What happens to the art isn't important. What's important is that it was being made. I remember that raw feeling of someone standing up for what they believe, and not caring what anyone thinks. I haven't felt that feeling in a while.
What a shame that high-caliber musicians could get turned away from music schools simply because they have no desire to read notation. Most schools don't currently have a notation-free track to put them on anyway.
Kurt Cobain's raspy vocals seemed to bellow from the depths of some bottomless lamentful chasm. His music was sodden with a kind of relatable torment, and at times adorned with a beautiful mourning so honest and distinctive that it could never be replicated.
Some of these factions have come in the form of movies, both documentary and scripted. I've seen nearly all of them. Some of are the definition of faction and others, while earnest, miss the mark. Until now.
Here is a wonderful, heartwarming story of how a friend and I helped to be of service to someone who died long ago, to get his music out from beyond the grave and thus fulfill a piece of our own destinies.