It goes without saying that music fans tend to make a heavy emotional investment in the musicians whose work they adore. When we experience the feeling that music speaks to us on such a profound level that it touches our soul, projecting onto the artist becomes unavoidable. I’ve always argued, however, that it’s our job as the audience to temper our expectations. It’s on us to draw appropriate lines and to allow room in our heads for artists to be who they are — i.e: full human beings made of flesh, blood, and flaws — independent of who we might expect them to be based on our response to their music.
Making this distinction is, of course, tricky. That said, I think we do a piss-poor job of it as a culture. If I were to diagnose our collective relationship with fame, I would assess our condition as something akin to a terminal illness. On the face of it, it’s not like the way we pour adulation onto famous artists “kills” anyone in a literal sense, but it does create an atmosphere in which we can indulge a chronic habit of hero-worship that wreaks all sorts of corrosive effects on our health. Perhaps it’s more fitting to compare our regard for famous artists as a kind of functional addiction to a dangerous narcotic. Whichever analogy you prefer, we’re sick.
For proof, we need look no further than the infantile response we see when musicians are involved in scandals. Dave Grohl, a rock icon since his days as Nirvana’s drummer, provides us with the latest example. On Tuesday, September 10th, Grohl posted the following statement via his Instagram:
I’ve recently become the father of a new baby daughter, born outside of my marriage. I plan to be a loving and supportive parent to her. I love my wife and my children, and I am doing everything I can to regain their trust and earn their forgiveness. We’re grateful for your consideration toward all the children involved as we move forward together.
Following the highly-publicized death of Nirvana bandleader Kurt Cobain in 1994, Grohl was able to pull off the impossible by parlaying his seat behind the drumkit into a career as the equally visible — and successful — frontman of his own band Foo Fighters. Today, as The New York Times points out in an article on Grohl’s confession, he is widely viewed as a permanent fixture on the pop-culture landscape, an always-relevant rock elder statesman perhaps one level down in stature from the likes of Springsteen, Dylan, Bono, Elton John, etc.
As if his superstar visibility weren’t enough, though, I for one have always found it grating that Grohl inserts himself into discussions about other bands and artists. I jokingly refer to my distaste for his aww-shucks, golly-gee demeanor as a case of Dave Grohl Derangement Syndrome.
It’s not that I think Grohl is… insincere (not exactly). His speech at Motorhead leader Lemmy Kilmister’s 2016 funeral service was undeniably beautiful, even to me. And I can point to many examples of gestures Grohl has made towards fans that convince me beyond a doubt that the man genuinely cares about trying to make his interactions with fans as welcoming and receptive as possible. (See: his response to then-single-digit-aged drummer Nandi Bushell challenging him to a drum battle; his positive response when an ensemble of 1000 musicians posted a breathtaking musical request for the Foo Fighters to play Cesena, Italy; and even a candid moment where Grohl was polite, warm, and funny in refusing to sign autographs).
For someone who was catapulted to superstardom more or less overnight in his early twenties, Grohl has made a remarkable effort to remain as approachable and grounded as we could ever reasonably expect for someone in his shoes.
And yet, there’s an aspect to his earnestness that I find cloying. It’s not that I think the earnestness isn’t actually there, or that it’s not an authentic component of who he is. But I do suspect that Grohl amplifies that earnestness to a degree that feels somewhat artificial. On the many occasions where he’s lavished praise on bands I love (Rush, Motorhead, Anthrax, Celtic Frost, Voivod, Sepultura, Pantera, etc, etc), it’s always come across to me as someone who reads the room and senses what they can say in order to gain approval from those present.
Hearing Grohl gush over these bands, I’ve often wondered how careful of a listener he actually is. He tends to focus on the superficial aspects these other artists are known for — referring to Lemmy as a “badass motherfucker” in his eulogy, for example (even as he was making the point that there was more to Lemmy than his image). And when he and his Foo Fighters bandmates have celebrated other bands during their concerts, they’ve mostly done so in the spirit of a karaoke night — capitalizing on their audience’s populist understanding of rock music. I hate it.
To their credit, the Foos once did perform a rousing cover of a Cheap Trick deep cut, but watching them shuck and jive as they dip into their bag of canonical hit songs, I’ve always gotten the sense that I was being sold something — or, to be more precise, re-sold a dumbed-down, more obvious version of something I already own. I’ve been a fan of rock music my whole life. Which means, I don’t need Dave Grohl and his merry bunch to smear a layer of kitsch onto the music >I< love in order to fast-track their way to a rapport with their audience. That’s what politicians do, and it’s cynical and unwelcome at a concert.
I resent it when it feels like music that’s touched my soul is being reduced to truck-stop or tourist-trap memorabilia. And to hear Grohl gush over his “heroes” feels dishonest coming from someone who’s spent almost their entire adult life in the gears of the music business. We he does this, I feel like Grohl is capitalizing on our fantasy of what rock and roll is. Frankly, I can’t stand it.
Nirvana, like so many of their ‘90s peers, felt the need to be ironic about pop-culture touchstones. When Krist Novoselic broke into the iconic guitar lick from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama” at Nirvana’s famous MTV Unplugged performance, Cobain couldn’t resist acting like he was too cool for the song, so he basically slammed the brakes on the potential musical beauty of the moment by adopting a mocking deep voice. Grohl and the Foo Fighters may go in the opposite direction, playing into the jukebox-level popularity of the songs they reference, but the effect (for me) is just as off-putting.
Predictably, Grohl’s fans tend to view him differently than I do. And, predictably, many have taken to the internet to express their supposed “hurt” over the announcement of his new baby, as if they don’t understand that Grohl is not, in fact, their dad. (Jess McKinley, author of the New York Times piece linked above, goes as far as to say that Grohl “is as close as America gets to a rock ’n’ roll father figure.”) Just as predictably, the sanctimonious grievance-peddling has kicked into full swing as well, with scribes (like this one) weighing-in to tell us what a monster Grohl is.
None of this, as far as I’m concerned, is constructive — or even interesting — in the least. Frankly, I think we all have better and more important things to do. But, as I discuss in my video above, I find the decision to make a public statement curious. Of course, I understand that people involved in scandals are coached to “get out in front” of the story and “control the narrative.” Of course, it’s obvious that Grohl was anticipating the news would break on its own, so it would be better for him to deliver the news himself — and all the better if he sprinkled some penitence onto his words for good measure, just like he’s been sprinkling his supposed awe of rock music into his words for decades.
Am I buying it? No. Do I think he should be dragged into the court of public opinion? No. But do I think Grohl’s mishap tells us something about relationship dynamics that we should all be mindful of, and even more about our so-called “parasocial relationships” with public figures? Absolutely.
With love…
SRK
VIDEO: Dave Grohl's public confession