If we believe in anything at all, Generation X believes that you can’t have it both ways. You can’t have great ideals and great fortune. You can’t have credibility and sell out. You can’t be Troy and Michael from “Reality Bites.” You can’t be Jordan and Pippen.

Dave Grohl suffers more than a little from this “you can’t have it both ways” conundrum. In spite of his disarming likability, talent and success, there is a fairly vocal plurality that withholds affection from Foo Fighters. Although I never articulated it, I know that I am among those cynics. Though two weeks ago I only knew half a dozen Foo Fighters songs and though I’d literally never listened to an entire album by the band, I presumed a lot. I presumed that all the bands’ songs sounded alike. I presumed that their success was mostly a byproduct of Nirvana-attachment and Grohl’s charm. I presumed that their albums were largely fine, very occasionally excellent, but never outstanding. In almost every way, I admired Dave Grohl. I envied him. I rooted for him. But I never really believed in him. I presumed a lot. But I was certain of one thing -- he couldn’t have it both ways.

I mean, you’re not allowed to be a superstar drummer and a frontman guitarist. You can’t be Hardcore and lightly Alternative. You can’t have long, kind of beautiful hair and bad tattoos and be Punk Rock. You can’t be warmly earnest and detached cool. Like many others of my generation, I never explicitly articulated these beliefs so much as I unconsciously knew them.

If the last few years have taught us anything, though, it has been to reconsider our unconscious biases and to employ radical empathy. And so, with good will and humility, I revisited Dave Grohl and his impossibly popular band. I promised to disabuse myself of certain unproductive assumptions. I needed to stop thinking of The Foo Fighters as the last band standing on the Rock boat. I needed to stop comparing him to Kurt Cobain. I needed to check my envy, as a man who cannot play a single musical instrument and has less than radiant hair. And I needed to quit my petty withholding. 

I am of the same generation as Dave Grohl. I am also a middle-aged husband and father of three. Seriously -- what the fuck was my problem? He grew up. Why couldn’t I? He’s no longer the lanky drummer -- all flailing arms and hair. He’s got a big house in the suburbs. He’s got lines on his face and a spare tire on his gut.

But, most of all, Dave Grohl knows. He knows he can’t sing or write songs like Kurt. He knows he’s not Neil Pert on drums or Greg Ginn on guitar. He knows he and his band are unquestionably great, but also kind of predictable, and that they will probably always suffer from comparison. He knows that he’s lucky and kind of goofy, but also ridiculously talented and hardworking and charming as hell. It seems to me that Dave Grohl is “all of the above” to all of the above questions. He knows it all and still believes we can have it both ways.

In spending time with The Foo Fighters’ surprisingly concise discography, there was ample evidence for the “both ways” thesis. But the strongest proof was probably 2011s “Wasting Light,” Grohl’s first post-forty album. Released nearly four years after a mostly maligned double album, “Wasting Light” is about looking back while staying very present. To remain close to his family, Grohl renovated his home’s garage into a state of the art, analog recording studio. He then invited Butch Vig, the legendary Grunge and Alt producer who worked on “Nevermind,” to helm the project. Pat Smear, by then fifty two, returned to the band in a full time capacity. And one of Grohl’s heroes, Bob Mould, of Hüsker Dü, appears on one track as does former Nirvana bassist, Krist Novoselic. 

Based on “Back and Forth,” the documentary about the making of “Wasting Light,” the album was very much a family affair. The band members, their partners and their children can all be seen and heard around the studio, swimming, laughing and eating together. The experience appears to be intimate, musical, nostalgic, rich, suburban and entirely wonderful. In between the revelry, tracks were laid to tape — completely analog. Nothing digital. “Back and Forth” is the very image of Generation X finally enjoying the bounty of their longstanding diligence and ideals. It’s a band absolutely having it both ways.

Foo Fighters have often, and rightfully, been accused of sameness — of using the same diatonic chord progressions. The same quiet, loud, quiet, loud effect to shake us into feeling something. And the same big, bold, glittering generalities in their words. To be clear, each of those tropes does appear on “Wasting Light.” But there is also a different energy made possible by the three guitars. Grohl plays his rhythm open and down the middle. Pat Smear plays his heavier, towards the bottom. And Chris Shiflett plays his higher up and with more angles. The cumulative effect is a great force of weight that can move quickly from hard, progressive Math Rock, to heavier Grunge to crystalline, lightly Alternative mainstream Rock. At one moment, you hear Fugazi. And then suddenly you hear Motorhead or Black Flag. The breakneck turns, from genuine Hardcore to familiar Rock anthems, are genuinely impressive. The third guitar seems to provide both weight and options for a band that was increasingly accused of being musically and conceptually light and stagnant.

The album opens with “Bridge Burning,” a clear statement of purpose. The guitars sound like weapons and the time signatures are nervy, like Fugazi or their less serious spawn from Jersey City, Rye Coalition. Like the latter band, The Foo Fighters are more comfortable wading into album oriented Rock than politics. But like neither band, Foo Fighters always seem to find comfort in melodic, open melodies, in between all the tight angles. 

As the title suggests, there is an urgency to “Wasting Light.” Many of the tracks begin at a sprinter’s pace, starting before the previous song ends. The ferocity of the guitars and athleticism of the drums are undeniable. This band sounds bigger than The Ramones, or Minor Threat or, even AC/DC. They are a locked in unit. But they are also, simultaneously, less committed than those aforementioned bands. The Foo Fighters alternately use the verses or choruses to let air into the room. They attack the idea but they are also nothing if not reasonable. Dave Grohl relaxes at some point in nearly every song. The guitars change their tune frequently. The band succeeds in getting us to pay attention, but, they also want to make sure we have a pleasant experience. They want it both ways. And, mostly, they get it. 

For an album that, in its recording and its ostensible subject, is about appreciating the now, “Wasting Light” spends a lot of time looking back and taking stock. On “Rope,” the album’s first single, Dave reflects on the person (presumably his wife) who keeps him tethered when he falls out of orbit. It’s a very grown up, domestic sentiment that contrasts sharply with the angular Math of the lead. At one point, the blaze of the guitar approaches Nu-Metal territory before finding its way back to the melody. As Foo Fighter singles go, the track is unusually sharp edged. But as an introduction to the record’s thesis, it is convincing.

In 1994, when Foo Fighters was born, it was as a one man band. Grohl played every instrument on the first songs, passed around cassette copies to friends and aimed to keep it small and mostly anonymous. Given the demand for every ash of Nirvana, Grohl’s aspirations were obviously not realistic. Labels groveled, MTV rolled out the red carpet and Alternative Rock radio cleared the airwaves for the eventual debut. Nearly two decades and many platinum selling, Grammy award winning albums later, Dave Grohl found himself miles from where he ever expected to be and with no reasonable path back home. Foo Fighters could never be just a fun, Hardcore band. Dave Grohl could never be just a drummer who also played guitar and could sing a little. He never wanted to be the guy and he never really bought it, but he accepted it.  

There is a lot of acceptance and, perhaps, even more looking back, throughout “Wasting Light.” On “Dear Rosemary,” Grohl invites Bob Mould from Hüsker Dü to sing both back up and in call and response. Like Mould’s great, former band, Foo Fighters have the ability to lean on you with the load of guitars and then to coast on the sweetness of the melodies. The nostalgia is more wistful and more blunt, however, on “I Should Have Known,” where the band slows down to Grungey pace and where Krist Novoselic joins on bass and accordion. Although tonally poignant and lyrically crushing, the regret is not served especially well by the singer or the song. Foo Fighters excel at loud and soaring anthems. This song is neither. It recalls Nirvana’s cover of “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” -- another song about homicide. However, where Kurt leaves you breathless at the end of that song, Dave leaves you kind of tired and sad. 

“Arlandia,” third in a trio of nostalgic tracks, returns Dave to the Virginia suburb that tried but failed to repress his spirit. The loud/quiet/loud convention provides Dave with a familiar and comfortable bed for a sing songy bridge and very earnest sentiment. Since Virginia is both the state he grew up in and his mother’s name, the bitterness of the singer’s spirit is sweetened by an obviously big heart. It’s a good fastball, with a little movement.

More than most Foo Fighters’ albums, “Wasting Light” gets Hardcore. “White Limo” sounds like a freight train. As the guitars hammer down and pick up steam, the chorus gets on and then off the tracks quickly, for its own good. By the end of the song, the chug of the rhythm is so heavy that you could mistake it for Motorhead or -- yes -- Hüsker Dü. It is not easy to credibly pull off Hardcore Punk as a middle aged millionaire, but Grohl and his band do just that.

“Back and Forth” tries out Bleach-era Nirvana. It’s piercing and distorted and bends the guitar into weird angles before finding melody and harmony in the chorus. But whereas Kurt’s Pixies plus Metal recipe was delicious, it doesn’t taste the same coming from Dave Grohl. Unlike his friend and former bandmate, Dave was legitimately Hardcore, slightly Alternative and, accidentally Pop. Kurt’s influence on Dave’s songwriting is always evident in the craft and the melodies. But when Foo Fighters inch too close to Nirvana, something sounds off.

Conversely, on a song like “Walk,” when they slow down and strip down, setting us up for the big, beautiful bridge, they can tingle spines. It’s a trick that Dave Grohl has mastered, but uses responsibly. If overindulged, it would feel like a trick, like something Coldplay or Mumford and Sons do. But used sparingly, it sounds like the revelations of “My Hero,” “Everlong” or “The Best of You.” Part of the trick is the changes of speed and volume. Some of it is the vague and inspirational lyrics. And some of it is the strain and humanity of the singers’ voice. But, collectively, it is undeniable. And “Walk” closes out the album on a completely triumphant, if well worn, note. It’s the sort of song that would play as the soundtrack for a video about people overcoming great obstacles. It would look and sound like a cliche. But you would believe it, nevertheless. Because it would be true. And, so, you would feel it deeply. You’d know it was kind of a trick. But you’d still shed a tear. Because it’s that good of a song.

Back in 2011, when I was not listening to Foo Fighters even a little, critics were delighted by “Wasting Light.” Much of that praise was earned. The album sounds great. The songs are uniformly strong -- no major missteps. The three guitars work and you feel the full tonnage of the instruments on the analog recording. But some of this may also have been the comparison to its predecessor. And some of it may have been the passage of time. We were nearly twenty years removed from the end of Nirvana. We had a new, progressive President. We were out of the bottom of the recession. And, in middle age, Dave Grohl no longer seemed like the last guy on the Alternative Rock ship. He was the captain of his own boat. He was the elder statesman of a Dad Rock that was equal parts The Clash and Tom Petty. And he’d fully earned the status. He worked and worked and rocked and rocked with rare humility. So, while I will likely not purchase or even listen to the next Foo Fighters’ album, I find tremendous joy in the idea of the band and its founder. Let him be Troy and Michael from “Reality Bites.” Let him be MJ and Scottie. Let him sell out and have big ideas. Let him be angsty and happy. Let him have it both ways.

by Matty Wishnow