Rikk
10-05-2005, 08:18 PM
Great interview...here's the LINK (http://www.fooarchive.com/features/harp05.htm) it's from.
It was July 1994, some three and a half months after Kurt Cobain’s suicide, and after months of anticipation, the fourth annual Lollapalooza tour had finally reached the Detroit suburbs. Fifteen-thousand of us had come together at the Pine Knob Music Theater in Clarkston, Mich., for a day of alt-rock bliss that included performances by Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, the Flaming Lips, A Tribe Called Quest and the Verve. Just before dusk, after hours of baking in the oppressive summer sun, I randomly found myself in a secluded area of Pine Knob, descending a cliff-like wooden staircase during a break in the mainstage action. And right there, walking alone some 10 or 12 steps below me—to my complete shock—was Dave Grohl.
Since Kurt Cobain’s suicide in early April, both Grohl and bassman Krist Novoselic had been MIA. No one in the media, it seemed, was able to reach either of Grohl’s former bandmates, leaving all to assume that they were holed up indoors, mourning. Even if they weren’t, running into Grohl among the masses at Pine Knob seemed unlikely, impossible.
But there he was, and there I was. Spying my shock from beneath his black Sepultura baseball cap, Grohl stopped to say hello. Visibly still shell-shocked from Cobain's death—you could see a bit of hurt lingering in his eyes—Grohl was uncharacteristically shy, flashing none of that toothy, knuckleheaded wit with which he would charm us over the next decade. Searching for something cool to say, I raved about the Backbeat soundtrack, a new early-Beatles tribute that Grohl had played on.
Before he had a chance to respond, I popped the question: “How are you?" (In my 20-year-old head, it didn't seem impolite.) “Good," he knee-jerked. As awkwardness set in, we chatted for another minute or so, shook hands and that was that. It was ironic, I remember thinking at the time: Prior to Cobain's death, Nirvana was slated to headline the tour.
But it wasn't what he said that day that I remember most, but the image of him walking away, down the wide, concrete pavilion steps. As he passed throngs of fans readying for the Breeders' set, he slipped by anonymously, with his hat pulled down low. As he made his way into the audience to rejoin his then-new bride, from nearby Grosse Pointe, Nirvana’s “All Apologies" spilled out of the PA and the crowd—God bless it—replied with a roar. It was at once immensely beautiful and deeply sad. As the song’s chorus arrived, with Cobain groaning “In the sun/In the suuun I feel as one,” Grohl found his row and began inching his way toward his seat, keeping his head down the whole time.
Fast-forward 11 years, and I’m almost finished interviewing Grohl for this piece when I somewhat tentatively remind him of our first encounter. After nearly an hour of machine-gun responses, it’s the first time he pauses.
“I remember that. I totally remember that,” he says, almost excitedly, but with a hint of sadness in his voice. “When the audience started cheering, I got really choked up, because I thought, ‘Whoa, we were supposed to be here, doing this. What happened?’ That was a really strange time for me. That whole year was”—he stops and restarts—“It’s still kind of a blur, because I think I was kind of wandering. But that was the first time I realized what sort of impact music, or Nirvana’s music, had on people: that they were actually going to miss it. And so was I. I got really choked up,” he says, sighing.
“It’s funny that you remember that because I think about that every once in a while. Sometimes when I hear that song, I think of that day. That’s when I started thinking, ‘Oh my god, something I’ve done really became a part of millions of people’s lives.’”
......................
Dropping out of high school and jumping into the Scream van in 1987, Grohl was in punk-rock heaven. But after three years, one studio album, two live discs and countless shows, the band started to unravel. In September 1990, midway through a U.S. tour, Scream fell apart after its bassist abandoned the group in L.A. While crashing at Stahl’s sister’s place in L.A., relying on help from his mom, Grohl phoned Buzz Osborne, the singer in Seattle sludge-punk band the Melvins, who mentioned that the fledging Sub Pop trio Nirvana was looking for a drummer. He passed along Grohl’s number to Novoselic, and within days he was touching down at Sea-Tac Airport.
If he and Cobain were polar opposites personally, musically they were a perfect union. “We knew in two minutes that he was the right drummer,” Novoselic tells Michael Azzerad in Come As You Are: The Story of Nirvana. “He was a hard hitter. He was really dynamic. He was so bright, so hot, so vital. He rocked.”
All teeth and hair, a shirtless Grohl made his official debut with Nirvana on October 11, 1990, at a sweaty, cymbal-cracking show at the North Shore Surf Club in Olympia, Wash. (priceless amateur footage of which is included in last year’s Nirvana box set, With the Lights Out).
If Nirvana fans were left slackjawed by Grohl’s immediate post-Cobain success, it’s because most of the world never knew he was much of a singer, guitarist or songwriter. So it begs the question: Why didn’t we? Why didn’t he have a bigger songwriting presence in Nirvana? The answer: Because he never wanted to be anything more than the drummer.
“The greatest thing about being in Nirvana is that I got to play the drums. And as much as I love writing music and being the singer of the Foo Fighters, I loved being the drummer of Nirvana, because my job was so basic and simple. I was supposed to be the fuckin’ bulldozer that carried Krist and Kurt through every show, and it was simple. Kurt’s music was so beautifully simple. And when you get the right combination of people playing together, no one is trying to grab the mic or pull the spotlight, everyone is doing their part, and you just serve the song.”
By the time Grohl joined Nirvana, he had been writing songs for years, and had recorded several tracks in friend Barrett Jones’ basement. It was actually Cobain who gave him the confidence to make songwriting more than just a hobby.
In 1990, not long after he joined Nirvana and moved into Cobain’s Olympia apartment, Grohl was up late one night recording a song called “Marigold” on the 4-track in the living room. “I just did a guitar track and some layered vocals, and Kurt was in his bedroom on the other side of the wall. I thought he was sleeping, and I was trying to be as quiet as possible. He came in while I was listening back really, really quietly and said, ‘What is that?! And I said, ‘Oh, just something I just recorded.’ He’s like, ‘Whoa, show me the guitar thing, show that to me.’ And we used to kind of jam on it in the living room. That was probably the first time I ever thought, ‘Wow, maybe I can write songs.’"
BTW, check out NIRVANA's MARIGOLD...a b-side from the IN UTERO sessions. Great Dave Grohl song, sung by him.:)
It was July 1994, some three and a half months after Kurt Cobain’s suicide, and after months of anticipation, the fourth annual Lollapalooza tour had finally reached the Detroit suburbs. Fifteen-thousand of us had come together at the Pine Knob Music Theater in Clarkston, Mich., for a day of alt-rock bliss that included performances by Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, the Flaming Lips, A Tribe Called Quest and the Verve. Just before dusk, after hours of baking in the oppressive summer sun, I randomly found myself in a secluded area of Pine Knob, descending a cliff-like wooden staircase during a break in the mainstage action. And right there, walking alone some 10 or 12 steps below me—to my complete shock—was Dave Grohl.
Since Kurt Cobain’s suicide in early April, both Grohl and bassman Krist Novoselic had been MIA. No one in the media, it seemed, was able to reach either of Grohl’s former bandmates, leaving all to assume that they were holed up indoors, mourning. Even if they weren’t, running into Grohl among the masses at Pine Knob seemed unlikely, impossible.
But there he was, and there I was. Spying my shock from beneath his black Sepultura baseball cap, Grohl stopped to say hello. Visibly still shell-shocked from Cobain's death—you could see a bit of hurt lingering in his eyes—Grohl was uncharacteristically shy, flashing none of that toothy, knuckleheaded wit with which he would charm us over the next decade. Searching for something cool to say, I raved about the Backbeat soundtrack, a new early-Beatles tribute that Grohl had played on.
Before he had a chance to respond, I popped the question: “How are you?" (In my 20-year-old head, it didn't seem impolite.) “Good," he knee-jerked. As awkwardness set in, we chatted for another minute or so, shook hands and that was that. It was ironic, I remember thinking at the time: Prior to Cobain's death, Nirvana was slated to headline the tour.
But it wasn't what he said that day that I remember most, but the image of him walking away, down the wide, concrete pavilion steps. As he passed throngs of fans readying for the Breeders' set, he slipped by anonymously, with his hat pulled down low. As he made his way into the audience to rejoin his then-new bride, from nearby Grosse Pointe, Nirvana’s “All Apologies" spilled out of the PA and the crowd—God bless it—replied with a roar. It was at once immensely beautiful and deeply sad. As the song’s chorus arrived, with Cobain groaning “In the sun/In the suuun I feel as one,” Grohl found his row and began inching his way toward his seat, keeping his head down the whole time.
Fast-forward 11 years, and I’m almost finished interviewing Grohl for this piece when I somewhat tentatively remind him of our first encounter. After nearly an hour of machine-gun responses, it’s the first time he pauses.
“I remember that. I totally remember that,” he says, almost excitedly, but with a hint of sadness in his voice. “When the audience started cheering, I got really choked up, because I thought, ‘Whoa, we were supposed to be here, doing this. What happened?’ That was a really strange time for me. That whole year was”—he stops and restarts—“It’s still kind of a blur, because I think I was kind of wandering. But that was the first time I realized what sort of impact music, or Nirvana’s music, had on people: that they were actually going to miss it. And so was I. I got really choked up,” he says, sighing.
“It’s funny that you remember that because I think about that every once in a while. Sometimes when I hear that song, I think of that day. That’s when I started thinking, ‘Oh my god, something I’ve done really became a part of millions of people’s lives.’”
......................
Dropping out of high school and jumping into the Scream van in 1987, Grohl was in punk-rock heaven. But after three years, one studio album, two live discs and countless shows, the band started to unravel. In September 1990, midway through a U.S. tour, Scream fell apart after its bassist abandoned the group in L.A. While crashing at Stahl’s sister’s place in L.A., relying on help from his mom, Grohl phoned Buzz Osborne, the singer in Seattle sludge-punk band the Melvins, who mentioned that the fledging Sub Pop trio Nirvana was looking for a drummer. He passed along Grohl’s number to Novoselic, and within days he was touching down at Sea-Tac Airport.
If he and Cobain were polar opposites personally, musically they were a perfect union. “We knew in two minutes that he was the right drummer,” Novoselic tells Michael Azzerad in Come As You Are: The Story of Nirvana. “He was a hard hitter. He was really dynamic. He was so bright, so hot, so vital. He rocked.”
All teeth and hair, a shirtless Grohl made his official debut with Nirvana on October 11, 1990, at a sweaty, cymbal-cracking show at the North Shore Surf Club in Olympia, Wash. (priceless amateur footage of which is included in last year’s Nirvana box set, With the Lights Out).
If Nirvana fans were left slackjawed by Grohl’s immediate post-Cobain success, it’s because most of the world never knew he was much of a singer, guitarist or songwriter. So it begs the question: Why didn’t we? Why didn’t he have a bigger songwriting presence in Nirvana? The answer: Because he never wanted to be anything more than the drummer.
“The greatest thing about being in Nirvana is that I got to play the drums. And as much as I love writing music and being the singer of the Foo Fighters, I loved being the drummer of Nirvana, because my job was so basic and simple. I was supposed to be the fuckin’ bulldozer that carried Krist and Kurt through every show, and it was simple. Kurt’s music was so beautifully simple. And when you get the right combination of people playing together, no one is trying to grab the mic or pull the spotlight, everyone is doing their part, and you just serve the song.”
By the time Grohl joined Nirvana, he had been writing songs for years, and had recorded several tracks in friend Barrett Jones’ basement. It was actually Cobain who gave him the confidence to make songwriting more than just a hobby.
In 1990, not long after he joined Nirvana and moved into Cobain’s Olympia apartment, Grohl was up late one night recording a song called “Marigold” on the 4-track in the living room. “I just did a guitar track and some layered vocals, and Kurt was in his bedroom on the other side of the wall. I thought he was sleeping, and I was trying to be as quiet as possible. He came in while I was listening back really, really quietly and said, ‘What is that?! And I said, ‘Oh, just something I just recorded.’ He’s like, ‘Whoa, show me the guitar thing, show that to me.’ And we used to kind of jam on it in the living room. That was probably the first time I ever thought, ‘Wow, maybe I can write songs.’"
BTW, check out NIRVANA's MARIGOLD...a b-side from the IN UTERO sessions. Great Dave Grohl song, sung by him.:)