Like many great works of art, In Utero wasn’t given the reverence it deserved when it arrived in 1993, two years after a noisy alt-rock trio from Seattle unexpectedly became the biggest rock band in the world. Nirvana’s third and final album didn’t have another “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Come as You Are” in its ranks; rather, it’s a ragged and painfully raw document of a generational voice coming apart at the seams, and a reflective work that’s best served on wax.
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