(This article was originally published in the May 1994 issue of SPIN.)Our story begins where it ends, at 5 a.m., in a parking lot in Seattle's warehouse district. Hole is huddled together against the side of some huge delivery truck, forcing expressions at once eager and snarly on to their spaced-out faces, while a photographer snap, snap, snaps. For most of the night, guitarist Eric Erlandson, drummer Patti Schemel, and bassist Kristin Pfaff, a.k.a., Hole's lesser known three-fourths, have been inside a photo studio's office area, hypnotized by a crappy TV, flipping aimlessly between infotainment and the late, late news. Meanwhile, their leader, an elaborately lit and consumed Courtney Love, is in the next room vamping her way through what seems like a hundred rolls of film. Occasionally, she rushes in, changes clothes, then rushes out, joking guiltily with her cohorts.
(This piece was originally published in the June 1994 issue of SPIN.)In John Lydon's autobiography, Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs, he compares Nirvana to Eddie and the Hot Rods, a late-'70s R&B bar band who'd lucked into a little popularity and acclaim during the dawn of British punk, when any group with short hair and short songs were temporarily mistaken for revolutionaries. "It really annoys me," Lydon writes, "...when [Nirvana] say they were influenced by the Sex Pistols. They clearly can't be. They missed the point somewhere." My first thought on reading this was, Jesus, what a clueless fool. But thinking more about it, I realized he had a point, however reductive and however inadvertently self-indicting.Lydon, who likes to characterize himself as a talented troublemaker, can't see Nirvana for the darkness and length of his own shadow.