Published on Oct 26, 1997
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession
since I bought that Rick Springfield album. What did you say?
Penance? Yes, Father, I completed my penance for that sin
approximately a year ago. Don’t you think making me crawl on my
knees to CBGB’s was a little rough, though? No, Father. It’ll never
happen again. I even got rid of my Journey albums. Thank you,
Father. I feel blessed!
Or, at least, I did feel blessed. Now I’ve got another problem.
I don’t think God will be able to forgive me for this one. You see,
I have blasphemed. I have turned away from the Holy One. No,
Father, not Eddie Cochran. God forbid.
Father, I have turned away from St. Kurt of the Northwest.
I don’t know what happened. I know what everyone says. I know
that I’m supposed to believe that Nirvana was the one band that
changed the face of music forever. I know that St. Kurt was
supposed to be the soul of the band. I have listened to
From The Muddy Banks Of The Wishkah continuously. But, all I
keep hearing are those drums. They’ve taken over my soul. I want to
shout from the rooftops: “St. Kurt is dead. Long live St.
Dave!”
Foo Fighters, Father. Foo Fighters. They’re all I think about.
I’ve stayed awake through 15 Coolio videos in order to watch
“Everlong” one more time. I cried when Pat Smear said goodbye to
the band, live on MTV. I even suffered through the Dave Letterman’s
Top Ten list to see them on “The Late Show.” Father,
The Colour & The Shape is the best album of 1997. There!
I said it and I’m glad I said it. Foo Fighters have all the
intensity of Nirvana – all the guitar noise: chaos bordering on
ecstasy; all the barely controlled vocals. They also have something
else. Foo Fighters have hope.
Foo Fighters don’t indulge in free-floating anger for the sake
of anger. I know, Father. I went through a period in my life when I
loved that anger. I craved it. Then I discovered Prozac. Now I want
something that will help me get up in the morning. Foo Fighters do
it for me every time. The brisk knife-edge of “Monkey Wrench” and
the humorous resignation of “My Poor Brain.” Kurt never wrote a
line as great as “..sometimes I feel I’m getting stuck; between the
handshake and the fuck!” Oops, sorry Padre.
Nothing compares to “Everlong,” Father. I haven’t been this
excited about a song since “Won’t Get Fooled Again” in ’71.
“Everlong” pounds. It soars. It rocks.
God bless me, Father, I think I’m in love with music again. So,
what’s my penance? What this time? Rent every Courtney Love movie?
Make a pilgrimage to Seattle? Hey, Father, where are you going?
You’re gonna buy the new album??? Ah, Father, truly we are both
lost now. May St. Kurt forgive us!