In arena rock, as in politics, we vote for the candidate we'd most enjoy having a beer with. This, invariably, means Dave Grohl. He is enormously likable, this Dave Grohl. Jovial, profane, hirsute. A svelte Bob Seger with prodigious night moves and a fire down below, dispensing that old-time rock 'n' roll down on Main Street. He's like a rock, he's still the same, he's got tonight, and so do we. A man worth accomp'nying. With the Foo Fighters, he crafts four-minute cherry bombs of inarticulate angst too cheerful to be all that annoying, your head banging even as your eyes roll. Dunderheaded, oddly interchangable grunge anthems perfectly designed to accompany sports highlights: Done, done, and I'm on to the next one. His screams are melodic, his enthusiasm infectious, his rampant success somewhat mystifying but entirely unobjectionable. A splendid gentleman with whom to have a beer; a man... More >>>