Echoes of Dissonance (1993)

This story was written by me in December 2024 and is entirely fictional. I hope you all enjoy it.

Absolutely no children whatsoever, real or fictional, were harmed in the making of this.

Introduction
I did it, guys. I've finally done it. Avril Lavigne is fixed. Her flaws, both musically and personally, were so massive and obvious that I figured out a way to fix them. No more generic, melodic, three-to-four-chord pablum for babies, no more unoriginality, no more of her typical commercialized nature, no more mainstream pieces of garbage like her, no more having to compare her to Nickelback, no marriages to controversial people like their frontman, no more ultra clean guitar tones with maybe one or two tinges of overdrive here and there, no more sappy pop melodies…

I fixed her, people. This is the new Avril Lavigne and she is NOT unintelligent, lowest common denominator, barely adulterated pop trash.

Let's begin, shall we?

Avril, a 9-year-old Christian girl, was determined to carve a niche so far removed from the mainstream that it felt revolutionary. She wanted her sounds to be raw, distorted, and confrontational—a musical fist ready to punch back against the establishment. Today, she would record her first self-titled demo under the scrutiny of bands she admired most: Nirvana and Soundgarden.

Her #1 rule was to avoid clean guitar tones altogether, as they were stale and harsh and only soccer moms liked them, let alone any pretense-free music that often featured power chords with such tones. Adding a chorus to a clean tone could also make it unsuitable for most people.

In the dimly lit attic of a dilapidated house on the outskirts of Seattle, Avril Lavigne sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, tuning her guitar. The air was thick with the dusty smell of old books and forgotten dreams, clashing against her instrument that lacked The Beatles' metallic tang. She had transformed Madonna since the world had last seen her—a metamorphosis from a bubbly pop icon into a voice for the disillusioned youth of a restless generation. A shaggy mane of black hair framed her face, hiding her fierce green eyes that burned with the fervor of a thousand untold stories.

It was only January 1993, and the underground was alive with chaos. Soundchecks from neighboring rehearsal spaces provided a cacophonous backdrop as she murmured to herself, lyrics boiling in her mind like the thick smoke of war. "Beneath the hollow sky, where innocence is a myth…" she scribbled, the words angrier and more confrontational than any commercial label had permitted before. Gone were the pastel colors and playful choruses; this was rock redefined.

Kurt Cobain stood at the door, arms crossed, observing the chaos of papers strewn around the attic. His blue plaid flannel hung loosely, with frayed cuffs that brushed the edges of his jeans. He was both intrigued and skeptical. A late 90s rebel, he was not easily impressed; grunge had defined and destroyed his existence. But he sensed something different about Avril. It wasn't about glamor or fame; there was a burst of honesty in her words, a willingness to challenge the norms.

Krist Novoselic shuffled in, clutching an oversized bass guitar. His solemn stature brought a stability that seemed to ground the tension. “So… you think you can handle the distortion?” he inquired, raising a brow. This wasn’t just a musical endeavor; it was a challenge to a worldview that had treated music as mere entertainment.

"I don't just want distortion; I need it," Avril replied, fiery determination spilling from her lips. “I’m not here to sing sugar-coated melodies. I want to rage—about wars, injustice, and the apathy that eats away at society,” she continued, gripping the neck of her guitar. The instrument vibrated under her touch, anticipation crackling in the air.

Chris Cornell appeared, leaning casually against the wall, his long hair almost like a curtain shielding an oracle of wisdom. “You’ve taken a brave path,” he mused, his baritone resonating with sincerity. “Every note you play, every message you send—it’s a statement.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, they began to play. The guttural riffs and heavy, sludgy sounds collided with raw emotion—a wall of noise poured from the attic, echoing through the empty streets. Gone was the polished pop sheen; what emerged was a visceral experience. The melodies didn't flow like water—they crashed like waves against jagged rocks. Avril sang with a voice that was not just heard, but felt—a weapon against the mundane.

Lyrics about socio-political struggles echoed in the midst of shredded delays and guttural tones. There were no love songs here—only fearless confrontations with a world she had witnessed decay. She was determined to unmask the truth buried beneath layers of conformity.

“Pull the strings of the puppeteers, let them drown in their own fears,” she howled, channeling every ounce of energy into her performance. It was more than a song; it was a battle cry. Each chord was designed to rattle societal foundations, rip through the façades that draped over everyday life like a velvet curtain, hiding the chaos behind.

As the final notes lingered in the air, silence enveloped the attic, thick with disbelief. Kurt was the first to break the quiet. “You’re onto something, Avril. This is what music should be—raw and real, unapologetically fierce.”

Krist nodded in agreement, “You could rattle cages, make noise—real noise.”

Chris stepped forward, brushing his fingers through his hair, his eyes shimmering with recognition. “You’re speaking truths that many are afraid to utter, and that’s powerful.”

With newfound conviction, Avril smiled, her heart racing with adrenaline. They had not just been her audience but her allies—a band of misfits challenging a world that demanded silence.

In the days that followed, they would record together, turning that attic into a sanctuary of dissent. A new chapter unfolded where the lines of rebellion were drawn, where music became a weapon, a shield, and a lifeline for those lost in the din of conformity. Avril Lavigne was not just refusing to be ‘bad’ or ‘good’; she was becoming the voice that pierced through silence, echoing against the walls of a society hungry for change.