Nirvana

In death, as in life, Cobain remains the man who sold his world, in all its puzzling contradictions. Now that world has been repackaged and sold again, and I'll buy it, and so will you.

By the end, you’ll be happy to have relived the band’s glories — and bummed all over again.

It’s a fine compilation, a jolt of recognition and a touching affirmation that even something that has been sold and sold and sold again can endure.

After years of pale imitations and wholesale corporate plagiarism, this is a typically stunning eardrum assault from arguably the greatest rock trio that world has ever known.

A surprising continuity rolls through all the familiar songs on the set; new juxtapositions yield little. The band had its style mapped out, and Cobain was one of pop's unerratic perfectionists; though drawn to punk chaos, he also saved it for end-of-album filler.

Not only is this Seattle band’s name uber ironic (and iconic), but Nirvana’s self-titled album is a power chord grunge rock classic the band should be satisfied with.

Of course, this collection is no substitute for the albums the songs came from originally, which still crackle with intelligence and energy – the flawless Nevermind in particular remains the high point of the 90s. But as an overview of the band’s career, it’s impossible to find fault in Nirvana.

Nirvana feels like a rush job-- reverent to the memory of Kurt Cobain, but disrespectful, even patronizing, of his infinitely patient fans.

Conceived as a single-disc compilation of Nirvana's greatest hits in spirit of The Beatles' 1, this self-titled set feels somewhat sanitised, smoothing off the band's rough edges.

As it stands, it feels like a bit of a cheap compromise and a wasted opportunity.