David Grohl, who has a beard, is quite
clearly what you might call A Good Bloke. Never mind all that Nevermind whiny
bollocks, his subsequent real band always were a proposition that took some of
the friendlier riffs of the rockier side of Grunge and melded them with an
unabashed love for classic rock and roll. What this means is that Foo Fighters
are not just able but allow themselves to have fun.
Grohl’s popped up in the North a couplea
times these last few days as it goes – initially, bouncing onto an Anfield
stage alongside Paul McCartney to first fizz through a few riffs of Band On The
Run alongside Macca, then to back him on the drumkit during Back In The USSR.
The grin on Davey-boy’s face obviated any need for stagelights: it was obvious
that a) in contrary to the famous Everton chant, someone in Anfield actually did
know their history that night and b) that Grohl was transported back to
something of a childhood fantasy. This is what it’s all about, he seemed to
say, this rocks. And, of course, it did.
Around twenty hours later, The Grohlstar
buzzed onto another enormo-stage forty-odd miles down the M62 for the Foos gig
at the City Of Manchester Stadium. It is, beyond any question, a brill footy
ground: sat in the main stand, the views were ace though as ever I wanted to
dive from the top of the seats into the writhing, moshing throng lucky enough
to have snagged standing tickets. Not to worry; the Foos have a set that’s
suited to a place like this, and certainly their frontman has the personality
and charm to fill it too. “We’re gonna rock!” he screams, “Til we can’t fuckin
play no more!” (The exclamation marks are important; everything he says is
punctuated with them.)
He loves it: the crowd roar their approval and Grohl
charges round the stage and into the midst of the audience via a walkway that
reaches roughly the centre circle. There are drum solos, acoustic interludes,
breakdowns in songs for the kids to sing and clap along, even a triangle solo
and an extended meet-the-band bit that in the hands of anyone else would border
on excruciating, even embarrassing. That it is actually engaging and
smile-inducing is testament to the spirit running through the band and by
definition therefore their driving force.
“We’ve been going for twelve years
(sic)!” Grohl informs the crowd. “We used to suck! But we’re fuckin good now!”
He’s right on the latter part, at least.
The enormous venue is reflected in the
enormous ticket price, but with support from Futureheads and Manic Street
Preachers that financial hit is assuaged a tad, and certainly the Foos’
crowd-pummelling triple-dip double-length hit-smashin extravaganza of a set is
designed to try and give value for money.
It also shows one thing very clearly: that,
in a very real way, there’s really nothing inherently wrong with being A
Big Rock Star. And that the dictum is true that you should take what you do
seriously, but never yourself.Something perhaps lost on some of his
contemporaries back when the world was different and you were allowed to take
as much liquid on board a plane as you liked.
In the face of some of the
current paranoia and disillusionment, suspicion and frenzied rush toward A New
Bigotry, escapism and happiness are more important than ever they were and
Grohl has always understood the power of a smile and One! More!
Motherfuckin! Rockin! Song!
Hey! Ho! Let’s go!
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