To put it bluntly - the world of commercial art is bipolar. On one end, to be popular is to be revered. On the other, to be popular is to be reviled. Half of the world screams
for the most successful band, while the other half screams
at them. The first faction finds validation in mass consumption, yet the second sees popularity as a "lowest common denominator" scenario. It's the age-old war of Artistic Integrity versus Selling Out, and it's been waged in record stores, coffee shops, and college dorms for generations. Still, there's no clear victor.
As a kid, I was a staunch supporter of the second faction, especially related to music. Hearing a song more than once on the radio meant it was
"too commercial," "dumbed down," or
"for the masses." Popularity turned rock & roll into, well,
pop music. My sixteen-year-old brain, diluted by ego and Mountain Dew, scoffed at the idea of pop music. I scribbled the names of indie bands all over my notebooks and sneakers - the more obscure, the better.
The Velvet Underground. The Shins.
Do Make Say Think. Hella. The less people knew (or had even heard of) the bands I liked, the happier I was. And if I liked a band that actually
was popular (Red Hot Chili Peppers, Coheed & Cambria, Radiohead), it was virtually guaranteed that my favorite album was some early demo or B-side collection. Because, you see, I was a card-carrying member of team Artistic Integrity. From age twelve to twenty, that's what I thought. If you happened to disagree, you were uninformed at best and offensively stupid at worst.
Yeah, I was insufferable.
Yet there was always a dissenting voice in my head. Whenever I snidely chuckled at the philistines around me, listening to Fall Out Boy or Maroon 5 or Nelly, a piece of me crumbled away. Because although I may have
talked about The Mars Volta or the new John Frusciante record, I
listened to plenty of pop music. Well, plenty of pop rock. And there was one band in particular that I enjoyed. Hell, not just
enjoyed - I
loved them. Still do.
They're the Foo Fighters.
Why do I love this band so much? Well for one, I was a kid when hits like "My Hero," "Learn to Fly," and "Times Like These" were inescapable. But youthful exposure isn't the only reason. Mostly, I enjoy the Foo because of their admirable lack of pretense. They don't claim to be the best band in the world, or the most important, or the most politically and culturally active. Instead, they make accessible, entertaining, down to earth rock. And they pull it off with a humble musicality that is refreshing in every sense of the word. Listen to "Have It All" and tell me it's not well-written. Listen to "The Pretender" and tell me it's not passionate. Listen to "Next Year" or "Something From Nothing" and tell me these guys aren't abundantly talented musicians.
In
Pitchfork's 2009 review of the Foo Fighters'
Greatest Hits album, critic Matthew Perpetua described the band as Generation X's answer to Tom Petty - "a consistent hit machine pumping out working-class rock." And man oh man, is that true. The Foo Fighters are a unique band, one that's straddled the line between authentic expression and commercial success for decades. What started as a post-Nirvana curiosity for Dave Grohl quickly escalated into a full fledged post-grunge success story. From there they evolved into hard-edged top-forty fun, then to folksy
on-tour-with-Bob-Dylan quaintness, then to expertly crafted, anthemic, throwback rock & roll. Their music has echoes of Nirvana, Oasis, AC/DC, Black Flag, Queen, The Beatles, and plenty of other genre powerhouses. These influences aren't worn out of trite mimicry, but genuine affection. Grohl and company bow down and pay homage just enough to respect their roots, thankfully without ever overplaying their hands. They've dabbled in heavy metal, country pop, and everything in between. And their collaborations? God, they're fabulous. The Foo have written and recorded with the likes of Paul McCartney, Norah Jones, Josh Homme, John Paul Jones, Joe Walsh, Shawn Stockman, Allison Mosshart, Gary Clark Jr, Zac Brown, and even
Justin frickin' Timberlake. The band takes these disparate styles and integrates them into their sound seamlessly and enthusiastically. It's a musical alchemy that borders on the miraculous.
The band's musicianship, particularly the drums and vocals, are beyond impressive. Dave Grohl's voice, while a far cry from the musicality of Mercury or McCartney, is a grizzled goldmine, delivering catchy hooks and fiery fury in equal measure. But, as a drummer, my favorite aspect of the band is Taylor Hawkins. He's up there with Bonham and Beauford in my top ten (top five?) favorite percussionists. The Hawk is a master of unique rhythms, intricate fills, and in-the-pocket grooves. During my teen years, I spent hundreds of hours drumming along to "Learn to Fly," "Best of You," "Breakout," "Aurora," and countless other songs. Hawkins' style is imprinted on my musical DNA, and whenever I pick up a pair of sticks, there's no doubt his sound rings through.
As far as their individual albums are concerned, each one has its strengths. Their self-titled album from 1995 is a compelling debut - raw and quirky. Their sophomore effort,
The Colour and The Shape, is considered to be one of the best rock records ever made, parading hit after hit with a cohesive structure linking them together.
There's Nothing Left to Lose, their 3rd album, was one of the first CDs I ever bought, and is probably their catchiest effort to date.
One by One, the album which defined my freshman year of high school, is vicious and vibrant.
In Your Honor, their only double album, has its moments (like "Cold Day in the Sun" and "Best of You"), but is probably their weakest outing. As if in response, they released acoustic stunner
Skin and Bones shortly thereafter. Next was
Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace, which is still my personal favorite, and puts up a strong argument for being the best rock album of the 00s. From there, the boys made
Wasting Light, which was recorded in Grohl's garage and entirely in analog; firmly cementing their status as the torchbearers of modern rock.
Sonic Highways is an ambitious album that, coupled with a miniseries on HBO, details the lustrous history of the band and their influences. Lastly, there's
Concrete and Gold, which just dropped last week. It's their most sophisticated and polished album so far, with sweeping harmonies and stunning arrangements.
All that being said, I'd like you to reflect back on the guy I used to be in my teens and early twenties. I was Music Snob in Chief - so too were many of my closest friends. Therefore, thanks to my fondness for Foo, I got more crap from my pals than I care to mention. To them, Dave Grohl was a posturing tough guy hack, and his music was cliché radio drivel. I rarely talked about some new album or song or music video, because doing so would be the catalyst of unending "
Brad's-taste-in-music-sucks" jokes for the rest of the day. So I mostly just stayed quiet, content to sit around with my buddies in the garage, rapturously discussing the musicality of a dusty Neil Young deep-cut or a Sufjan Stevens' B-side or some other flavor of pretentious crap.
Eventually though, it was this shared culture of narcissism, one that I giddily participated in, that jump-started my own musical evolution. It didn't take too big a mental leap to realize that my casual dismissal of pop music in general wasn't unlike my pals' nonchalant hatred of the Foo Fighters. It was then, about midway through college, that I realized other people's unqualified and unsolicited opinions didn't matter. Sure, some aspects of art are objective - it's impossible not to recognize the aesthetic merit of
Abbey Road or
Kind of Blue or
Songs in the Key of Life - but that can only account for so much. Above all else, music is affective. It conjures up emotions, spurs action, and demands attention. It doesn't matter if it's Primus or Beyonce, music is meant to enrapture, if only for the three minutes and thirty seconds of a radio hit.
To me, that's what the music of the Foo Fighters is all about. It's equally fun and furious, managing to brighten my mood and ignite my passions at the same time. Some tunes make me sing along - others make me pump my fists. A few even manage to bring tears to my eyes. So, if any Foo Fighter out there should happen to read this, I say to you:
Thanks. Not just for your music, but for helping me realize that people should be allowed to just
like what they
like. Who cares, right? It's a big world, and if liking the Foo Fighters or ABBA or even "Friday" by Rebecca Black is what you want to do, then go right ahead.
Own your musical skies. Learn to fly through them.
Below is a list of my twenty favorite Foo tunes. Listening to them would be a perfect introduction to the band, the music, and my personal music revolution.
20.)
The Sky is a Neighborhood
19.)
Have It All
18.)
Another Round
17.)
Long Road to Ruin
16.)
Best of You
15.)
The Pretender
14.)
Hey, Johnny Park!
13.)
Aurora
12.)
Stacked Actors
11.) Medicine at Midnight
10.) Skin and Bones
9.) Rope
8.) Virginia Moon
7.) Come Alive
6.) But, Honestly
5.) Everlong
4.) Cold Day in the Sun (live from Skin and Bones)
3.) A320
2.) Outside
1.) Congregation
