In the summer of 1991, I was a 19-year-old college kid who couldn’t stop thinking about the new songs I’d heard Nirvana perform live: “Breed,” with its driving power; the Beatlesque “Drain You”; and especially the bombastic anthem “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” which I’d seen them debut at Seattle’s packed, tiny OK Hotel that April. Nevermind wasn’t out yet, but I knew the song titles because I’d seen Nirvana again in June and swiped the handwritten setlist from the stage, just below Kurt Cobain’s mic stand. I was sure new music was coming soon, and I was desperate to hear it. I searched record stores, scoured tiny mail-order ads in record collector magazines, and bought bootleg 7″ singles, hoping one might contain what I was looking for. Nothing did, and I spent the entire summer feeling like the song repeating in my head was the best-kept secret in the world.
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