Nostalgia can be a pretty powerful thing. Spawning countless neo-fads and more shitty bands than Motley Crue's Too Fast For Love (1981), it can also lead to a monumental amount of post-humous releases trying to capitalize on a fan-base that often has no problem spending fifteen bucks for a CD on which they have already have all but one track. But it's not just for classic rock or new-wave groups anymore; artists like 2-Pac are somehow more prolific than many of his still-breathing contemporaries, and wildly popular groups of the '90s, like grunge forerunners Nirvana, continue to see a slow output of esoteric releases -- from a live album to a middling best-of and, most recently, the obligatory box-set.

Popular artists seem to lend themselves to "Greatest Hits" collections and needlessly thorough multi-disc sets, yet few have the material to fill most of it up. Even if by some miracle they do, by the time the money starts running out from the first "best-of" set, their relevancy with a new generation of listeners, who suddenly have to pick up the slack for fans that simple don't need another "collection-only" purchase, is continually in question. After all, whether we'd like to admit it or not, Nirvana are as distant from the pulse of contemporary mainstream music as Michael Jackson was to those of us that stumbled across Nevermind in 1991. Let's face it: their legacy lays mostly with an audience that has probably doubled its median age since Kurt Cobain caved his face in with a shotgun.

And it was Cobain's suicide that proved to be the death knell for grunge; left without their prophetically titled "martyr," the Seattle grunge movement began to fall apart, losing not only its remarkable clout amongst major labels, but also its own sanity. Groups -- almost all of which had little in common with Cobain's music and even less with his ethic -- either began disintegrating in front of their fan's eyes (Alice in Chains being the most disappointing example) or, if they were lucky, imploding immediately. Only Pearl Jam arguably lasted out the decade with some semblance of talent, and even they would release their last great record, 1996's No Code, in the fading aftershock of Cobain's death. By the time Bush and Candlebox had arrived tastelessly late to the party, feeding on fans that were on a pretty desperate rebound, grunge had become weaker than an eight year old girl. And by the end of the century, even she could see through it.

The point of all this nostalgic rambling of my own? I'll admit Nirvana haven't been my favorite band for at least two-thirds of a decade now (though Cobain did inadvertently introduce me to the world of independent rock, which has downright plagued me since), and it's humbling to admit I've probably sold off more Nirvana bootlegs over the years than I now own. True, thousands of Nirvana fans have weathered out the years far better than I -- and the plethora of fans sites lead me to believe that they had no problem replacing me -- but one has to wonder if a Nirvana box-set over a decade after Cobain's death hasn't come a little too late.

It's not that the actual material is terrible (it isn't) or not at all what we were promised (it isn't), but is it that unreasonable to assume that a good deal of Nirvana's impact were because of their singularity at the time? Granted, the Pixies, Jesus Lizard and the Melvins carved a damn fine road for them to follow toward commercial success (Cobain once admitted he felt he could release poppier hooks because of Mr. Francis, not that he ever denied the influence), but only the most elitist of assholes would've expected younger teenagers at the time to be ordering from the 4AD catalogue.

So what does Nirvana have on the same demographic of today -- one which will probably recognize "that funny guy from the Foo Fighters" before Cobain? Sadly, probably not much. Sales of the semi-recent best of were modest, mostly due to the suave addition of "You Know You're Right" to lure in long-time fans like myself (though I fought the good fight for several months before giving in), but even it was a lousy stand-in for a box-set that had been promised since around the release of The Muddy Banks of Wishkah (1996). Delays, mostly thanks to our generation's own Hindenburg crash, Courtney Love, continually pushed it back to the point where Chinese Democracy stood a chance of winning out. But now, eight years after initial news of With The Lights Out, we have finally lived long enough to see its release -- consisting of three CDs and a single DVD of common-to-rare material, the massive majority of which is previously unreleased. (Though its cover might suggest otherwise, it doesn't include a fun Parker Brothers board game.)

The three audio discs, all arranged chronologically, are a mixed bag at best. Even in the mid-'90s, when internet piracy was insignificant and tape trading was still the most popular way to get ahold of bootlegs, the majority of these tracks were widely available -- from released b-sides like "Curmudgeon" and Grohl's "Marigold" to nearly all of the early '87/'88 live material that constitute the first half of disc one (albeit in slightly better quality here). Still, lost gems like "Pen Cap Chew," "Clean Up Before She Comes," 'If You Must," "Don't Want it All" (which used to be widely known as "Misery Loves Company," but again, I've been out of touch for a while, so maybe that was cleared up before this box) and "Token Eastern Song" (also known as "Junkyard") are as convincing as nearly anything from Bleach (1988) of Cobain's talent. And I'll be damned if "Beans" doesn't still make me chuckle, which is more than I can say for rambling throwaways like "Mrs. Butterworth."

Disc two opens with the also widely available radio recording "Opinion," and though a fine song, it's not hard to understand why the group never bothered to record it proper; elsewhere, rough cuts of "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?" and the Velvet's "Here She Comes Now" are worthwhile additions. "Oh the Guilt" (another widely available track) and "Verse Chorus Verse" (formerly passed around as "In His Room," and not the hidden track on No Alternative, which is included here as "Sappy") are both incredible, though filler like a radio appearance of "Endless, Nameless" and a painful "Teen Spirit" rehearsal make getting to them a test of patience. The out-take of "Old Man" is another very notable inclusion, trouncing the Hole version with its stunning, if not somewhat less-than-sober, demo performance.

Like the third disc, it's also full of superfluous demos that may still work in these embryonic forms, but they're hardly going to replace studio versions in anyone's playlist. Disc three fills out such filler with a few more keepers, including early acoustic demos of "You Know You're Right" and the dumbfoundingly good "Do Ra Mi," which only reminds us of how much he would've had to offer past the Albini-rock of In Utero.

Other highlights include an extended "Scentless Apprentice," which works in pretty much every way the "Teen Spirit" rehearsal had failed, a beautiful solo version of "All Apologies" and an early cut of "I Hate Myself and I Want to Die" -- which, even here with its rambling lyrics, would've tamed anything from the newest Mclusky by sheer force alone. Its monstrous riff is only challenged by "Milk It" -- and the 1993 demo included here is just as strange and powerful as the original despite the continued indecipherable screaming/mumbling that loosely hold the melody together. Disappointments continue, though, of course; "The Other Improv" is a pointless extension of the oddly compelling "Gallons of Rubbing Alcohol Flow Through the Strip," and the version of "Moist Vagina" included here is close to terrible compared to the released version.

The DVD is far more valuable to casual collectors that might not otherwise have much use for the box. The first chunk of videos are from an extremely early rehearsal, with some fascinating performances (including a Zeppelin cover, "Immigrant Song") of some of their best material of the time -- from mid-tempo stoner-rock like "Big Long Now" to the far poppier "About A Girl" and, speaking of great Cobain riffs, "Mr. Moustache." The rest of of pretty high quality -- musically, at least -- including a cover of Terry Jack's morbid-pop classic "Seasons in the Sun" and excellent rarity "Talk To Me." Again, song selection is the DVD's best asset, also including favorites like "Big Cheese" (one of Bleach's most underrated) and long-time fan favorite "Sappy."

Truth be told, most of these songs were etched into my mind years ago, so I have no idea how they'll affect newcomers to the band. They'd still be better off starting with their proper records, obviously (take your pick, guys, they're all excellent), but for those that have recently become enamored with the band years after "Teen Spirit" first made them a teenage obsession on par with Farah Fawcett's tits, With the Lights Out is a respectable collection of b-sides and rare live material; one that will save you the fair amount of time and money required to buy the endless sea of bootlegs that'd get you the same goods without the accompanying DVD or snazzy packaging (including liner notes from Thurston Moore and writer Neil Strauss). Plus you won't have to deal with the odd track that's just some loser in a basement trying to pass off his fumbling version of "Verse Chorus Verse" as a "rare demo from '92!$$%!!!" It happened more often than you'd probably believe.

Hardcore fans new or old will most likely be able to blast holes through this thing larger than, well, I won't bother making that terrible joke again, but this is hardly for them, anyway. A good majority of us that still find it worthwhile to buy records will most likely still be adding it to our collections this season (we can still use the DVD to justify spending the sixty bucks), regardless of us already having 99% of the audio discs or continually cringing at that god-awful cover. Hell, we'll even buy it knowing that, like his journals several years back, some of our cash will probably help to pay for Love's next emergency ambulance -- which can, to those that take this shit seriously enough, seem like a hell of a moral compromise. Hey, like I said, nostalgia can be a pretty powerful thing.