By STEVE MASCORD
DAVE Grohl is the boy who cried: “Filler!”.
Before every Foo Fighters release, the alt. rock Gene Simmons tells us how this will be a “straight ahead” album with none of the pretensions of the previous one. Just about the only thing in the music industry Grohl hasn’t yet achieved is being the first musician to declare: “our new record has a few fillers. Hang on for the next one, it will be better”.
Foo Fighters have become so ubiquitous that being passionate about them is increasingly difficult. They’re everywhere – and surely only three or four years away from being regarded as “classic rock”, something Kurt Cobain and Krist Novoselic could never have envisioned for their band-mate.
The Foos’ omnipresence sometimes overwhelms one stark fact: they are breath-takingly, devastatingly good. Put Wasting Light into your CD player and it’s a fact you’ll immediately be bowled over by.
Like a mind-reader in a casino, Dave Grohl writes melodies that make you smile, cry, jump and get goose bumps and does it with seeming effortlessness. For some, annoying effortlessness – more of that later. His repertoire does not rely on the quiet-loud-quiet-loud dynamic of so much modern rock; true to his promise, much of Wasting Light is loud-loud-loud-loud.
“Bridge Burning” starts like a Tool song but soon segues into something that could have been on Foo Fighters’ debut album all those years ago. “These are my famous last words…” opens an album which, hopefully, will not prove to be. “Rope” is quirky, insomuch as quirky can be instantly catchy and commercial.
“Dear Rosemary“ is a superb rock epic that ranks among the Foos’ best nine or 10 recordings, dripping with the raw emotion of “Best Of You“. Leave aside all the musical instruments – the vocal melody of the chorus doesn’t so much tug at your heartstrings and rip them out and roughly crochet a picnic blanket out of them. “White Limo“ is back to nineties-style chunkiness with distorted vocals, “Arlandria“ is quiet-loud-quiet-loud but with beguiling vocal phrasing and vocals, “These Days“ soars with wounded defiance.
“Back And Forth, A Matter Of Time” … like the rest of the songs on this album, the entire arrangement will unravel in your mind even if you listen to the opening seconds and hit pause. That’s a rare quality in a rock song, let alone an entire album.
After ‘Dear Rosemary“, “Miss The Misery“ is my favourite. The underlying riff could have come from a Sunset Strip sleaze rock band of the 1980s, the ‘whoa-whoa’ chorus is – as another reviewer noted – reminiscent of KISS.
Gen Y power ballad “I Should Have Known“, strings and all, has a widescreen feel to it that slaughters others in its genre for pathos and execution. “Walk“ is just the sort of buoyant closer you’d hope for.
It’s the best Foo Fighters album in 10 years – but still, there’s an uneasy feeling that is hard to define. The listener is almost scared he will one day take these songs for granted. For 95 per cent of people, empathetic individuals capable of pressing the emotional buttons of millions inspire undying loyalty. But for the other five percent, there is a vague resentment.
Perhaps it’s because there is no “rare genius” in the Foo Fighters. Their massive success and stunning back catalogue have ensured such genius will never be rare again.
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