Sprawled across America’s sonic highways are the roots to the rock ’n’ roll music that made Foo Fighters. Dave Grohl and company have never made the effort to hide their love for their roots, whether its the Washington D.C. hardcore scene that fostered pre-Nirvana Grohl or the anthemic rock that inspired Taylor Hawkins to take up the drum set. It’s a reverence and respect that made “Sound City” such an endearing love letter last year, and makes the “Foo Fighters Sonic Highways” HBO series such a charm.
And when that passion shines on the accompanying album, it raises an otherwise forgettable peg in Foo Fighters’ legacy from underwhelming to uplifting. Grohl and company waste no effort in punching-up their songs with energy and passion; each growl is with pride and each riff drops with rhythmic admiration.
On highlights like “Something from Nothing” and “Congregation,” it’s moving. It lit a rock ’n’ roll-loving fire beneath me I felt like I had forgotten. And on finale “I Am a River,” it’s brought home in a dramatic, Joan Jett-assisted fanfare, which sums up the dream-chasing themes that permeates both the album and the musical mythos Foo Fighters have dedicated themselves to.
With Sonic Highways, Foo Fighters may have bit off too much. What makes catalogue staples like “Best of You” and “Monkey Wrench” so essential are their tendencies to ignore grand histories, opting to punch the gut instead with heart-to-pen immediacy and growled honesty. Instead, with Sonic Highways, Grohl’s tried to capture the spirit of each city with his lyrics, from the “muddy waters” of Chicago to “southern ground” of Nashville, basing his lyrics off of the corresponding HBO series’ interviews.
The effect is underwhelming, with the cities represented being lightly glazed over rather than fully engaged. It doesn’t help that hometown heroes are almost wastefully tagged onto songs; Foo Fighters already have two rhythm guitar players: Is it really worth adding another in the form of icons like Jett or Rick Nielsen?
Foo Fighters’ roads are jammed; twenty-car pileups of references and excessive features all lead (eventually) to the titanic, arena rock the Foo Fighters defined almost 20 years ago. Yet, the roads there, as cluttered and indirect as they may be, offer a revering reflection—though not image—of that America Grohl and company love so much. Not the most vibrant of runs, there’s still enough crunching guitars and impassioned love worthy of at least a scenic drive down these sonic highways.
Rating: B-
