Dave Grohl’s memoir tells the story of his upbringing with a single mom, his non-traditional introduction to music, and his time on the road with struggling grunge bands before his time with Nirvana and the Foo Fighters. Dave takes his readers on a generally fun and interesting ride telling the story of Nirvana’s explosive success and Foo Fighters’ popularity. The section on Kurt Cobain’s passing was heartbreaking. 

I thought the book was well-written and creative, and I honestly thought it would have more stories on the rock star lifestyle. While Dave drinks alcohol and smokes marijuana, he has generally avoided afflictions that derailed the careers of his contemporaries. I was familiar with Nirvana and the Foo Fighters prior to reading the book, but I wouldn’t consider myself a fan. Dave details his obsession with music from an early age, highlights some of his best stories from life on tour, gives the origin story for Foo Fighters, and closes the book highlighting his evolution into fatherhood. I really enjoyed the final section detailing his daughter’s love for music and his experience as a parent. 

Quotes

“Not everything needs a shine, after all. If you leave a Pelham Blue Gibson Trini Lopez guitar in the case for fifty years, it will look like it was just delivered from the factory. But if you take it in your hands, show it to the sun, let it breathe, sweat on it, and fucking PLAY it, over time the finish will turn a unique shade. And each instrument ages entirely differently. To me, that is beauty. Not the gleam of prefabricated perfection, but the road-worn beauty of individuality, time, and wisdom.”

“From seventies AM radio to every microphone I’ve stood before, I could tell you who, what, where, and when from the first few notes of any song that has crept from a speaker to my soul. Or from my soul to your speakers. Some people’s reminiscence is triggered by taste, some people’s by sight or smell. Mine is triggered by sound, playing like an unfinished mixtape waiting to be sent.”

“We were greeted like family, and before long the mountains of pasta were being devoured and fat joints of the most incredible marijuana I had ever seen were being passed around the table, the thick, sweet smoke wafting in the air as we drank and told stories from the road. To my amazement, even Sherri was smoking! Now, THIS was California. I thought MY mom was cool. For Sherri to take in this vagabond group of disheveled punk rockers, feed us, smoke us out, and give us somewhere warm to sleep was nothing short of sainthood-level charity. It was the most selfless act of hospitality I had ever experienced. I passed out in my sleeping bag with a foggy smile and a full stomach.”