Last week at lost grillos we wrote a bit about the 90s revival that is–and has been–taking place in the current music scene, and we mentioned a few bands that’ve struck our fancy with their 90s loving ways. This particular trend has, of late, been getting plenty of press, largely because it’s a trend that has become so prevalent in pop culture that it can’t be ignored. Sites like Pitchfork, Dusted and Stereogum have mentioned the 90s nostalgia evident in a number of recent records, the March, 2011 issue of Mojo is dedicated to “Nirvana 1991″ and all things grunge, and the new IFC comedy, Portlandia, created by and starring Fred Armisen (SNL), also stars 90s indie rocker Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney, not to mention the city of Portland, OR, a breeding ground for the 90s sound.

This is a trend that’s no longer simply moving through the underground via relatively little-known bands like Real Estate and Surf City or labels like HoZac and Woodsist–it’s a trend that has pushed its way to the forefront of the indie scene. Young bands such as Surfer Blood and The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart have built solid followings with sounds that are heavily influenced by bands that ruled the 90s, and bands that ruled the 90s such as Pavement and Dinosaur Jr. (not too mention the Pixies) are shoring up their pension plans by touring their asses off and reissuing back catalogs as well as, in some cases, recording new albums.

So what does all this mean? Does it mean that it’s time to invest all of your money in stock for Doc Martens and some Pacific Northwest plaid-flannel producing company? Does it mean that Pearl Jam will finally get the street cred for which they’ve endlessly pined? Does it mean that it’s time to brush up on your knowledge of el anatomía del grunge? Well, I don’t really know where this trend is headed, but I do have a notion or two about where it came from.

The 90s revival seems to have been born from, among the many things that lead to pop culture trends, some weird and perfect convergence of nostalgia that exists within both the people who’ve grown old enough to long for their lost youth and those young enough to enjoy this particular style of music as way of coping with the idea that said youth can, and will, be lost. What it comes down to in the case of both groups, I think, is a turning back to kinder, gentler times. For the old folks, it’s a turning back to the promise of youth. For the young folks, it’s an attempt (however subconscious) to crawl back into the womb in the face of impending adulthood in a world that appears to be, for lack of a more poetic phrasing, all fucked up.

Personally, I’m digging the 90s revival because it allows me to indulge nostalgia without appearing as pathetic and out of touch as such an indulgence might usually lead one to appear. Because of my age and the general interests of my youth, the music that makes up my nostalgia trip is the music that is being referenced by the bands that make up today’s indie/underground scene, so I somehow manage to come off as knowledgeable and even a bit in touch. If some young music fan wants to know all about this cool band called Dinosaur Jr., well, hell, I was there for every eardrum punishing moment. I dove from the stage, surfed the crowd and bought the t-shirt. So the 90s revival allows me to hanker for kinder, gentler times without seeming as much like the sad old dude that I might actually be.

For the young folks who might be the sort to wish that they had been there, too (in much the same way that I might wish I’d been there for Neil’s Harvest tour), I have an altogether different, yet not entirely unrelated, theory. This theory puts forth the notion that, for many of the up-and-comers that are a part of the 90s revival as either players, listeners, or both, this music represents their time in the womb. This is the music their parents were listening to while these revivalists were nestled safely in their respective mothers’ bellies with an all you can eat and drink buffet (and maybe some free acid!). And now, as these young folks face the problems of adulthood, they subconsciously seek the safety of the womb–and this seeking manifests itself in their listening habits. What they now want to hear, and create, is music that is similar to what they heard thumping through the walls of their mothers’ flesh. Like with the old folks, it’s a turning to kinder, gentler times.

I can say that this same thing happened to me at that age. For example, take Johnny Cash’s remarkable career resurgence that took place in the 90s. This was due, as with all such things, to many factors, but chief among these factors was the work of Rick Rubin, who took an interest in Johnny Cash and put his music out there for a new generation–a generation to which Rubin, himself, belongs. It’s not hard to imagine that Mr. Rubin heard a Cash song or two while stroking his beard and being fed through a tube in his belly button. So he put the music of Johnny Cash back out there at a time when others who’d heard the same music in similar situations would appreciate it and latch on to it. Around this same time, as I faced adulthood, I discovered an unquenchable thirst for the music of Willie Nelson–and I was born at a fucking Willie Nelson concert. (this is not actually true, but it is true that my folks spun a Willie record or two during my gestation period.)

Anyway, the point is, I think, that this kind of nostalgia can be a good thing, especially when it leads to archival instincts such as those exhibited by Rick Rubin. So I applaud and encourage the youth to keep on reviving the 90s–unless they start raving about Candlebox or the Goo Goo Dolls, at which point it’s time to shut that shit down–because, for the most part, such behavior helps to keep the spirit of the music and the time in which it was created alive for future generations to discover.

But for us older folks, of course, nostalgia can be a dangerous endeavor. I enjoy a good game of “remember when” as much as the next guy, but too much “remember when” can lead to a life of only being able to “remember when we were rememberin’” and that ain’t really livin’. Getting old can certainly be a drag, but the trick is not to get bored and old, and this requires a life of constant discovery. If that search for new discoveries, in the future, doesn’t happily coincide with a youth movement that favors my own youth, well, I’m willing to risk coming off as somewhat pathetic, so long as it doesn’t mean I’ve stopped searching for new inspiration–music-wise and otherwise-wise.

Because if you only look to the past and the safety of the womb and you never look to the mystery and danger of the future, you risk hanging yourself from an umbilical noose.

That said, In Utero is still a pretty fuckin’ rockin’ album. Dig it.