Aside from "Beer Wars," "PJ20" was probably the documentary my friends on Facebook and Twitter recommended the most. And since I grew up in the '90s listening to Pearl Jam and other grunge bands, and two of my best friends are pretty obsessed with the band, I decided to give this a go for my second official documentary.

To get this out of the way now, I won't be writing much about the documentary itself. I'll say up front that what I enjoyed most was seeing old footage of the band, learning a little more about Temple of the Dog (the "supergroup" formed between members of Soundgarden and PJ) and seeing just how close knit the Seattle music scene was compared to the scenes in LA or NYC, for instance. But I'm not a PJ diehard, and as such, this film probably wasn't meant for me.

If you want a little more depth on the film, this AV Club article explains some of the lessons PJ learned along the way to superstardom, and that's really what the documentary is about: How Pearl Jam became the longest-lasting band of the grunge era, despite all the odds.

I didn't really enjoy that aspect of the movie, but it did perhaps stretch my view of what it would be like to be such a huge celebrity. It's certainly admirable that PJ was able to stretch their career past two decades and do so in a way that maintained (or at least attempted to maintain) their own sanity and artistic integrity. I get that, and it does make me appreciate the band a little more.

But in a lot of ways, that aspect of the movie reminded me of Drake's music. Or, more specifically, Drake's lyrics. I like what the former Canadian TV soap opera star (it's funny every time I write it) is doing in hip-hop/R&B, I like his songs, I like most things about him. He fascinates me as an artist, but no matter how many times I try to get into his music, I can't get past the whining about how tough superstardom is. It's a tough sell in a harsh economy. Not to belittle how challenging it must be to give up your anonymity, but I'm sure many of us would trade places with the Drakes and the Eddie Vedders of the world in a heartbeat.

And so good chunks of PJ20 is about Eddie Vedder and the rest of the band's struggle to embrace how big they had become by the mid-'90s, and how that fame led them to create their own path in the music industry. The band surely had lofty aspirations from the beginning (really Eddie, all you ever wanted to be was a semi-successful touring musician?), so it seems disingenuous for PJ to talk harshly about their own success, or to make themselves out to be the victims. You made your bed, etc.

Still, there were parts of PJ20 that opened my eyes to the breadth of the grunge movement, and how easily it must have been for PJ to get swept up into that scene and swallowed by the music industry, the adoring public, the media, etc.

I was not yet a teenager when I first heard Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit," in the early '90s, but that "teen angst" still had its grip on me. Being as young as I was, I didn't really grasp how big that movement had become until seeing PJ20. Watching Andy Rooney rip on "young people" for talking about how "hard" it is to be a teen was priceless. I'm sure I would have hated that segment had I seen it as an actual teenager, but some almost 20 years later adds a touch of poignancy to me.

But when's the last time Andy Rooney took the time to talk trash about some youth movement or some music trend? Tyler, the Creator? Lady Gaga? Kanye West?

Sensing a trend? It's sad and a little scary when Lady Gaga is the most punk rock person in mainstream America.

In fact, a day after watching PJ20, I'm still left with a certain sadness that we'll never experience something so sweeping and big like that again. Can you imagine a musical movement, let alone a type of rock music like grunge, coming along again and taking the nation and world by storm? With Twitter and Facebook and Spotify and downloaded music, the movement would be over in less than a year. People would move on to the next new thing. The music industry's splintered into a million little pieces. Genres don't really exist anymore. Not like they used to. When pop and rap artists collaborate with indie artists like Bon Iver and MGMT every chance they get, the barrier between these genres weakens more and more. Hell, even Korn is getting into the dubstep movement.

The days of platinum records are long gone except for the biggest of pop stars. Rock is dead. Rock as a cultural touching stone, as an influence on the youth of America, is dead. The kids have their Justin Biebers and their Miley Cyruses now. Their Kanyes and their Lady Gagas and their Lil Bs.

When's the last time any of them wrote a song as poignant as "Jeremy" or as touching as "Betterman?"

I know a lot of people who'd say it's for the best that the music industry has collapsed, that consumers can listen to pretty much anything they want anytime they want for free or, at least, pretty cheaply. I certainly won't bemoan the rise of indie-styled bands being able to make a living and keep their artistic credibility at the same time. It's resulted, certainly, in some great music.

But me? I wish there were more Pearl Jams in this world, and with R.E.M. recently calling it quitsies, there aren't many bands left with both cultural significance and huge fan bases. And that's a bad thing. In 10 or 20 years, what rock band(s) will we be celebrating? Coldplay? Kings of Leon?

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Come on, Black Keys. This is your moment. Seize it.