{songs sung, songs loved}
Foo Fighting as Meditation Christopher Turney
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here are moments every so often which prompt a return to old favorites, great works, or classics. Though it’s possible to find nostalgia in a familiar Bach concerto or film soundtrack, these old favorites are rarely musical masterpieces. Yes, nostalgia is the word. The songs which sooth our memories and transport our affections to warmer, brighter times; these are the classics. Moments which provoke a return to that song or album are varied and mysterious, and the feeling of nostalgia is never quite the same. Provoked by the death of Taylor Hawkins, the drummer for the Foo Fighters, I recently made one of these returns. I found nostalgia, but not as I expected. Other emotions crept in, a new light fell upon old memories, and affection for the music softened and wavered. I write this reflection to pay tribute to a favorite musician and to inquire into those dark, confusing emotions which beset a familiar tune. In the throes of my sophomore essay, I heard the news of Hawkins’ passing a full three days after its announcement. First I was shocked, then I grew angry I hadn’t heard about it sooner. I paid my respects with a tour through the Foo Fighters’ albums, a necessary κάθαρσις following such a tragedy. This return to old favorites enlivened memories of bike rides, yard work, days in the sun, and the cool solitude of the basement. I remember ‘discovering’ Everlong and showing it to my middle-school buddies. I also recall the countless afternoons trying and failing to play this song on drums, teaching my parents true patience through longsuffering. The Foo Fighters were my first musical idols; I played along to all their albums and saw them live at a baseball stadium in Atlanta. I loved their music, and I still do. Their straightforward, highly ordinary sound provides something of an anchor to my taste and appreciation for other artists. “It’s only rock n’ roll, but I like it”, so sings Mick Jagger. Returning from these reveries back to the catalog in front of me, I found myself still unsure of what to expect as I continued to listen. Perhaps sadness would prevail, perhaps I’d continue to delight in fond memories. Unfortunately, though it pains me to say it, the truth is that after an hour of listening the songs began to blur together. Familiarity breeds contempt, and all that. Eventually, however, I stopped at a track titled Let It Die off their 2007 album Echoes, Silence, Patience, and Grace. Let It Die is an old favorite and an oft-returned-to classic. The acoustic intro,
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the Gadfly / πόλις / May 13, 2022
subtle bass, steady pulse, soaring backup vocals, electric ‘chug’, and epic finale are reasons enough to like the tune, but I always loved it because it plays well in the car, especially on a long stretch of road through rural Georgia. The Fooish blur clarified when I played Let It Die and an eerie quiet followed. A surge of goosebumps and flurry of emotions beset my listening experience; Let It Die was different from all the others. It felt new, each part carried with it a heavier burden and graver purpose. My return to a classic began to feel more like an adventure into uncharted territory with dangers and pitfalls at every turn. Hostile is the word, the song seemed hostile. I felt apprehensive, almost fearful. I remember pausing the song before it finished, fearing the end would spell doom for the singer and his band. Why did it feel so different? Why did it communicate such a heavier message? The title must be partly to blame. Right off the bat, it strikes a heavy chord that the timely, on-the-nose lyrics deliver upon: “Why’d you have to go and let it die?” Suppose for a moment there was a seminar on Let It Die. What about the lyrics of the tune would catch the table’s attention? Very likely their focus on the body would be a point of interest. “Heart of gold but it lost its pride, Beautiful veins and bloodshot eyes, I’ve seen your face in another light, Why’d you have to go and let it die?” Another consideration might be the singer’s dialogue with whomever he’s addressing. “Do you ever think of me?
Taylor Hawkins Drumming It Out
