Foo Fighters |
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Mon. July 21.1997 11:06 AM EDT |
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And The 'Secret' Band Is (Big Surprise)... Foo Fighters!!by |
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That would be Dave Grohl, who had a good time Friday night. Photo by Jay Blakesberg. |
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It was the worst-kept secret in San Francisco. Despite efforts to keep the event a surprise, for at least a week prior, the media was buzzing with the name of the headliner for the latest Miller Genuine Draft Blind Date promotional gimmick show,
The concept was certainly over-the-top: Fly more than 500 contest winners from across the country to San Francisco for a concert by a secret, but guaranteed to be "major," band. Still, with big question marks projected on the walls and stage curtain, and only 10 minutes to go before show time, it seemed to be working much better than I'd expected. "I have no idea who it is," said a guy from Rockford, Illinois who called himself Breeze. "Do you know?" Breeze, 24, was in San Francisco for the first time with his pal California Bill, 27, who was sporting a gas station attendant's shirt that read "Grunge Off" where his name tag should have been. The two had been flown out that morning from Chicago, put up at a hotel and given an open ticket to fly back. "We're gonna hang out for five days, party down, surf, go up to Napa, the Redwoods, I'm psyched," Breeze said. "Seriously though, who is it?" Ten minutes later the band bounded out on stage to thunderous applause. When the four rockers took their places and the lights went up the applause stopped on a dime. When asked who these pale, side-burned guys were, Nate from Florida, sporting a Metallica hockey jersey, yelled, "I have no idea, but I heard they only play six songs and then the real band comes out." "Who's the real band?" "I heard it was Beck," said his friend. "Or the Smashing Pumpkins." Supergrass do their best to entertain an audience that is clearly not here to see them. A burly guy near the front screams, "who the fuck are you?" Supergrass say their names again, but owing to their impenetrable accents and a muffled mix, it comes out as "werstinkyass, fromingland." The plucky boys from England chop through a set of songs from their latest album while all around a glorified pizza party is going on. Free pizza is being scarfed-down by a roomful of strangers from nearly every state, many of them a bit glassy-eyed from the free Miller being offered by the cocktail waitresses. Couples are slow dancing, hugging, smiling, pals are high-fiving, all with a giddy anticipation. You can see strangers introducing themselves to each other in what can only be described as the rock 'n' roll equivalent of the Stockholm Syndrome. Like hostages who begin to sympathize with their captors, these refugees from afar are all bonding over their strange situation, their "need to know" status, which finds them guessing that the headliner will be everyone from INXS to Green Day. It's nearly 10 p.m. and the crowd, a very manageable 650 in a venue that easily holds 1,200, making for a very comfortable, small club feel, is getting restless. The lights go down and the "real" band hits the stage. When the singer launches into "Monkeywrench," there's a mix of applause and obvious looks of disappointment. "That is so cool," says California Bob, bouncing up and down in time with Foo Fighters singer Dave Grohl. Bob's a big Foo fan. The guy behind Bob, however, is not. "I was sure it was gonna fuckin' be the Pumpkins, oh well," he says, heading towards the back of the club to get more pizza and beer. "I guess the popular rumor was that Sammy Hagar was playing tonight," says Grohl, a big grin on his face. "Well, I'm not Sammy, but I can't drive 55 either!" Grohl and company bash out a set of mostly new material, while, every four or five songs, the singer amuses the audience by playing quarters on a little table he has set up near the drum riser. Grohl, who gamely chugs a beer each time he misses, which is every time, is in a good mood. The band sounds as tight as ever with new drummer Taylor Hawkins, who, by the looks of it, must have been awfully bored in Alanis Morissette's band. By the time the hour-long set, which included runs through "Alone & An Easy Target," "Up In Arms," "Big Me," "My Poor Brain," "For All the Cows," "Everlong" and the set-closer "New Way Home," was over, a good portion of the crowd had filed-out (after running the gauntlet of MGD video cameras taking testimonials) to have a night on the town. An encore of "This Is A Call" was followed by the event that made the whole night worth it. Grohl asked the audience what they wanted to hear. "Carry On My Wayward Son!" somebody shouts. "Okay," says Grohl, "anybody know the lyrics?" One clown gets up, tries to plug the radio station he works for and gets booted off stage by Grohl. Then a guy named Bruce bounds up on stage. The everyfan patiently waits for Grohl and company to wend their way through the song's instrumental opening, and then rips into the Kansas lyrics to the approval of all the Foos. Bruce jumps off risers, plays air guitar, bonds with Grohl over the choruses, which they shout into Grohl's mike together and generally enjoys his moment in the spotlight. "Bruce is going to party with us tonight!" Grohl yells into the mike before ending the show with "I'll Stick Around." |
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