Nirvana The Cow Palace, San Francisco, April 9, 1993 In the '60s, rock and radicalism shared a utopian vision of transcendent unity. These days, however, our differences seem impossible to overcome, and rock's activists exhibit an odd, new cynicism. Discussing this benefit concert for Balkan rape victims, Nirvana's bassist, Krist Novoselic (the event's main organizer), stated that he didn't care if everyone in the audience understood the reason for the event. "We'll be getting their money anyway," he said. This attitude -- screw the masses, do what you want -- is essential to postpunk notions of integrity, and it drove Nirvana's frustrating performance. Classic-rock epiphany isn't Nirvana's point; its music is powerful because it captures the state of manic-depression that seems to afflict our society en masse. The set started at top speed, with guitarist Kurt Cobain wailing, "Rape me!" and Novoselic and drummer Dave Grohl matching his outpouring of pain. Later, the audience sang along with the whimsical ode to disconnection, "Lithium." Yet even such ironic moments of shared sensitivity were rare. "Smells Like Teen Spirit" seemed like a chore, and the band's new songs resembled alternative cuts on Incesticide rather than the hits on "Nevermind." Lyrics floated to the top of the murky mix like jetsam: "Suicide" rhymed with "I'm on your side;" phrases such as "All I know is all I know," "Everyone is gay" and "Go away" were screamed into exhaustion. Melodies emerged and sank again. The Cow Palace's lousy acoustics and the band's fascination with generating endless loops of fuzzy noise sabotaged the songs' occasional attempts at reaching beyond the insularity of a massive jam session. In a small club this refusal to stay within rock's conventions might have been revelatory, but in this arena it failed to translate. The other bands on the bill were more successful at touching rock's old music without compromising their nontraditional ideals. Each band had new material and, unlike Nirvana, seemed thrilled at the chance to share it. The Breeders produced a bigger sound than they've previously managed, and guitarist Kim Deal reveled in her sassy star power. Alternative rappers Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy filled the stage with carnivalesque special effects and dancing. Rappers Michael Franti and Rono Tse slipped once too often into hard-core hokum (I don't care if I never hear an audience shout, "Yo!" in unison again), but their rants against racism and violence radiated excitement. Best of all was L7, Los Angeles' finest version of Kiss since the Runaways. Like both of those progenitors, this all-woman heavy-metal power unit lays on plenty of humor with its crunch. The band's newer songs seemed rawer than anything from its first album, but unlike the evening's headliners, L7 made these debuts into a party. The men in drag who serve as the group's go-go dancers, the mix of snot and snarl that shows up in the band members' vocals and their cartoonish rock-goddess stances onstage infused L7's set with that other quality that's always lifted rock's great performances above the swamp of the ordinary: good, dirty fun. ANN POWERS Copyright 1997 by Rolling Stone