It was 20 years ago that Garth Brooks, valedictorian of the "Class of '89," began his ascent to 123-times-platinum record sales with his eponymous debut. You could say that Taylor Swift, born in December of that same year, is today cashing the checks that Brooks wrote with his overtly pop-inspired productions. 1989 also saw the death of Keith Whitley—invoked recently by Ashton Shepherd, who is among the throwback acts stirring to dial back the pop in country music—as well as the release of Jason & The Scorchers' Thunder and Fire.

The Scorchers laid much of the ground for today's ever-growing rock scene—even if the "Nashville curse" began when they were asked to remove "Nashville" from their name. (Until last year, Nashville rock acts were doomed never to sell a million albums, if they could get a record deal at all.) And though the national press still likes to act surprised every time a "non-country" act comes straight outta Nashville, the very presence of Kings of Leon on the cover of Rolling Stone this year goes to show how much has really changed.

So what exactly has happened over the past 20 years? Twenty answers below.

Lucy's Record Shop, 1992
In just six years, the all-ages Church Street punk club tapped Nashville into indie rock's DIY revolution and changed the lives of the kids and bands who passed through its doors—none more than Lambchop, whose self-effacing glory shines more brightly almost everywhere other than their hometown. Between Lucy's and Liberadio(!), Mary Mancini will have a statue someday.

The Thing Called Love, 1993
When director Peter Bogdanovich started production on this Nashville-set comedy-drama—about four would-be country stars and their interpersonal exploits in and around an unusually spacious Bluebird Cafe—he probably had no idea that he would inspire starry-eyed singer-songwriters to move to the unforgiving wood-chipper of dreams that is Nashville. The movie wasn't a hit, but it nudged co-star Sandra Bullock toward the big time, and it's better than its reputation, however much it romanticizes being a starving Nashville musician. R.I.P., River Phoenix.

Honky-tonk music returns to Lower Broad/The Ryman reopens, 1994
The revival of Lower Broadway as a nationwide destination, rather than where coin-op porn booths went to die, can be traced directly to Greg Garing, BR549, Paul Burch and a handful of modern-day hillbillies setting up downtown residencies at Tootsie's and Robert's in the shadow of the newly restored Ryman, the jewel in our crown. (It was worth reopening the Ryman just to bring Neil Young and Jonathan Demme to town.) It wasn't the first time Nashvillians had to be reminded country music was something to be proud of, and it won't be the last—but it proved our honky-tonk heritage will always be there to save us if we just let it.

Jason & the Scorchers reunion, Exit/In, 1995
In which Nashville's most heartbreaking shoulda-beens struck down a decade of hard luck and claimed their uncontested mantle as our live act of the century. Onstage and off, grown men wept.

Billboard cover story on Spongebath Records, 1997
Flash! Murfreesboro is the next Seattle, and a label launched on the town square by MTSU RIM majors looms as the next Sub Pop. Playing the roles of Nirvana, Mudhoney, et al.—at least for a few years—will be power-pop outfits Self, Fluid Oz., The Katies and The Features. By 2002, it will all come to naught, but for a brief shining moment Spongebath mounts the boldest challenge yet to the Nashville curse.

Owen Bradley dies, 1998
By the time Bradley departed, the label consolidation that put the finishing glaze of ice on 16th Avenue's city-of-vaults chill was well underway. But the death of Music Row's founding father—the man who sculpted the Nashville Sound, all but invented the pop crossover, and produced some of the greatest singles ever recorded in any genre—marked the symbolic end of the industry's artistic and commercial aspirations hand in hand.

Grimey's, 1999
The Mike Grimes Conquest of Nashville, West Side Edition. A city with a great indie record store is a great city. A city with a great independent record store where Elvis Costello shops and Brian Wilson will sign our copy of Pet Sounds is home for this lifetime.

Dancin' in the District, late 1990s
In D in the D's final years, we saw everyone from Superdrag to No Doubt to Bela Fleck play the now defunct outdoor concert series with the Cumberland at their backs. And who can forget the night Cake raged through their set as the waste-tipping Metro Thermal Plant burned to the ground? Best. Pyrotechnics. Ever.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack, 2000
The Coen brothers think we're cool? Say goodbye, hipness inferiority complex. Just leave the sackful of Grammys there by the door. By the way, how many million records was that sold again? We lost count after seven.

Slow Bar opens, 2000
The Mike Grimes Conquest of Nashville, East Side Edition. Suddenly The Black Keys and Dirtbombs are playing in Five Points, Vandy coeds venture across the river without armed escort, and East Nashville is the place every hot-blooded single wants to live, visit, pub-crawl or hook up in. It lasted long enough for Grimey to light the match and run.

The deaths of Johnny and June Carter Cash, 2003
We still miss someone.

"Night Train to Nashville," 2004
The opening of the new Country Music Hall of Fame was event enough. But with this monumental project and exhibit—which had some of its origins in Dan Cooper's 1997 Scene cover story "Scuffling"—the museum literally remade history. This tribute to Nashville's underserved R&B heritage made a grand gesture toward addressing the city's racial divide, marking the historic kinship of country and soul in the permanent record, and righting the nearly 40-year-old injustice wrought in the name of "urban renewal." Best of all, it made citywide heroes of the original artists and brought some of the most joyous, vital music ever recorded here to a huge new audience.

Jack White buys a house, 2005
White moving here was the rock equivalent of an NFL franchise landing on the East Bank. Suddenly everybody blinks and says, "Hey, who knew Music City had a rock scene?" (You know, like Nashville popped up on People's map the instant Nicole Kidman was spotted at the Whole Foods salad bar.) Benefits: a new side project with the change of the seasons, and club shows like 2007's headline-making White Stripes gig at the Cannery.

Schermerhorn Symphony Center opens, 2006
Build it and they will come—"they" meaning anyone from conductor Leonard Slatkin to Philip Glass.

Next Big Nashville, 2006
Having kicked off with 33 bands in 2006, Nashville's local-centric take on a SXSW-style music festival, Next Big Nashville, has grown exponentially since its inaugural run, with 2009 promising to host more than 200 artists. Focusing on local rock bands culled from all factions of the local and regional music scene, NBN has quickly become the party of year for local musicians and music fans alike.

Starwood Amphitheatre closes, 2007
Reduced to a pile of rubble to make way for a still-unrealized "mixed-use residential and commercial development," Starwood (a.k.a. "Starhole," etc.) served as Nashville's largest outdoor venue and purveyor of eight-dollar beers for just over 20 years. While its final season was pure anticlimax—hail Korn!—it remains to many of us the location of our first big concert (and/or recreational drug experience). Bye bye, big-shed shows. Hello, Bonnaroo.

Young Buck strikes back, 2008
Score one for the Dirty South: When Young Buck felt he was getting screwed out of both royalty payments and song appearances, he let his label boss 50 Cent know. Sure, the G-Unit outcast's unsolicited "Letter to the Labels" smacks of desperation, but at least he's got his pride.

Metallica at The Basement, 2008
Wonder of wonders, a secret show that actually stayed secret (and secured The Basement's superbad standing for years to come). If you knew about it ahead of time, we still haven't forgiven you.

Nashville Curse: Broken?, 2008
It's long been a Music City superstition that we just can't export successful rock bands. But despite mostly blog-bound disputes over the veracity of their "localness" and legitimacy, Nashville rock acts have finally pierced the pop bubble. Paramore went certified platinum. Kings of Leon played SNL. Like 'em or not, they just might prove that the curse is bunk.

Nashville Cream
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