As with every Foos album – from their 1995 self-titled debut, written and recorded as a bedroom project, to their ambitious 2014 Sonic Highways saga (and accompanying HBO blockbuster), based off of the frontman’s desire to explore eight cities in the U.S. and write their musical histories – Concrete And Gold began via one essential, connecting factor: Dave Grohl.
Three months into his hiatus from the band, Dave’s recovery and recuperation was in full swing. Retreating to the studio in the upstairs of his California home, the musician would aimlessly set up microphones and “turn on all the gear” around his drum kit, finding himself recording whatever noise came out. In 15-minute bursts, every day, he would hammer at the instrument he first cut his teeth on in bands 30 years prior, with no real purpose other than to help with the physical therapy on his broken kick-drum leg. Then he would walk away from it and carry on with family life.
This continued for “about a month or two”, when Dave moved onto the next instrument: his trusty guitar.
“Once you wake that back up, it’s like the dam bursts and you start getting more and more ideas,” he smiles, eyes lighting up while tapping a spoon on the rim of his freshly-poured mug of coffee. “I did it on my own for a little while, and got really excited that my heart was still in it, so then I started sending the guys these ideas, riffs, melodies.”
Just like a river in full flow, the music itself started oozing through smoothly. The lyrics, on the other hand, behaved in a manner opposite to Dave’s aforementioned dam metaphor: they were all dried up.
“The last album, I was basically just reporting on all the places where we were making those Sonic Highways episodes – Chicago being one of them,” Dave explains, gesturing to the bustling city directly below the hotel’s sky-high windows. “So it took the burden off of me personally, because I got to write about all these other people’s experiences, which I’d never done before.”
Another all-too-brief puff of a new cigarette.
“It’s strange, because, after making a bunch of records, you kind of wonder where you’re going to tap into next, y’know? It’s kind of like hitting veins that aren’t there anymore.”
Fortunately, lyrical inspiration smacked Dave when he snuck off for a week-long trip to a rented Airbnb on an olive tree farm, in a little town called Ojai, just outside of LA.
“I just brought a guitar and microphone – and a case of wine!” he beams. “I spent most of my time just singing things off of the top of my head. I wasn’t really playing the word game in a journal and cutting and pasting, like I had done before, but just really singing things unfiltered as I was drunk in my underwear.”
With a certain orange-faced politician in the public eye during said sessions, Dave found a clear message in his newfound improvisational lyric-writing technique.
“I look at all of the different periods of time where I’ve written lyrics,” he says, “and they all have their own references and different phases. This one came out pretty clear: I’m a father now, I have to consider a lot more than I used to, and I think I’ve realised we’re not all as free as we were before…”
In what way?
“In every way. I mean, as the political arena started heating up in America before the elections, it became clear that there was so much more threatening all of our lives than I’d considered before,” the frontman confesses. “I’m looking at a candidate that has blatant disregard for the future environmentally, when it comes to women’s rights, diplomatically… I have three daughters that are going to survive me for decades – how are they going to get on unless there’s some positive and progressive change?”
Thinking back to his upbringing and teenage years in Virginia, when his home country went through a “conservative wave”, Dave worried about America being sent back years into a regressive past, courtesy of one Donald Trump.
“It’s weird… it really sparked a lot of my early, alienated, freakish punk rock feelings from when I was a teenager,” he remembers. “I was one of those little freaks in his blue bedroom in the middle of a really conservative part of Virginia feeling like I was just an alien. I started feeling that way again.”
Enter: Run, the storming, explosively heavy and wonderfully grand lead single from Concrete And Gold – the first song properly written for the record.
“It’s basically that need to escape when you feel like everything is coming down around you, that you just want to find a perfect place, or another perfect life, where you’re free to run,” the Foos leader envisions.
Of the 11 tracks that make up the band’s ninth album, there’s a running – pardon the pun – theme, Dave says, of, “trying to find your place in a world that seems to be taking a wrong turn sometimes.”
Not only is a dark undercurrent coursing through Concrete And Gold’s 46 minutes and 57 seconds, but the record also sees the frontman taking personal jibes, lamenting ‘There ain’t no superheroes now’ over the finger-picking brilliance of Happy Ever After (Zero Hour), and confessing ‘I’m a natural disaster’ on one of the record’s sublime highlights, Dirty Water.
Do you actually feel like that, Dave?
“Absolutely. I’m a fucking handful (laughs). Most people don’t realise that. I feel like a pretty stable person, I suppose, but everybody has that side of themselves where they look in the mirror and think, ‘God, I’m a fuckin’ mess.’”
Dave’s introspective side is heard best on the brooding Arrows. “I wrote that about my mother raising two children on her own on a dead-end street,” he reminisces. “As a parent now, I understand more how much of a struggle that must have been for her to keep the family not only together, but happy – which we were. I think that if you’re writing from a place that is real, then everything influences you.”