2025 - Today's Song

Note from Dave

November 24, 1994, began just like any other dreary Pacific Northwest day underneath the blanket of Seattle’s oppressive, autumn skies. Fall had long set in, and the stretches of daylight had grown shorter, driving most people to spend the majority of their time indoors, away from the nagging rain and dark. It felt like the ideal weather for a formal dinner party at home. So, to the roar of 100-foot-tall pines whipping in the gusts of cold wind behind my house, I prepared my dining room table for the evening, carefully arranging the place settings for each guest, some familiar, some not, eager to see where the night would take us.

Even the world’s greatest psychic could not have predicted what was in store for us, just hours later.

“Is there a ghost in this house?” I quietly asked the Ouija board, hands gently touching the planchette as the others in my basement looked on in stunned silence. To my amazement, the cheap little heart-shaped piece of plastic beneath my fingertips began to make a slow, soft circle across the board and landed on the word “YES," confirming my creeping suspicion that I was indeed the proud new owner of a terrifyingly haunted house in the sleepy suburbs of Richmond Beach, just north of the city. Somewhat in shock (and with buyer’s remorse) I quickly packed up the Ouija board, threw it back in the closet where it belonged, and we continued on with our evening. UPSTAIRS.

But this night was not meant to be a seance. It was meant to be a celebration.

It was Thanksgiving.

For those of you around the world who don’t partake in this particularly gluttonous holiday, it’s a day meant to represent gratitude and thanks. A gathering of friends and family, joined together to express an appreciation of life’s proverbial harvest and blessings, be they more tangible rewards (canned cranberry sauce and bite-sized marshmallows) or more subtle gifts from the soul (love and music). Traditionally, it’s a feast shared with those closest to you, but it can also be an opportunity to open your doors to those you’ve never met who need a place to land. And on this fateful evening, there was one new face amongst friends that I soon learned was as equally grateful for music as I had been my entire life: A young, spry Nate Mendel. Our first encounter.

A few heaping plates of food, a few bottles of wine, one thing leading to another, and before long we had started a new band with other dear friends, Pat Smear and William Goldsmith.

We called it Foo Fighters.

This band began almost as an excuse. A reason to hang instruments around our necks and smoke cigarettes with the windows rolled up while listening to our favorite cassettes as we barreled down the interstate towards the next dark, sticky stage. We’d all been in the game for a while by then, mind you. We’d all played in other bands, with other people, some that ended much too soon. But we were far from finished. This was a mischievous and maybe necessary detour from maturity, reminding all four of us that our little brains were still wired like an overloaded extension cord, sparking from too many light strands on the Christmas tree. A childish refusal of adulthood, white knuckling the last grasps of adolescence. (Basically, we were just fucking around).

But, before long it became clear that we were on to something more than just escape. Not necessarily in the musical sense. More of a “life” thing. This was a new beginning. A change. And it felt right. We had stumbled upon a shiny new toy that came without instructions and with much assembly required. So, we began to build it ever so carefully, piece by piece.

Songs, check. Van, check. Road atlas, check. And away we went, with deep reverence for past lives and an insatiable hunger to fill this clean slate with something beautiful, to try and make the “life thing” real life.

Our first van, a 1996 extended Dodge RAM dubbed “big red delicious,” tore the pavement from state to state until there were literally mushrooms growing beneath the old, sweaty t-shirts tucked behind the bench seats. With an overloaded trailer in tow, each show of that first tour with the almighty, punk rock legend Mike Watt felt like a musical bungee jump, praying the harness wouldn’t snap before being lowered back to safety. But we were always game to jump again. We shed pounds and gained a different kind of appetite, hungry to keep going, hungry to see what we could do as a band, what kind of music we could create, and how we could connect to the audiences who came to hear us play. We were breaking in this new band like a pair of stiff trousers until we had worn big, frayed holes in the knees from too much time on the playground. We survived the first time out and chose to do it again. And again. And again. Because this shiny new toy still wasn’t fully assembled.

Over time, there was change. Growing pains, maybe. Gone was “big red delicious,” replaced by a much sturdier set of radials, courtesy of Chris Shiflett, Rami Jaffee, and the incomparable Taylor Hawkins. And, while we were now a fine-tuned machine, it all still felt somewhat temporary, so we kept filling the tank with new albums and songs as fuel, just enough to get us to the next destination. This eventually became the challenge: As long as we keep our hands on the wheel, how far can we drive this thing until the wheels eventually fall off?

But we kept moving, sometimes with clear direction, other times desperately wandering to find the nearest rest stop, but never without obstacle. And that’s precisely what kept us from throwing the keys in a nearby lake. Because the detours and unpredictability of it all made us feel alive. What was once an “excuse” to exist had now became a “reason.” And with each year, each tour, each album, the roots grew deeper, the tree taller. But, just as the forest behind my house swayed furiously in the cold wind that fateful night in 1994, it’s always the deepest roots that keep the trees from falling in the strongest storms. And once our roots took hold, we realized that there was no turning back. Foo Fighters was now a “life” thing. Forever.

Our little caravan became a roaring convoy with only one map between us, and though we didn’t always agree on a destination, we always felt that we’d get to where we needed to be as long as we went together. With each other, for each other. Because there comes a point when the word “band” supersedes the common, more popular definition of the term simply used to describe a group of musicians. The word can take on a whole other meaning. In time, it can become “something to fasten and reinforce.” And this band is certainly bound together, held tightly so as not to fall apart, no matter the decade. Still a work in progress, assembly still required, but constant progress is part of what makes us all who we are as people. I am proud that we are still growing, our roots now too deep to pull.

For anyone who has ever glanced behind our tattered, flannel curtain, you will surely find the same familiar faces that have been driving this convoy for decades. These are relationships that go far beyond the stage, with the music being only one element of our bond. Friendships that predate the inception of this little experiment we embarked upon starting at that Thanksgiving dinner in my haunted house, back when wheatgrass shots were cool and before television became an overcrowded buffet of streaming services. Without their support and guidance over the years, we surely would not be celebrating this milestone anniversary with you today. We have been blessed with this little tribe, bound by love. We thank every single one of them, and they know who they are.

Over the years, we’ve had moments of unbridled joy, and moments of devastating heartbreak. Moments of beautiful victory, and moments of painful defeat. We have mended broken bones and broken hearts. But we have followed this road together, with each other, for each other, no matter what. Because in life, you just can’t go it alone.

It should go without saying that without the boundless energy of William Goldsmith, the seasoned wisdom of Franz Stahl, and the thunderous wizardry of Josh Freese, this story would be incomplete, so we extend our heartfelt gratitude for the time, music, and memories that we shared with each of them over the years. Thank you, gentlemen.

And... Taylor. Your name is spoken every day, sometimes with tears, sometimes with a smile, but you are still in everything we do, everywhere we go, forever. The enormity of your beautiful soul is only rivaled by the infinite longing we feel in your absence. We all miss you beyond words. Foo Fighters will forever include Taylor Hawkins in every note that we play, until we do finally reach our destination.

Recently, I was on a long, international flight, and woke to a small, yellow post-it note stuck to my seat. It read “Watch the lobster and the Rabbi xxx.” Not knowing who this mysterious little message was from, I browsed the movie selection and found nothing by this title. So, I did a little research and found that it is not actually a movie, but rather a story of growth. You see, a lobster is a small, fleshy animal that lives within a hard, rigid shell, and as its body grows too large for its shell, it begins to feel discomfort. Once this happens, the lobster instinctively retreats to a safe place, sheds the smaller shell, grows a new one, and resurfaces. But eventually that new shell becomes uncomfortable as its body continues to grow, so it retreats again. New shell, new growth, over and over again. The point being that life’s challenges have a way of signaling the need for change and growth, so when that time comes, you retreat, rebuild, and resurface stronger than before. Something I’m sure that we all can relate to as human beings. And if you’re lucky, you share this process with the ones that you love the most, be they onstage or off.

It has been 30 years since I sat beside Nate Mendel with my hands on that Ouija board (and the last time I ever touched one) but I now realize that there was no way to predict what was to become of our lives that night. And just as I was that stormy Thanksgiving evening in 1994, I am still grateful for life, love, music, and the mystery of where this path may lead us next.

Let’s keep moving.

Dave

I woke today screaming for change
I knew that I must
So, here lies a shadow
Ashes to ashes
Dust into dust

You know that nothing can prepare you
Don’t let this cruel world compare you
Waiting for someone to repair you

Two sides to a river
Too troubled to cross
It might take you under
Today’s song
We’ll drown in the middle
Which side are you on
One Way or Another
Today’s song

It may take a lifetime to find you
It may take a lifetime to unwind you
Praying there’s some way to remind you

“Today’s Song”, Foo Fighters 2025

Artwork by Harper Grohl