I can only assume there are plenty of album of reviews out there that the writers of (or at least the publications that ran them) would like to have back. When Nirvana released Nevermind in 1991, Rolling Stone gave it just three stars, the same score they might reserve for a Candlebox reunion record. 10 years later, they would give a five star rating to Mick Jagger's  Goddess In The Doorway, an album even Jagger doesn't talk about too much these days.

In these particular instances, you could chalk these questionable-in-retrospect album reviews up to name recognition. Before "Smells Like Ten Spirit" broke into the mainstream, Nirvana had a fairly small following, so no one knew what a juggernaut Nevermind would become. So, to that reviewer's ears, it likely just seemed like a decent record by a band who almost certainly would not be remembered 20 years down the line. Meanwhile, Jagger's status as a music legend could very well lead certain critics to overrate his new stuff. The idea that someone of his stature could still be turning out great records into his 60s and 70s enough that critics may convince themselves that his new stuff is top notch, when in reality, it's in the middle of the pack.

There are other reasons why albums can be underrated or overrated on their initial release, however. Sometimes, one specific factor, which, in the long run, doesn't actually matter that much, will keep a critic from liking a record. Just look at the relatively low score given to Wilco's Sky Blue Sky in 2007. This was the infamous review where the album was dubbed "dad rock" while viewed as boring in comparison to 2002's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, which is widely considered to be Wilco's masterpiece. But even if Sky Blue Sky doesn't have quite as sterling a reputation as that record, its reputation has grown considerably in the six years since its release. Where it once might have been viewed as the bastard in the Wilco catalog, it's now fit comfortably among their several other brilliant records. The accusations that the album is boring no longer seem pertinent, and the album is rightly appreciated for it's brilliant songwriting, and excellent guitar work. Honestly, the brilliance of "Impossible Germany" alone should keep this record out of anyone's shit list.

Another record that feels better with time is The Strokes Room On Fire. Admittedly, this album wasn't exactly panned when it came out 10 years ago, as numerous publications gave it four or five stars. Still, it was dogged by one unrelenting criticism: that it sounded too similar to its predecessor. Is This It made American audiences and critics fall in love with The Strokes, and many were expecting something bold and different in album #2. But while there were a few changes to their sound, a ballad like "Under Control" would have never made it on Is This I. The common consensus was that they took the safe route. In 2013, though, this criticism feels considerably less relevant. Who cares if they followed the same formula they sued on the first record? Aren't both records still brilliant? More importantly, in the decade since Room On Fire was released, we've seen The Strokes experiment with their sound, and the results haven't always been encouraging. They've sounded more and like an 80's synth-pop band on their last two records, and the transition hasn't exactly been a smooth one. In retrospect, The Strokes might have made the right decision going the safe route for album two. They were simply going with what they know best.

So, just because an album receives excessive praise or criticism on its initial release, that doesn't mean people will always feel that way. Albums that are bashed when they come out can reveal themselves to be more rewarding with time. On the other hand, albums that are release to mountains of praise can quickly lose their luster. Basically, don't take the words of the critics as gospel, because they could be saying something completely different five years later
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The other night, I had a discussion with a friend about our first concerts. Her first show was an embarassing boy band whose name I shall not reveal, for sake of reputation. My first show was Nirvana, a group that I take a certain pride in seeing, not only because it was my first show, but because it was also their last tour. I remember vividly the dark ambiance of that sweaty auditorium; the strange looking people with piercings and tattoos (I was 11). Most of all, I remember the power of those soundwaves, the weight of the music, and the passion in which it was conveyed; three musicians who truly believed in what they were doing. I was floored.

And then it hit me. That show was twenty years ago, November of 1993 to be exact. Where does the time go?

It seems like it was only a few years back that my life was changed by "grunge" or alternative rock, or whatever you want to call it. Groups like Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Alice in Chains were my first taste of rock'n'roll, at least on any meaningful level, and I was completely captivated by it. Through the years, my tastes have grown and I've developed an affinity for punk, electronic music, hip hop, and more traditional forms of music. Alternative rock has always been my foundation though and lately I've been thinking about this period of time and how it informed who I am today.

Most of all, I find myself amazed that some of my favorite albums are nearly two decades old. Nevermind came out 22 years ago, while Green Day's Dookie and Weezer's Blue Album will be twenty next year. These albums are now considered relics and have that "classic" tag ascribed to records that have stood the test of time. I remember them as fresh, new releases. Which leads me to this thought...

I can't explain the feeling of yesterday. At times, it seems so distant, like I was a whole other person altogether and I'm looking back on someone else's life. Other times, I'm right there. At the concert. In the moment. And it feels like I'm more connected to that time than the present. But it was sooooo long ago!

Time is a funny thing. Before you know it, the world has flown by and you're older, and the music you loved is no longer "cool", "interesting", or even "relevant". I'm only 31 and I'm already starting to feel this way. Consider this. Most of today's early twenty-something's weren't even born when Kurt Cobain committed suicide. He has now become our generations John Lennon; a mystical figure to the young-ins  and a cultural spokesperson for those who were there, living it at that moment. The irony is that you'll never get that moment back, and we are no longer so young. And those young people who ARE living it are either too preoccupied or oblivious to care. Youth truly is wasted on the young.

Rivers Cuomo once said "the world has turned and left me here". Sometimes I'm apt to believe that.

When looking at the history of music, it's always tempting to contemplate what would've happened if things had gone differently. What if you're favorite band never broke up? What if one of your favorite underground bands had made it big? We can't help but contemplate these things, and today, I'm going to attempt to answer these questions to the best of my abilities with a rousing string of musical what ifs.

1. What If The Beatles Never Broke Up?  As much as we like to think of the Beatles dissolution as a tragedy, it was probably the best option for everyone involved. They had begun to resent each other, and everyone (especially John and Paul) was stifling the creative process of everyone else. That's what happens when you have multiple geniuses in the same band; they're both going to want total creative control and they're going to spend a lot fo time butting heads. By splitting him, the beatles thrived as solo artists, and they made the masterpieces they wouldn't have been able to make if they had stayed together. My guess is, if they had stayed together, we would've still gotten some great albums, and some of the best solo Beatles songs would've made those albums, but the overall body of work wouldn't be as impressive as what we have now.

2. What if Kurt Cobain never commits suicide? Yeah, it's a spooky one, but come on, you've thought about. One thing that was clear from listening to In Utero, was that Cobain wanted to be as non-commercial as possible. He hated all the mainstream fans who had latched onto Nirvana when "Smells Like Teen Spirit" became a smash, and he wanted to shake them off as quickly as possible, so he made a very diificult, but ultimately rewarding third album. My guess is, if Kurt had lived, he would've continued going further in that direction. The few radio friendly singles of In Utero would've been gone in favor of more brutal, uncompromising work. A fourth Nirvana album likely would've been very experimental, and gotten rave reviews from critics, but it wouldn't have found much of an audience.. and Cobain would've been thrilled.


3. What if The Replacements had gotten huge? The beloved Minnesota indie-rockers might be the most famous "should've been huge" band ever, and listening to their output, it's hard not to disagree with that sentiment. Albums like Tim and Pleased To Meet Me are filled with tracks that should've been huge hits, but somehow it never happened, as the band only scored one minor hit with 1989's "I'll Be You." But suppose they had gotten big? I think they would've handled it pretty well. Unlike Cobain, Westerberg didn't cling to the romantic notion of being an underground artist. He was okay with not being huge, but he woukd've loved being huge just as well. If Tim, their first really, really accessible album had broken through, they probably would've been one of the bigger bands of the late 80s. You could picture Westerberg's undeniable hooks bridging the gap between alternative rock, and mainstream rock, and the Mats would've had the breakout that Nirvana did, and they migth have been better suited to handle it. Then again, they were notorious drunks, and they probably would've had some onstage meltdowns that would make Billie Joe's recent meltdown look like child's play.

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