Today marks the 10th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death. Ten freakin' years. In many ways, it seems so long ago; in many ways, it's still hauntingly fresh.

I remember hearing of Cobain's suicide. It wasn't a shock, really. It was ... expected. He'd tried suicide before, and he was such a tangle of nerves, angst and self-doubt--much of it brought in by the fame he never saw coming--that I think so many of us knew he wasn't long for this world. Following Neil Young's oft-quoted observation, he was destined to burn out rather than fade away.

I wish I could say I heard of Nirvana before the masses--that I was cool enough to know this music long before the rest of the world. But I wasn't. Like so many, my first Nirvana experience was the MTV video of "Smells Like Teen Spirit," filled with images of an anarchic school assembly. It was loud. Bombastic. Exciting. I was immediately taken in by the song's energy and otherness, and I ran to the record store to buy "Nevermind." I was hooked, and sought out other works by Nirvana. At that time, "Bleach" was the only other disc available; the "MTV Unplugged" disc would follow, as would "Incesticide." I bought "In Utero," the last Nirvana album--and in my mind, some of Cobain's most brilliant work--just a few months before his death.

Did Cobain speak for a generation? I don't know. Maybe. But for a short time, he spoke for me. And that was enough.