This shirt is a photograph of Kurt crashing into Chad Channing drums at the legendary Raji's gig on February 15, 1990. Printed on a soft spun cotton black Unisex T-Shirt, with the Nirvana logo printed on the back. Would make a perfect gift for the music lover among your friends family or even yourself!
Unisex Large: Pit to Pit = 20.5” | Length = 25.5”
Unisex Extra Large: Pit to Pit = 22” | Length = 27”
Photographer Charles Peterson: "Everything just came together, partly because the club was so small and the crowd so enthusiastic and I was just on. I got some really amazing photos. The woman on the far left who has hair in her face, that's actually Donita Sparks from the band L7. Kurt is throwing himself back and forth and [Sparks' friend's] finger is inches away from his face. When you can incorporate the audience into [a shot], it tells that much more of the story. Sometimes you go someplace and people just stand around. I think it was the L7 girls that were really inspirational that night. Sometimes it just takes a few people from the crowd to make it come together."
Review of the show: Gold, Jonathan. “Punk-Rock Heaven from Northwest’s Nirvana.” Los Angeles Times 17 February 1990: Calendar F8. In his book “Lipstick Traces,” semiotician Greil Marcus says something to the effect that any great punk song can sound like the best song you’ve heard before in your life. At Raji’s on Thursday, Nirvana, a noisy power-trio from suburban Washington State, sounded for the moment at least like the best punk band you’ve heard in your life; deep-deep metal riffs repeated as relentlessly as beats on a hip-hop record, washes of guitar white noise, singer Kurdt Kobain bellowing punk koans above the din. Sample lyric: “I’m a negative creep, I’m a negative creep, I’m a negative creep…” The bottom grabbed your guts in a way you may not have experienced since the Germs broke up. And some of the crowd was actually pogoing. Nirvana, the newest poster boys from Seattle’s white-hot Sub Pop Records stable, are masters of that sort of anarchic hard-rock fullness you might associate with Jimi Hendrix. That’s for half the set. The other half, neo-psychedelic ditties roughly structured like Seeds songs or something, seems thrown in the way the Kronos Quartet will toss in some Bartok or a nouvelle French chef will sometimes serve you up a pot-au-feu, just to let you know that they can work in a classical vein if they want to. But Nirvana doesn’t work as well as adenoidal teen heroes – you can hear all the words, for one thing.
Notes: John Frusciante from the Red Hot Chili peppers was at that show
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