Kurt Cobain
Montage of Heck: The Home Recordings

“Insignificant scraps and discarded material. Ps: In no case publish after my death. Signed Cobain K”.

This is what Kurt wrote on one of the 108 tapes recorded by him between the late '80s and early '90s, which have been made available to Brett Morgen, along with lots of other personal material (diaries, drawings, videos), for the controversial documentary “Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck” produced by Frances Bean Cobain.

And yet here is “Montage Of Heck: The Home Recordings” Deluxe Edition. Don’t expect anything similar to the “With the Lights Out” box set. Forget it completely.

It’s mostly made up of sound collages and songs sketched out in moments of real goofing around that also serve as the soundtrack for the documentary. We find comic voices in “Montage Of Kurt” and “Beans,” Kurt tuning the guitar in “Yodel Song,” a sad diary page in which Kurt verbally recounts his first experiences with sex, marijuana, and suicide in “Aberdeen,” a parody of an advertisement in “1988 Capitol Lake Jam Commercial,” and even a recording of flowing water and bird chirping in “Kurt Audio Collage.” Then, here and there, they have inserted some embryonic versions of famous songs such as “Something in the Way,” “Bean a Son,” and “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle,” or unreleased songs like “What More I Can Say” and “Poison’s Gone,” as if to present this album as a testament to the dynamics of Kurt's creative and compositional process. The only real gem is the sweet grunge-flavored cover of the Beatles’ “And I Love Her,” which stands out amidst the other tracks. Finally, the album closes with “Do Re Mi (Medley),” already published in “With the Lights Out.”

It is not exactly an album meant for normal listening; it’s certainly not something to put on in the car while going somewhere, or as background music while working, or to listen to during a sleepless night. “Montage Of Heck: The Home Recordings” is an album for fetishists and voyeurs, not for true fans or music lovers in general.

Kurt was well aware of the morbidity people had towards him even before he died, and one day he vented like this on a page of his diaries (also published):

“In the months between October 1991 and December '92 I filled 4 notebooks with 2 years of poetry, personal writings, and songs that were then stolen at various times. Plus 2 new 90-minute music cassettes, full of new guitar pieces and song stanzas were ruined due to a plumbing accident, along with 2 of my dearest guitars. I have never been a very prolific person, so when creativity fades, it really fades. I find myself scribbling in notebooks and on scattered sheets, but only a minimal part of my writings reaches a real form. It’s my fault, but the worst abuse I've suffered this year hasn't been the media exaggerations or the gossip mill, but the violence to my personal thoughts, torn from me during my hospital stays or on airplane trips or in hotels. I feel compelled to say fuck you to those of you who have no regard for me as a person. You have violated me more than you can ever imagine. So again, I say fuck you, even though that expression has completely lost its meaning.

Fuck you!

Fuck you.”

The saddest thing is that this time, behind the umpteenth commercialization of a man's and father's private life, before even that of a rock star, is his daughter Frances Bean.

Forgive her Kurt, it must not have been easy growing up with a mother like Courtney Love.