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Twenty-nine years ago, Dave Grohl, the drummer for Nirvana at the time, experienced the loss of his band’s brilliant and troubled frontman, Kurt Cobain. Last year, Grohl, now the frontman of Foo Fighters, lost his drummer, the talented Taylor Hawkins. And a few months later, Grohl also lost his mother, Virginia. Virginia was not only a rock mom par excellence but also a teacher who wholeheartedly supported her punk-loving, unscholarly (her kind term) son.
These consecutive blows were overwhelming. Grohl is naturally optimistic, but it was difficult to fathom how he would recover from such concentrated loss. However, he managed to rise above it all by writing.
Shortly after his mother’s passing, Grohl revealed that he had been writing new songs. He indicated that these songs would touch upon themes such as grief and mortality. I hoped for the best but expected something less. While Foo Fighters have explored anguish and moody introspection in songs like “I Should Have Known” and “These Days” from their 2011 album Wasting Light, I still worried that the new songs might veer toward sentimentality.
As it turns out, my worries were unfounded. Foo Fighters’ latest album, But Here We Are, is a soaring, frenetic guitar-driven masterpiece that often harks back to the band’s best stadium anthems. What sets it apart, however, is its lyrics that genuinely confront the main subject of the album: the devastating absence caused by loss.
Before I continue, I must admit my bias. This is not an album review but rather a fan’s perspective, so take it with a grain of salt. Grohl has previously written for this magazine, and we are friends. However, my admiration for his music predates our friendship by decades. Starting with Scream, his first band in 1986, Grohl’s unswerving dedication to exuberant drums and distorted noise has made him a hero to those of us eagerly awaiting the triumphant return of rock. Foo Fighters’ performances are joyous communal gatherings, not just because of the music, but also because Grohl is a self-aware rock star with impeccable comedic timing. He is also exceedingly gracious to the countless fans who lose their minds in his presence, like the middle-aged man who recently approached him at a restaurant, hoping to show off his Dave Grohl tribute tattoo in some unmentionable location. Grohl skillfully and kindly steered the fan away from undressing.
I must also acknowledge that Grohl and I have extensively discussed this album, but I am honoring his and the band’s desire to let the music speak for itself. They have deliberately avoided press coverage for the album—an understandable decision, even if it clashes with my professional perspective.
Nevertheless, this album manages to explain itself, even in its more cryptic tracks. The ferocious title track, a genuine tour-de-force from Foo Fighters, speaks volumes through Grohl’s throat-ripping screams: “I gave you my heart / But here we are / Saved you my heart / But here we are.”
In many ways, But Here We Are is reminiscent of The Rising, the 2002 masterpiece by Bruce Springsteen, which explored the sudden emptiness left by tragedy with a slightly mellower approach. The Rising was a response to the 9/11 terrorist attacks. The sorrow that birthed But Here We Are, on the other hand, is a more familiar and everyday one. Hawkins, aside from being one of the greatest drummers of his time, was Grohl’s closest friend. The void created by his untimely death is the emotional landscape that Grohl navigates with profound sincerity. In “Under You,” Grohl sings, “Someone said I’ll never see your face again / Part of me just can’t believe it’s true / Pictures of us sharing songs and cigarettes / This is how I’ll always picture you.”
The album is strewn with hints of complex emotions: In “Hearing Voices,” Grohl seemingly sings to Hawkins, “Every night I tell myself / Nothing like you could last forever / No one cries like you … / No one lies like you.” This album is an act of unguarded personal exposure, an unadorned testament to the organic and essential love found in true friendships. He heartbreakingly describes the loss in “The Glass,” saying, “I had a person I loved, and just like that / I was left to live without him.”
These songs reverberate with disbelief at the reality of death. The opening track, “Rescued,” offers solace to fans who have been patiently awaiting Grohl’s acknowledgement of Hawkins’ loss: “It came in a flash, it came out of nowhere / It happened so fast, and then it was over.”
However, at the core of this album lies the loss of Virginia Grohl. Reviews of But Here We Are have been consistently positive, but some critics seem perplexed in their interpretations. Songs that clearly center around the death of Grohl’s mother are occasionally mischaracterized as tributes to Hawkins. However, there is no ambiguity about certain tracks. “The Teacher,” a 10-minute opus, is an explicit homage to Virginia, even quoting her final words to Grohl as he kept vigil by her bedside during her last days. “Hey kid, what’s the plan for tomorrow? / Where will I wake up? / Where will I wake up?”
“The Teacher” is followed by the album’s closing track, “Rest,” a haunting song that begins with a mournful acoustic guitar and concludes with the album’s sole vision of peace: “Waking up, had another dream of us / In the warm Virginia sun, there I will meet you.” The plea for rest is directed at both Hawkins and Virginia Grohl. “Virginia sun” serves a dual purpose: Grohl hails from Virginia’s suburbs in Washington, D.C., and Hawkins, like the rest of the Foo Fighters, was almost like an adopted son to Virginia Grohl. Although the album ends with an acceptance of death, Grohl delivers a more intricate argument throughout its ten tracks: With certain deaths, there is closure—sometimes, every important conversation between two individuals actually takes place. One gets the impression that this was the case with his mother. But with Hawkins, there was no such closure. He died prematurely, suddenly, shockingly. Virginia’s passing was devastating but a part of the natural order. Hawkins’, like Cobain’s before him, was not. Grohl and his band have climbed out of a pit, but the absence continues to thread through him like a needle, stitching everything together with its hue.
With But Here We Are, Foo Fighters have produced their strongest album in quite some time. Tragedy is not a prerequisite for creating transcendent music, but in this instance, it undoubtedly played a role.
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