“That’s one of those things that I think of every morning when I wake up,” Grohl, 52, said during a recent interview, his long, brown hair streaked with gray and tucked behind his ears. “What have we not done? What could we do today?”
Without missing a beat, he recalled a moment years ago when he was “really hot” to play the Super Bowl. A pure thought experiment for most artists, but not him: “Well, let’s call the Super Bowl” was the next step, he recounted with a smile.
The talks, though there were a few of them, petered out. But could you blame him for thinking it could happen — that one could simply wish to play the Super Bowl, and a couple of phone calls later, play for 100 million viewers? Over the last 25 years, Foo Fighters have steadily grown from a one-man solo project into a bona fide rock institution. “It’s almost like we’re farmers, and the field just keeps growing,” Grohl said of the band’s stacking accomplishments. “Then we harvest it, and then it grows some more, and then we harvest it and it grows some more.”
Yet Foo Fighters occupy a rare space as a band with mainstream appeal, led by an undeniably famous star who does not yet feel like an elder statesman. Blessed with relentless energy and a robust contacts list, they’re called upon whenever rock music with joy and gravitas is required, whether it’s David Letterman’s final late-night show, an all-star Prince tribute at the Grammys, a benefit for musicians financially affected by coronavirus, the Kennedy Center Honors or a Democratic presidential fund-raiser. No matter where Foo Fighters show up, they always make sense.
This is partly a result of consistency — by sticking around, without courting controversy, and releasing numerous hit songs with staying power, Foo Fighters have become recognizable to multiple generations. Nirvana remains an important band for successive iterations of young people, and Grohl will always be a member. But whereas the rock stars of yesteryear loomed as unapproachable icons, Grohl feels like a relatable Everyman, someone you could actually have a beer with. And as the years have worn on, and more of his peers have died or receded from the spotlight, he has kept going, a survivor of his old band, his era, and trend after trend after trend. None of which seems to have lessened his indefatigable positivity, all of which he channels into summoning that rock ’n’ roll communal catharsis, whenever required.
Their new album, “Medicine at Midnight,” out Friday, is a subtle but distinct pivot. Without shedding their traditional distorted guitars and expansive howling, the Foos have consciously incorporated dance and funk rhythms into their new songs, influenced by artists like David Bowie and the Rolling Stones who did the same.
The irony of dropping their dance record when live music remains indefinitely postponed wasn’t lost on anyone, including Grohl, who remains the band’s driving creative force. He wasn’t shy about his ambition when we talked, but that friendly demeanor belies the monomaniacal focus required to be so productive. Hard work is not a very stereotypically rocking trait, and yet the Foos have averaged a new album every three years since the beginning, and rarely go dormant for more than a few months at a time. “He doesn’t flutter with his ideas,” said the keyboardist Rami Jaffee, who started playing with the band in 2005 and joined as a full-time member in 2017. “It’s just full-speed ahead.”
The drummer Taylor Hawkins was more direct. “I want to be the biggest band in the world,” he said. “There’s no [expletive] question, and so does Dave. I think he always did.”
Without a tour to embark on, the Foos spun up a promotional blitz across the internet. Grohl, along with the “Medicine at Midnight” producer Greg Kurstin, put out a series of Hannukah-themed covers of Jewish musicians like Drake and the Beastie Boys; he engaged in a viral drum battle with the 10-year-old British musician Nandi Bushell; he started an Instagram account where he tells long, funny stories from his life; the band has dipped into livestreamed performances; they got together in the same room for “Times Like Those,” where they provided running commentary for a photographic slide show culled from the band’s 25 years together. There are also plans to release a documentary about touring in vans, and one member let slip something about a separate movie project.
GROHL’S LONG JOURNEY through the music industry began in the mid-80s, when he dropped out of high school to drum for the Washington, D.C., hard-core band Scream. After it disbanded, he was invited to audition for the open drummer slot in Nirvana, then an up-and-coming Seattle-based band. Not long after, Nirvana recorded and released “Nevermind,” an industry-topping smash that tilted the axis of mainstream taste toward angsty rock.
Butch Vig, who produced the 1991 “Nevermind,” recalled Kurt Cobain hyping up Grohl as “the world’s greatest drummer,” and being blown away by the force of his playing in the studio. “But the thing that struck me was he had this unbelievable energy to him — he brought so much life and power to the band, but also some levity,” Vig said. “As the band evolved, and became this massive success, I could see a lot of the weight of the world being internalized in Kurt, and Dave continued to bring a sense of humor and joy to what Nirvana was doing.”
After Cobain’s 1994 suicide, Grohl was offered several other drumming jobs, including a full-time role with Tom Petty, but decided to pursue his own solo project: Foo Fighters, its name cribbed from a World War II phrase for U.F.O.s. He ended up playing every instrument on what would become the group’s 1995 debut album and recruited the ex-Nirvana guitarist Pat Smear, as well as the bassist Nate Mendel and the drummer William Goldsmith of the proto-emo group Sunny Day Real Estate to form a touring band.
From the beginning, the specter of Nirvana hung over Grohl’s new endeavor. Fans at early Foo shows would clamor to hear “Marigold,” a Grohl-sung Nirvana B-side, and speculate freely about any potential reference to Cobain’s death in his lyrics. But Grohl found a way to take it in stride, which was no easy thing. “We carried that on our backs from the first rehearsal,” he said. “The last thing you want in any situation is, upon first meeting someone, have them ask you a question about the most painful time in your entire life.”
by Jeremy Gordon, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Magdalena Wosinska for The New York Times
