How does it feel to have written one of the biggest pop songs of the last 20 years, or possibly ever? Don’t ask Wally De Backer. Ten years ago, the Belgian-Australian singer-songwriter known to the world as Gotye achieved the kind of massive, world-conquering hit that few even dream of releasing: the oceanic, soaring soft-rock juggernaut “Somebody That I Used To Know.” The song (released 7/5/11) was a duet with New Zealand singer Kimbra from Gotye’s third album Making Mirrors, and it topped charts in nearly every place there’s a chart to top.

All Gareth David wanted to do was find a few friends. And if they were into indie rock, so much the better. He had just enrolled at Cardiff University, and he didn’t know anyone at all. Fortunately, he had just discovered Myspace right before heading out to university.

The 1998 Grammys were the most action-packed ceremony in the show’s soon-to-be-60-year history. Aretha Franklin pinch-hit for Luciano Pavarotti at the last minute on a performance of aria “Nessun Dorma,” often ranked among the greatest in award-show history. Shawn Colvin saw her song of the year win interrupted by a just-snubbed Ol’ Dirty Bastard, memorably declaring in protest of his group’s hip-hop loss: “Wu-Tang is for the children!” And two versions of the same country song, released simultaneously as singles by LeAnn Rimes and Trisha Yearwood, were nominated in the same Grammy category -- and the version performed on the show wasn’t the one that ended up winning.

"The Mollusk is a tongue-in-cheek gem. It is to art-rock what The Hudsucker Proxy is to Capra films." --Les Claypool

The year Bonnie Raitt turned 40, she became a pop star.

Twenty years ago this Valentine's Day, one of the all-time classic indie rock albums was released into the world. Pavement's Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain was a landmark for the band and its genre. Gorgeous yet unkempt, accessible yet insular, graceful yet slipshod, the album played a pivotal role in shaping the sound of Pavement and the face of indie rock going forward. It is a masterpiece, a record that continues to glimmer with unique brilliance two decades after its release.

Ten years ago, three grown men approaching middle age lived in a house together in Secaucus, New Jersey. A recently married fourth was living in a Garden State home to the south. Ostensibly the quartet comprised a band, although they rarely played shows and hadn't had a release of any sort in more than half a decade. A small number of devoted fans fondly remembered the two fine full-lengths the band had issued many years earlier. On the occasional day it is likely some of these fans wondered to themselves: "Whatever happened to the Wrens?" As it happens, the Wrens were wondering that too. This is the story of The Meadowlands, the classic album that resulted from that weird and difficult passage, and the even stranger aftermath.