There comes a time in a man’s life — a sad, humbling time — when he begins re-purchasing CDs… There comes a time in a man’s life — a sad, humbling time — when he begins re-purchasing CDs he threw away as a teen-ager.

Throughout my “Uncanny X-Men”-reading, gym-class-avoiding, blackhead-popping years, I accumulated a respectable collection of 1990s rock: Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Nine Inch Nails and even b-list bands like Veruca Salt, Better Than Ezra and Dishwalla — anybody remember that “Counting Blue Cars” song? Anybody?

But, at age 16, I bought a copy of Pink Floyd’s 1973 classic Dark Side of the Moon. I placed it on the shelf, and it melted the rest of my CD collection. Stone Temple Pilots and Counting Crows CDs slid onto my bedroom floor, liquefied like clocks in a Salvador Dali painting.

The glowing, psychedelic textures of Pink Floyd had enlightened me. From then on, I only concerned myself with classic rock and never bought a CD recorded after 1982 for fear of denting my cultural integrity.

But now, at age 22, I rummage through used-CD stores, reassembling the CD collection I had back when I didn’t have a driver’s license or pubic hair. I started this endeavor for the sake of nostalgia for a simpler time when war and terrorism didn’t dominate the nightly news and the most infuriating thing named Bush was a crappy Nirvana knock-off band from England.

But I soon discovered that ’90s rock has more purpose than bringing about cuddly Clinton-era memories. Many of these bands freaking rocked, something my Floyd-centric worldview blinded me to until recently.

Here are some of my favorite rediscoveries:

Pearl Jam – Ten: Remember the typical mid-’90s alternative rock hit: the tromping bass line, scratchy — but still radio-friendly — guitar riff and aggrieved-sounding vocals? Before that format became endlessly copied, cliched and dumbed-down, there was Pearl Jam. Listen to “Once,” “Even Flow” or “Jeremy” to hear just how well tidal wave guitar riffs and forceful vocals can express pain and alienation if done by a group of genuine, original artists.

Nirvana – Nevermind: I am not going to discuss the merits of this album. It’s a no-brainer. Featuring the earth-shattering “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and eight or nine songs just as good, Nevermind is absolutely essential. If you don’t own it, put down this paper, scrounge up $8.99, and haul ass to CD Warehouse.

Tori Amos – Little Earthquakes: Tori Amos’ music is a strange combination of grandiose soundscapes, opaque lyrics and extreme emotional intensity that can only be described as, well … Tori Amos. This outstanding debut introduced one of the decade’s best and most distinctive singer/ songwriters. Best song: “Me and a Gun,” a harrowing, instrument-less track that draws the listener in like a David Lynch film.

Smashing Pumpkins – Siamese Dream: Their angry hit “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” and mistaken connection with the grunge movement caused the media to pigeonhole Smashing Pumpkins as angsty. But the soaring melodies of “Cherub Rock” and “Rocket” suggest the Pumpkins were more diverse. Not since Jimi Hendrix’s “Bold as Love” has the electric guitar been used to express such bustling euphoria. Yes, there are some downers on this album — “Mayonnaise,” “Disarm” — but they are gorgeous, not gloomy, downers. Billy Corgan, we hardly knew ye.

Jewel – Pieces of You: Wait. What the hell is Jewel doing on this list? Jewel sucked. Jewel was that chick from Alaska who always talked about how she used to live in a van, right? Yeah, Jewel totally sucked. Next.

Soul Coughing – Ruby Vroom: Imagine a band not consisting of people but of whacked-out cartoon characters. The bass player and drummer groove along as if they honestly think they are in a jazz quartet; the keyboardist inserts samples of blues singer Howlin’ Wolf, 1940s girl group The Andrews Sisters and some woman singing “The Lemon Tree Song” on an answering machine into the mix. And the lead singer comes up with similes like “I absorb trust like a love rumbas” and “Your words burn the air like the names of candy bars.” That only begins to describe the strangeness of Soul Coughing, one of the 1990s’ most idiosyncratic and overlooked bands.

Jeff Buckley – Grace: Out of an era of crude, abrasive music comes an album as hauntingly beautiful as a Billie Holliday anthology. Buckley had the voice of an alt-rock angel, and he used it to its utmost on songs like “Last Goodbye” and “Mojo Pin.” But the album’s high point is its hymn-like cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah;” a truly incredible performance.

In my recently reconsidered opinion, those are the best rock albums of the early ’90s. They are treasures, but freshmen and others who may be unfamiliar with pre-2000 rock should know that not all of this era was great.

Those looking to explore ’90s rock should avoid any syrupy jam band that was called “the torch-bearer of the Grateful Dead” (that torch should have flickered out in the mid-1970s), any drugged-up skank who endlessly profited from her famous husband’s death (not talking about anyone in specific here) and any album accredited to anyone named Alanis or Hootie.

E-mail Nick Keppler at [email protected].