Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Location: Villa Manin, Codroipo, Italy
Concert date: August 13, 2012
Attendance: 12,000 – 15,000
Ticket price: €56
Only the strongest rise from the ashes of old glory. Dave Grohl is a master of survival, and he clearly works even better in his new guitarist’s skin than behind the drums. For a full 17 years since Kurt’s death, the central spotlight on the holy grunge trinity has shone hardest on the talented 43-year-old, who traded drumsticks for six strings and a mic and feels even more at home out front, on the front lines, than behind the skins and cymbals. Proof that you can’t live off old glory forever isn’t hard to find with this charismatic, steel-balled bearded guy – his fellow Nirvana trench-mate, bassist Chris Novoselich, has meanwhile vanished from the public’s memory and sight almost unbelievably, while Dave grinds away and stacks success on success, hit on hit and album on album. Surprisingly, the seventh album in a row, Wasting Light, is even more potent and outstanding than the older stuff, but until recently one question was still hanging in the air: do the guys sound as good live on stage as they do on record?
Plenty of bands have made powerful studio records, but when it came time to defend the colors of the studio in front of a crowd of young guys and girls used only to the best, a lot of them ran out of breath. Grohl has already proven himself with Nirvana, with the supergroup Them Crooked Vultures, with stints in Queens Of The Stone Age and Nine Inch Nails, and behind the kit he’s gone toe to toe with aces like Lemmy and, well, the softer Tom Petty, while Slash, Julliet Lewis and Prodigy have also called on his help. Dave has nothing left to prove, yet he’s always up for a challenge and a musical outpouring. It’s always healthy to test empirics in practice, so the announcement was just what the doctor ordered: Foo Fighters decided to tear down the prejudices of the unconvinced and defend their punch and quality live, right in the setting of the Doge’s palace, not far from Udine.
After a grueling work day and the exhausting summer swelter, the caravan of music lovers finally got its D-Day for opening heart chakras and ear canals. August 13 arrived as unexpectedly and forcefully as a typhoon, but instead of nature’s destructive power, a veil of great expectations descended on the Italian town of Codroipo, and with its tin-can embrace it stopped the pulse of an otherwise sleepy, idyllic little town on the very doorstep of the mighty Po Valley. Part of that endless caravan was the cavalry of our crew. In the race against time and the hunt for a spot to park our steel steed, time flew by so fast that moments slipped through the cracks in the space-time continuum, and we missed the support acts, the well-regarded and proverbially good punk rockers Gaslight Anthem from New Jersey and Sugar and Hüsker Dü legend Bob Mould, and before we knew it the clock hit 9:00 p.m.
Like a ticking bomb, the American pioneers of alternative pop-ish melos Foo Fighters then took the stage, and it trembled under the punchy opening of the new record’s first single, the decibels of White Limo. Dave confidently took center stage, flanked by legendary guitarist and returning Foo Fighters member Pat Smear, additional six-stringer Chris Schifflett, while the infallible Nate Mendel on bass and the likable drummer Taylor Hawkins began dictating the powerful rhythmic force. The QOTSA-style opener warmed up the front lines nicely, and the pulse of the twelve-thousand-headed crowd climbed even higher with an immediate leap into the far-from-gentle stampede of All My Life. One By One may not be the strongest record from the Seattle soldiery, but the moment at the center, at the very navel of the musical universe, was tuned just right that Monday, so that words became flesh and the flesh fed the insatiable beast of Europeanized pagans besieging the stage. Grohl faces the crowd like a man and the verses slide into the ears better than nectar: »All my life I’ve been searching for something / Something never comes never leads to nothing / Nothing satisfies but I’m getting close / Closer to the prize at the end of the rope / All night long I dream of the day / When it comes around then it’s taken away / Leaves me with the feeling that I feel the most / The feeling comes to life when I see your ghost« A word or two in Italian, then Grohl finally switches to the more familiar Anglo-Saxon undertones and openly admits that apart from pasta, very little Italian ever slips out of his mouth. He announces that he came to play, not to goof around, and promises the audience a marathon show, which shakes in an epileptic fit and sings along to everything that Grohl’s manipulation-skilled hand cooks up. I love masters of the craft, and even though between Grohl and my strategic position there was no mere crowd but an endless ocean of people, I believed the Foo Fighters were singing for every single person there – me included. Rope is proof that the band’s newly baked, newborn musical child is built for conquering and outplaying, and it goes without saying that in front of the steel structure of the gigantic stage there was mass prayer, hysteria and total hypnosis, which Grohl and company stoked further with calculated strolls to the very heart of the action – along a safely raised and guarded catwalk, of course. Grohl goes on to ask in song: »What if I say I’m not like the others? / What if I say I’m not just another one of your plays? / You’re the pretender / What if I say I will never surrender?« and only one answer echoes in the mind: »Thank God for small mirracles!« Faking it is all too common in today’s world, and rock’n’roll shouldn’t have room for tactics, sitting on the bench and pretending – at least not in the top tier, and Foo Fighters are undoubtedly part of that elite. Yes, they’ve got plenty of hits and yes, they know how to tug at the soul with sweetness, but instead of leaving a stale taste in the mouth, the excellent My Hero, even more so the brilliant genius of Generator and the already overheard Learn To Fly prove that the creative pen among these alternative-mainstream fighters is sharp, successful and inspired, as if it were powered by The Beatles’ batteries – well, almost … New Way Home conjures the colors and contours of the record The Colour And The Shape, and the suspense after a bit of reining in the hellish horses is skillfully topped off by the building melodies of all three guitars, Hawkins’ solid, steely leg and drum kit, and the melancholy of the newer, newest song Walk fits in like peas and carrots. I’m not a fan of the Britpop vibe that this slightly unconventional approach to an otherwise by no means bad song conjures at moments, but the dance tempo slowly creeps into rusty joints too, and Cold Day On The Sun is one more punch for the unprepared. Even more Americana sound, pop in the Tom Petty manner and visions of Counting Crows, only with a bit more balls. Rami Jaffee weaves in with the keys so subtly that nothing is disturbed, only the band on stage is no longer as angry and adrenaline-fueled as usual. So what? The Grohls write the notes they dance to themselves, and it has to be admitted that alongside all their musicality they have extra talents too – above all a sense of humor and cynical sarcasm. The punchy Arlandria continues sensually with a hidden warning that gives the attentive something to think about, while to superficial listeners it comes across as a very likable little song: »One of these days your eyes will close and pain will disappear / One of these days you will forget to hope and learn to fear«. Grohl is a modern-day portraitist of urban anxiety, but he’s swapped the usual palette of gray, which everyone’s had their fill of, for more rainbow shades of light and heartfelt scarlet. The echo of the auditorium and the play with sound reached a climax of its own with the gentle song Aurora and verses that weave into the subconscious slowly, tenderly and with feeling. »You believe there’s something else / To relieve your emptiness / And you dream about yourself / And you bleed and breathe the air / And it’s on and on / I just kinda died for you / You just kinda stared at me / We will always have the chance / We can do this one more time« and the white-hot lights melt away the sense of time. One look at the watch reveals that Foo Fighters have been on stage almost two hours without a break, and we still can’t get enough. After Monkey Wrench and the acoustic suspense of Hey, Johnny Park!, which may not be exactly their best number, Grohl pompously announces a song that was the first one they ever wrote but hadn’t played for a long time – It’s A Call. After those debut moments from their own history, they play with knowledge of music’s (pre)history in the style of Monthy Python’s Flying Circus, a history that for many a wet-behind-the-ears attendee is as close as the wheel is to Australopithecus. At the end of the seventies, Pink Floyd erected an epitaph to the age of human stupidity called The Wall, and part of it was the punchy, dark and biting In The Flesh, which the Foo Fighters adopted well and tailored to their own sound, stage presence and shoes, which they fill successfully despite all purist objections. Instead of Waters, it’s Grohl who belts into the mic: »So ya Thought ya Might like to Go to the show / To feel that warm thrill of confusion, That space cadet glow. / I’ve got some bad news for you sunshine, / Pink isn’t well, he stayed back at the hotel / And they sent us along as a surrogate band / We’re gonna find out where you folks really stand. / Are there any queers in the theater tonight? / Get them up against the wall! / There’s one in the spotlight, he don’t look right to me, Get him up against the wall! / That one looks Jewish! / And that one’s a coon! / Who let all of this riff-raff into the room? / There’s one smoking a joint, / And another with spots! / If I had my way, I’d have all of you shot!« The punchy riff of the number goes down sweet, and you can sense the end of the concert journey drawing near. Still, something even better is saved for last. The best, to be precise. Best Of You booms out full and punchy, and you wouldn’t add a thing to any of it. At least not in the first, official part of the show. The band leaves the stage, but the darkness and strategically placed lights make it clear the cannonade isn’t over yet. After a short break to gather strength, two sips of water or beer and a precisely measured couple of minutes’ pause, it’s time for the cherry on top, even though there isn’t a hero who could accuse them of saving their energy or phoning it in. Dave takes the stage with an acoustic and, in the style of a heroic loner, sings a slightly worn-out version of Times Like These, which, once all the connecting links of the band’s organic body join in, grows into a gorgeous mosaic of alternative beauty, and then the old-timer of the punk golden age, the gravelly Bob Mould, joins the youngsters on stage with his presence. Dear Rosemary is a shared studio moment that works flawlessly and tightly live too, and the real surprise comes next. Did I already mention Tom Petty today? Yes? And the fact that Breakdown was penned by his fingers? It’s precisely this slightly faded hit of the late eighties that Mould and the Grohls decide to play together, no holds barred. SAZAS would already be rubbing its hands, while the Foo Fighters couldn’t give a f… and carry on with their stampede like an armored unit. The surgically closed circle can be completed by only one more act – the song Everlong, which, hand on heart, is something better than anything my perpetually alternative-hungry ears have heard.
Some would have crowned this extraordinary finish with the song Wheels as well, but I think it would have been hard to add anything more without the whole thing falling apart, getting watered down, or turning, after nearly three hours of marathon, into a factor that would breed boredom. Foo Fighters came, saw and conquered – across the board. Everyone was satisfied, only the sound could have been better. It’s also true that from the back rows you could see precious little of the stage this time. The Foo Fighters looked small as ants, but were loud and punchy as a herd of elephants. A giant screen or some projection on canvas wouldn’t have hurt, which is the sort of thing some faded glam rockers would take for granted. Grohl and his fellow conspirators in alternative pleasures, in a pop-ish, center-stage way, are betting on something else and more important – on good music, energy, great ideas and the fact that there’s no rock’n’roll without hectoliters of sweat. That’s exactly why I’ll go to admire them again next time, and this horse, my dears, is always a safe bet!
Setlist
- White Limo
- All My Life
- Rope
- The Pretender
- My Hero
- Generator
- Learn to Fly
- New Way Home
- Walk
- Cold Day in the Sun
- Arlandria
- These Days
- Aurora
- Monkey Wrench
- Hey, Johnny Park!
- This is a Call
- In the Flesh? (Pink Floyd cover)
- Best of You
Encore:
19. Times Like These (Dave solo)
20. Dear Rosemary (w/ Bob Mould)
21. Breakdown (Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers cover) (w/ Bob Mould)
22. Everlong
