes played in honor of Kurt’s would-be birthday. The girl working the door to the basement gave my friend’s suit the once-over as she took our money.  I noticed the sign behind her simply said “KURDT”.

Downstairs was no great shakes.  It looked like…a basement.

Nearly an hour later, the first band came on. The “band” consisted of two guys on electric, no bass, and no drums. And no voice to speak of, but you couldn’t tell the singer that. It was too loud down there. The first two songs were off of Nirvana’s “Bleach” album, though they were so bad that I had to look at the program to figure that out. During the third song, I turned to my friend and asked, “Is this supposed to be ‘About a Girl’?” and he, the box set obsessed Nirvana fan, shrugged.

When the Olga Gogolas left the stage I breathed relief. The next act, a solo musician who goes by the name “Limp Richard”, played “School”, “Love Buzz”, and “Paper Cuts” with some skill.

But then the Gogolas took the stage again.

I think that Kurt, Dave, and Krist sounded better in Krist’s mom’s basement when they first started out. I wasn’t there, but I am willing to bet any amount of money.

I left before hearing a single track off “Nevermind” or “In Utero”. Forget about “Unplugged”.  Someone should’ve unplugged their amps.

If he wasn’t cremated, Kurt Cobain would be spinning in his grungy grave.