By Christian Schaeffer
By Daniel Hill
By Joseph Hess
By Joseph Hess
By Allison Babka
By Gina Tron
By Kelsey McClure
By Roy Kasten
Yet by the time he made the Foos' second album, 1997's The Colour and the Shape, Grohl's ambition had begun to shine through the cracks of his increasingly substantial songwriting. For one thing, he actually assembled a band, hiring Sunny Day Real Estate agents Nate Mendel and William Goldsmith, along with ex-Germs (and occasional Nirvana) guitarist Pat Smear, to help lift his music out of his cozy home studio and the band out of its questionable side-project status.
"One of the reasons why we put out the second record so quickly was because we didn't want people to think that it was a side project," Grohl says on the phone from LA, where he now spends most of his nontouring time. "I was really pretty careful with everything on the first album. I didn't wanna just jump out and make videos right off the bat." Then, after forming the live band, "We jumped in the van and started doing some touring before we let the whole thing go," he says. "We tried to hold it back as long as we could."
Once freed from self-imposed constraints, the band quickly began to grow into itself. As an alt-rock record, Colour is about as slick as they come, but there's also a clear-headed gravitas to it that late-'90s rock fans were getting only in a lamebrained version from Bush; take another listen to "Everlong" and notice how much bristly post-punk tension Grohl fits into such a pretty melody. Before the recording of Colour's follow-up, 1999's There Is Nothing Left to Lose, the band experienced one of its frequent lineup shuffles: Smear departed and was replaced by Scream/Wool guitarist Franz Stahl (who later was replaced by No Use for a Name member Chris Shiflett), and Goldsmith made room for current drummer Taylor Hawkins. Nothing suffers from the instability -- nice singles, but, at an hour, a little bland.
There are no such problems on the recent One by One. It's the band's best work yet, a tight wad of pummeling guitar roar and Hawkins's faux-Grohl drumming that's balanced by neatly defined melodies and Heavy Things to Say About Life. If you've had issues with the Foo Fighters before, this disc dissolves them: no power-pop flippancy, not much studio gloss, no boring tunes. Still, tell Grohl that he's pretty much commercial rock's lone representative for folks who identify with serious guitar music, and he'll try to rationalize his way out of it.
"To me, the sweetest songs aren't the ones that are made by fucking cute kids with pierced eyebrows," he says. "They're a little more emotionally twisted than that. Bands like Hüsker Dü or bands like Rites of Spring or bands that have this raw, emotional rock music -- that always touched me the most."
Grohl remembers his days in the mid-'80s Washington, D.C., hardcore scene, when he drummed with the Dischord Records outfit Scream -- a place and time that have come to be known as emo's ground zero. "A lot of the music in the punk-rock scene had lost any relevance or any meaning. There were bands that were still ultrapolitical, like MDC or Dead Kennedys, but for the most part, music was lacking something. So you had Rites of Spring and Embrace, where the emotional quality of the music was on ten. It was a fucking trip. Going to a show, and afterwards half the audience is in tears -- what the fuck is that all about? I was, like, fifteen, so to me music was just about taking acid and getting laid and being death metal."
Actually, for the 34-year-old Grohl, that last bit still holds true, to a degree. He famously took a break from the Foo Fighters last year to fill the revolving drum seat in the blitzed hard-rock California outfit Queens of the Stone Age, playing on the band's acclaimed Songs for the Deaf and hitting the road for a spate of high-profile live shows. Grohl says he loved the sabbatical from his frontman duties, as well as the opportunity to indulge the baser pleasures that he's all but phased out of the Foos' repertoire. One by One displays Grohl's background in metallurgy, too (don't forget the straight-up stoner cut he sported as a Nirvana member), but he sighs wearily at the notion that it's the result of the Queens' influence.