Kurt and Kurt

It's not often I'm moved by the death of a celebrity, and even less often that I am inclined to comment on said death. As I'm sure you know, Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday. I read all his books up to "Timequake," and I remember them as a single body of funny, insightful, sincere writing. His passage is bittersweet, for by the day of his death he had lived to see his art having real meaning in a culture suffering from a dearth thereof.

I'm reminded of the last time I was moved by the death of a celebrity. Kurt Cobain died in 1993, and I cried that day, too. Cobain left us a body of insightful, sincere writing as well, although it was too sincere to ever really be funny. I'm sure fans of both Cobain and Vonnegut will take exception to my daring to compare them, but at 30 I happen to be the perfect age to be feeling the influence of these two artists, each of whom, in their own way, perfectly describe the modern age as what happens when great hope and great fear must learn to coexist. When they coexist well, we get art like "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Breakfast of Champions," and when they do not, we get art like "Scentless Apprentice" and "Player Piano." I believe Vonnegut and Cobain saw no ultimate difference between contemporary hope and contemporary fear. This vision sustained Vonnegut through a lifetime of whiskey, allowing his creations time to mature and ferment, but it killed Cobain as soon as he tried to raise a child. I make to claim to understanding why Vonnegut lived so long and well, and Cobain so short and painfully. I simply observe that this is so, and listen to what Kurt and Kurt have said.

So Cheers to you both, Kurt Vonnegut and Kurt Cobain. Thanks for all the fantastic art. My life is better, more interesting and more colorful because you were here.