Foo Fighters – Wasting Light
Contributing Writer - Garret K. Woodward
Throwing rock, metal and punk into a garbage bag like three starving feral cats, the Foo Fighters emerges from the vicious fight with Wasting Light, an album perfectly summarizing their illustrious career to this point.
Razor-sharp guitar chords, poignant lyrics, catchy melodies that not only provoke a sing-along, but also a rock-on hand gesture of solidarity- it’s a deadly potency ready to attack and maim the putrid excuses passing for music these days.
A band that I not only grew-up with, but also grew from and sprouted beyond, the Fighters represent my childhood, my adolescence and my emerging adulthood. They were there when I discovered women, pot, rock-n-roll and, most of all, ambition.
And here I am, 26-years-old, wiping spots of moisture away from my eye sockets while listening, stomping my feet to a rock entity that continually stokes the fire in my soul and in the unforgiving music industry which would be navigating like a ship without a rudder if Dave Grohl never decided to walk out from behind the drum-kit and pick up his guitar.
The group stands alone at the top of the rock food-chain. Maybe, if they feel nice enough, they may just throw some scraps of wisdom down to the bottom-feeders wondering how the fuck they continually dig out more gold and platinum in the studio from their time-tested formula of not fixing something if it ain’t broken.
Maybe, if they feel nice enough.