A night with the Foo Fighters
Last night we attended a sold-out rock show. The Foo Fighters blew the roof off the Pacific Coliseum for two hours for what frontman Dave Grohl dubbed “Vancouverpalooza” for the 3-band evening kicked off by two opening acts.
I’ve been to a lot of concerts now and this one was clearly one of the best. A great advantage was in having excellent seats — and as Dave pointed out, even the “cheap ticketsss” were a good deal as about halfway through the show a small, circular stage descended from the rafters to provide an intimate setting for a semi-acoustic set. It began with red lights and eight musicians spread out around the perimeter, facing the audience. A female violinist, in heels and an elegant black dress, danced one way while a guest guitarist danced another. A guest pianist switched to an accordion at one point from the keyboards. It was magical, like a theatrical performance.
Interjected with Dave’s foul-mouthed humour, the set was a beautiful and exciting combination of sights and sounds that included the only triangle solo any of us have ever seen, Dave insisted.
His command of the crowd was mesmerizing: with a few claps of his hands or an arm motion as if to say “come on, louder!” he had the audience responding fervently without hesitation. Before the encore, a moving image of the Vancouver set-list appeared on the 4 video screens, followed by Dave’s face mouthing words we couldn’t hear. He and drummer Taylor Hawkins teased us from backstage using a night view camera, asking how many encore songs we wanted to hear, to which we cheered with escalating volume. Dave motioned that Taylor was getting carried away with seven.
They are just such great guys.
Normally at concerts I space out and get lost in thought (when I’m not singing along), but my attention span was almost unwavering as the band made every moment exciting. I think this will be an unusually memorable concert, and no doubt writing about it will help. Recording devices, of course, aren’t allowed so all I have to go on is my memory which, of concerts, tends to get fuzzy except for key moments of joy.
I tend to wonder if one is supposed to grasp the realisation that one is looking at a celebrity in the flesh. It’s more difficult for me to comprehend the more I idolise somebody. This probably sounds ridiculous but part of the reason I chose not to see U2 live (not that I would have scored tickets anyway!) was because I doubted I could handle seeing Bono in person, albeit far away. No doubt I’d be one of those screaming girls on the brink of passing out if I were ever in close proximity to that man whom I respect so much. I don’t idolise Dave Grohl or Taylor Hawkins but after I’ve seen enough photos and videos, it’s almost strange to see them in person — and be so close as to make out their facial features. Refreshingly, however, they don’t act like superstars even while they know how incredibly talented they are.
Lastly I was really happy to not be confronted with much second-hand pot smoke. That nasty stuff hinders my concert experience so much that the lack of it contributed significantly to better concentration on the music (instead of on finding clear air). Ironically, the worst whiff I got of it was actually outside on our walk to the venue!
If someone you know was uncharacteristically absent or late to work today, blame it on Dave. He said it was ok.