On grunge and politics

(Photo Credit: Courtesy/Matthew Salacuse)

She’s a sophisticated, married woman now, but there was a time in the early ’90s when Chelsea Clinton just wanted to wear a plaid shirt and rock out to Pearl Jam. And so did millions of other teenagers around the country.

In his new book, “Everybody Loves Our Town: An Oral History of Grunge,” Mark Yarm, a former Blender magazine editor, recalls a time when flannel was high fashion, Seattle was the music capital of the world and washing your hair was optional.

Grunge isn’t often associated with politics, but in the nearly 600-page book — compiled from roughly 250 interviews with groupies and high-profile musicians — Yarm touches on moments when alternative rock moved inside the Beltway.

When lead singer of Pearl Jam, Eddie Vedder, heard about Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain’s suicide in the spring of 1994, he happened to be in Washington. “When I first found out, I was in a hotel room … and I just tore the place to shreds. Then I just kind of sat in the rubble, which somehow felt right … like my world at the moment,” recalled Vedder.

The next day, the singer, his bandmates and a few friends from the band Mudhoney headed to the White House to meet George Stephanopoulos and then-President Bill Clinton.

“We went into his outer room and hung out for a little bit, and then Clinton came out in his Arkansas sweats. We all went into the Oval Office and did a group photo, and he said that Chelsea really wanted to go to the Pearl Jam concert, but Hillary thought better of it — Chelsea was still pretty young. At the end of it, they asked us to get people out of the room, and everyone left so Ed [Vedder] and the president could talk. When Ed left, he turned, and I remember him saying, ‘See ya, Bill,’” said John Hoyt, political and community adviser for Pearl Jam.

Kelly Curtis, Pearl Jam’s manager, recalled that Vedder and Clinton talked about Cobain’s suicide. “We got summoned into the Oval Office, and Clinton asked Eddie if he should address the nation,” remembered Curtis. Vedder counseled the president not to. He was worried about copycat suicides and thought it best not to draw attention to Cobain’s death.

Though it was a very dark time for the grunge community, not everyone took the rare White House visit as seriously, or soberly. These were rockers, after all.

Mark Arm, lead singer for Mudhoney, remembered visiting 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. with marijuana coursing through his system: “Me, Matt [Lukin] and Dan [Peters] smoked some pot before going. Matt still had a roach with him, and the guy who was driving the shuttle bus to the White House started telling some story about how the Secret Service will go through all your shit. … And I watched Matt’s face as the thought process was going on.”

Said Lukin about breaking the law inside the place where the laws are signed, “I had another joint that I was going to smoke on the way, but all of the sudden, I realize we’re on our way straight to the f—-in’ White House. I got no time to light this thing up. So I ate it. I’m chewing on this f—-ing joint, and it’s all dry. After I’m already really stoned anyway.”

From drugs to alcohol, there’s a vice that goes along with every political mention in the book. When Mudhoney guitarist Steve Turner met Ronald Reagan Jr. in Seattle for a TV interview, he went “bowling with him, gettin’ drunk,” he said. “Do you realize how many hard-core bands write songs about your dad?” asked Turner, a question Reagan was happy to avoid.

Turner called Reagan a “nice guy” but was angry that his TV interview focused on drugs and the “dark side” of the music scene. Said Turner: “As if musicians doing drugs was a new story and somehow unique to the Seattle explosion that was happening.”