FOO FIGHTERS THERAPY

Do the Foo Fighters Love the Northwest Or Is It A Touring Coincidence?

From Walla Walla to The Gorge to Portland in a couple weeks?

Yep, they like it here, they really like it.

My boys hit the road from Portland to Walla Walla for Gentlemen of the Road.

It sounded like a Traveling Wilburys thing to me, a new super group, or just a good reason for a road trip.

They came back pumped up by the experience.

Then my pal said he was going to The Gorge for Foo Fighters, would I like to go? Yes I would.

But there’s more going on. Let me tell you a story.

I’ve been to The Gorge for a rock and roll show once and didn’t see it. The Dead headlined.

My sons had tickets but no ride since they were in college and had class Friday and their ride skipped.

It sounded like this: “Can we borrow the van, or would like to go with us?”

Me: “When do we leave?”

Them: “We have tickets and you don’t.”

Me: “It’s a Dead show, boys. Don’t worry about tickets.”

Hours and hours on the road to what I called The Middle Of Nowhere we set up camp and cracked a beer.

Camp was between a long row of toilets and a few dumpsters ripening up early. The neighbor had his band in a trunk thing going full blast.

Between the noise and the smell I got a ticket and we headed out for the long walk. Before we actually got inside I asked my guys, “How much would we have to get for the tickets to pack up and go home?”

The answer was somewhere between $350 and $800. It changes with each telling.

My youngest kid yelled it out and a guy beside him said hell yeah and whipped out his wallet. He and two others had flown up from LA with no tickets.

“What were you thinking showing up without tickets?” I asked.

“It’s a Dead show,” he said.  “We weren’t worried.”

We sold the tickets and drove out, getting back to Portland around three in the morning. I heard it was a good show.

Couple years later another pal had tickets in Portland for the Foo Fighters. His kids had floor passes, we sat in the arena.

The opening act played and finished. We thought they were the Foo Fighters and got ready to leave, but no one else was. Waiting for an encore, right?

Then Foo Fighters came on and that was it.

Fast forward and I’m actually at The Gorge, inside the amphitheater, watching Gary Clark, Jr. tear it up.

Foo Fighters came on and that was it.

Dave Grohl lit the fire and invited all twenty three thousand campers in the middle of nowhere to sit around his campfire.

He told stories, explained how he recruited his band. He invited one guitar player to join Foo Fighters along with writing a million dollar check. He invited his second guitar player and wrote him a two million dollar check.

Twenty years later the band plays on.

Are the Foo Fighters the Beatles? The Stones? Are they U2? Bruce? Or are they a kick-ass rock and roll band busy carving their place in the pantheon of music?

Dave Grohl apparently didn’t attend the class in The School of Rock where he would have learned it’s all about him, not other musicians, not the crew.

Instead he gives credit, acknowledges what it takes to do what he does.

Foo Fighters have mastery over their instruments, command of time, and you can’t help feel the love pouring out to the audience.

While most baby boomers have seen enough shows to say they’ve seen it all, which is an excuse to stay down, Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters have a surprise.

It might sound like this from the front man: “You haven’t fucking seen it all until I tell you.”

And it’s a comfort.

Thank you Dave. Thank you Foo Fighters. And most of all, thank you Mark, a fighter all the way.