The Tao of Foo

Photo by Matthias Vriens

BE FOOFUL AND MULTIPLY

"Last night our keyboard player Rami [Jaffee] was about to split the band to go back to the Wallflowers," Grohl tells me. We're back out on his patio, watching the shadows stretch toward dusk. "I had to make that decision: 'Rami, I want you in the band, and I don't know if you know how it works around here, but once you're in, you're in, so I don't think you should go anywhere, because we have a lot to look forward to.' And so I got a text message from him last night saying, 'I'm all good, I'm in.' "

Does this mean Jaffee will be a full-fledged Foo?

"I hope so," Grohl says. "That's what I'm trying to do."

Specifically, what he's trying to do is make the Foos an eight-piece band, one that includes Jaffee, violinist Jessy Greene, percussionist Drew Hester, and guitarist Pat Smear, who had performed with Nirvana and was the Foos' original second guitarist (after Grohl himself, who played nearly all the instruments on their eponymous 1995 debut album).

"I was pretty upset he left," Grohl admits, recalling Smear's departure just after the release of 1997's The Colour and the Shape. "I'd been through a lot with this guy." A few years ago, though, the pair "got together and laughed and apologized and told each other we loved each other." When it came time to recruit a third guitarist for last year's Afoostic tour, Grohl figured, "rather than just get some Rolodex rocker, why not get someone who knows what it's like to be a Foo Fighter? I wanted the dynamic that we have when we play and when we just hang out together. It felt like a much bigger family. I remember seeing a Dead Can Dance gig and how cool it was that there were all these people onstage. Sometimes they played and sometimes they didn't. It seemed so musical, like a twisted orchestra. That's what I wanted to accomplish."

GOOCH IS AN AWESOME WORD

"Gimme bones!" Grohl says. He's kneeling beside his daughter on the patio, holding out his fist. "Gimme bones!"

Violet, however, is busily splashing in a contraption called a water table, which amounts to a tiny, artificial pond for babies.

"Come on," Grohl pleads. "Don't leave me hanging."

With an air of obligation, Violet holds up her chubby fistlet and allows her father to bump knuckles.

"Bones!" Grohl cries. "Boooooones!"

"Bo," Violet murmurs.

She is, as Grohl has mentioned a few times now, a striking child, with enormous, ice-blue eyes that appear to have been directly transplanted from her mother.

"Okay," Grohl says. "This is the flip." He carries her to the lawn and assumes the position. "Baby in front of you, arm here, across the abdomen, other arm around the back, holding the legs. Ready? One! Two! Three!"

Grohl executes the flip, as deftly as he might a drum roll or a fret run, and Violet winds up back on her feet, squealing with glee.

"We have her in this gym class where they teach you all these things," Grohl says. "Here's another little thing -- oh, wait a second! You're all wet, Violet. We need to change that diaper." So it's off the nursery, where Grohl plunks Violet into a device that allows her to bounce up and down in the doorway, while Jordyn and the family dog, a miniature pinscher named Mia, watch from a safe distance.

If Grohl's enthusiasm for fatherhood feels a bit frantic, consider his dilemma: "It's that horrible feeling that it's borrowed time and I'm going to have to split." Which is why he was up at 5:30 this morning, cruising around the property with Violet. This is the first tour cycle Grohl has faced with a child, and he's determined to do it right. He'll be installing Violet and Jordyn in London for this fall's U.K. dates, and returning there for visits.

That's not to say he's ruled out taking his daughter on the road. "I don't know if you've seen the new tour buses," Grohl says, "but they're pretty gooch. You can say, 'I want a bedroom for the family, space for the crib, four bunks.' Personally, I'm looking forward to the romper room."

Note: Dave Grohl can change a diaper in seven seconds. I've timed him.

PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE

A long time ago, someone tipped Grohl off about the secret of a long life in rock'n'roll: It's not about how many albums you sell; it's about how many tickets you sell. Ever since, he's devoted much of his time to transforming the Foos from a solo studio endeavor into a well-oiled stage machine.

"When I joined the band, we sucked live," Hawkins recalls. "And we're still not Rush. We're sloppy, rough around the edges. That's part of our charm. But we've gotten really good, and I think on our best nights, we can take anybody."

No need to take the Hawk's word for it. Because the Foos -- all eight of them -- have at last assembled for the dreaded Wal-Mart shoot. They immediately launch into a blistering rendition of "The Pretender." Grohl churns at his guitar and growls the lyrics, his face darkening to the hue of a plum tomato. Hawkins pounds his kit, grimacing like an epileptic, while Mendel drubs out a seismic bass line. What makes this performance even more impressive is that their rehearsal space is crammed with stage lights and production assistants and half a dozen cameramen. The Steadicam guy keeps swooping in, like some kind of manic tai chi instructor, to capture the band's facial expressions. As the song comes to a perfectly calibrated halt, the entire crew looks positively stunned. Then the Foos play the same song again, note for note.

The session runs four hours, give or take a few cigarette breaks. During a lull, Grohl looks up at the director and deadpans, "Are we getting any free firearms out of this deal?"

Such mugging is par for the course. The Foos not only nail each song twice, they continually launch into covers, such as an aborted version of Prince's "Let's Go Crazy," which Grohl initiates after Jaffee breaks out his electric organ.

Afterward, the Foos are forced to endure questions posed by a Wal-Mart interviewer. Grohl, clearly exhausted, comes alive only for the ad-libs. "Come on down to Wal-Mart!" he hollers, in redneckese. "Where anyone can git a gun!"