When you’re a teen, you think that 27 is old. You have your youth ahead of you. You can’t think past high school. Then you can’t think past college. Then, you live everyday like you’re still in your prime in college until boom you’re 27, or well, past it. Looking at this club, I’m aware that these artists and musicians — Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones, among others — were young when they left this world, which makes their impact on culture nothing short of mythological.

I’m not sure where the fascination lies with me with this club. Perhaps it’s the fact that my cool, music-obsessed uncle introduced me to Nirvana at a young age, turning on the 1994 “Heart-Shaped Box” music video on an ancient version of VH1 videos on demand.

Most likely, it’s because I lost a neighbor and friend tragically in the same manner that most of these musicians died during my most impressionable years, and it was retreat for coping and grieving. When you frame a death with idolization and reverence, it doesn’t hurt as bad, right? Purely, I was and still am enamored with Kurt Cobain (he will forever be my fictional boyfriend), and the interest in these undying artists will never go away.