Sunday, July 21, 1985.
Rory hit play on the silver CD player sitting on a stool beside his drum kit. The small garage-turned-studio filled with a low hiss before the first track began. Kurt Cobain and Krist Novoselic sat cross-legged on the floor, both holding cheap sodas, half curious, half skeptical.
"Alright," Rory said with a grin, leaning against an amp. "These are just sketches, rough ideas. Don't expect polished production or anything fancy."
Kurt smirked. "We're not exactly into fancy, man."
Krist laughed through his nose. "Yeah, we play in garages too, remember?"
Rory chuckled and nodded, letting the first track roll.
Track 1 — "Downer" (originally "Sound of Dentage")
The guitar came in dry and cutting — clean but biting, the kind of rhythm that sounded both careless and intentional. Simple open chords slammed in quick bursts, then tightened into a muted chug that carried tension like a coiled spring. The song had that bitter, restless teenage edge.
Kurt's brow furrowed as he listened. There was something in the way the chords hung just a second too long before breaking — that unease he liked. He muttered under his breath, "It's pissed off, but it's not loud. I like that."
Krist bobbed his head. "Feels like it wants to explode but doesn't."
Rory smiled. "Yeah. Kinda the idea."
The song ended quick, no fade, just a sharp stop — like someone pulled the plug mid-sentence.
Track 2 — "Bambi Slaughter"
This one started with a gentle strum, almost lullaby-like, before twisting into an offbeat minor progression. The acoustic strings sounded worn, but Rory's playing made them shimmer — there was melody hiding under the grime.
Kurt's lips twitched upward. "That's weird. I mean, it's pretty, but it's… uncomfortable pretty."
Rory laughed. "That's the best kind, right?"
"Yeah," Kurt said softly, leaning forward. "It's like… someone wrote a bedtime song for a nightmare."
Krist snorted. "That should be the title."
"Nah," Rory said with a wink, "already called it Bambi Slaughter."
Kurt burst out laughing, half in disbelief. "Jesus, man."
Track 3 — "Spank Thru"
The next track kicked in with a more deliberate energy — sharp strumming, a driving rhythm, and a catchy hook that somehow still felt underground. It wasn't punk in the old sense; it was too groovy for that, too self-aware. Rory's version sounded tighter than what either Kurt or Krist were used to hearing from bands around Aberdeen or Olympia.
Krist nodded along immediately. "This one's fun. I can already hear a bassline walking all over it."
Kurt's grin turned sly. "Yeah, that middle part — I could scream over that. Like, really scream."
Rory gave a playful shrug. "Well, guess we'll see if you actually can."
Kurt shot him a mock glare but smirked anyway. "Try me."
Track 4 — "Anorexorcist"
This one started slow — a creepy, uncertain strum that crawled instead of ran. Then suddenly it kicked into chaos — chords clashing, rhythm speeding up, like someone losing their mind halfway through a dream.
Krist let out a low whistle. "Man, that's… something. It's like it doesn't know what song it wants to be, and I kinda like that."
Kurt, meanwhile, looked dead serious. He didn't move or laugh this time. He just stared at the CD player, jaw tight. "That's… actually really cool," he said finally. "It's ugly but it's… real."
Rory didn't say anything, just nodded, still smiling faintly. He knew that look — the spark in Kurt's eyes when he heard something that hit a nerve.
Track 5 — "Rehearsal Tape #1"
This one had started life as something rougher — a half-forgotten tune Rory remembered from an old underground tape called Mrs. Butterworth. He'd rebuilt it from scratch on his guitar, sanding off the noise but keeping the soul — that uneasy sway between lazy and wired, half a joke and half a breakdown.
The chords stumbled into each other like they were drunk, but somehow landed right every time. Rory's voice wasn't really singing — more like thinking out loud, humming fragments of words that didn't quite form sentences.
Krist laughed halfway through. "You sound like you're arguing with yourself, dude."
Rory shrugged. "Maybe I am."
Kurt tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little as if he was seeing something beneath it all. "It's cool, though. Feels like… catching ideas before they get lost. Like you hit record before your brain talked you out of it."
Rory smiled, tapping the table with his knuckles. "That's exactly what it is."
Track 6 — "Bleach Baby" (Rory's new one)
The last song started different — clean, simple power chords in a rhythm that was too catchy for punk but too dirty for pop. There was a strange tension, a half-smile hiding in the melody. It built up slow, then dropped into a hook that practically begged for drums and bass.
Kurt's eyes widened. "Wait… that riff—" He leaned forward, tapping his knee in rhythm. "That's… that's really good. Like, stupid good."
Rory shrugged again, pretending not to notice the way both of them perked up. "Just something I've been toying with. Thought it could be loud if done right."
Krist grinned. "Man, I can already hear it — the drums crashing in, that hook looping, crowd losing their minds. You got a name for it?"
"Yeah," Rory said. "Bleach Baby."
Kurt let out a quiet laugh. "You're a freak, you know that?"
Rory smirked. "Takes one to know one."
When the CD clicked off, the garage went silent except for the faint hum of the amp. Kurt sat still for a long moment, hands clasped between his knees. Krist stretched his legs, cracking a knuckle.
Finally, Krist said, "Dude, those are way tighter than anything we've done."
Kurt nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like… it's raw, but it's not messy. You've got… control. That's weird for someone our age."
Rory chuckled. "Control's overrated. You just gotta mean it when you play."
Kurt grinned again, that lazy, dangerous grin of his. "You mean that?"
"Every time."
They sat there for a while, the kind of silence that happens after hearing something that shifts your sense of what's possible.
Kurt finally stood up, rubbing his neck. "So what, you just… made these on your own?"
"Pretty much," Rory said, popping open a soda. "Had some free time, y'know? Just wanted to see what kinda noise I could make with an acoustic."
Krist smiled, shaking his head. "You're nuts, man. In a good way."
Rory grinned. "I'll take it."
Kurt picked up one of Rory's guitars and strummed a chord. "You mind if I mess around with that 'Bleach Baby' riff?"
"Go for it."
He did — a rough version, half-sloppy but full of fire. Krist immediately joined in with a rough bassline. Rory tapped the snare with his sticks, not even on the kit, just keeping time. It was loud and uneven and perfect in that messy, real way.
After a few minutes, Kurt stopped, breathless, smiling for real now. "That's it, man. That's the sound."
Rory leaned back, sipping his soda. "Told you it could be loud if done right."
Krist laughed. "You're evil."
"Yeah," Rory said lightly. "But fun evil."