The 24th Best Album of the 90s: Foo Fighters - "S/t" (1995)

Picture this:

You're a hyperactive little pothead in Absolutely Nowhere, Virginia. You like listening to Metallica in your room, carving the Black Flag logo into your flesh with an old pen and beating the shit out of a drumkit in various local bands.

One day you get a call from some band that you've never heard of over in Seattle who need a drummer. You give it a shot and within 18 months your face is all over MTV. Things are going well, you're making money and get to travel the world.

You're not sure if the dude singing in this suddenly very successful band would be too fond of the other members contributing material, so instead you record them yourself in secret and release them on a cassette named Pocketwatch under the pseudonum Late! and distribute it via a semi-obscure label in another Absolutely Nowhere, Virginia. The few people who hear it seem to like it.

The suddenly very successful band you've found yourself in keeps touring and makes some more records, on which you contribute about half a song. And a b-side, which was a rerecording of one of the songs on that cassette you made.

Before you know it the singer of your band blows his brains out and you're a stranded. Things are a little strange, and everyone wants to interview you about just how strange things are.

So instead of wasting time on interviews, you decide to record some more songs of your own. Hey, it worked pretty well the last time. And just like the last time, you blast your way through the recordings pretty quickly, playing all the instruments yourself and you don't really bother to make things too pretty and polished. It's a demo tape after all, no biggie. As long as it sticks to the tape it's alright.

After shopping the demo around, you land a record deal and form a band with the guitarist from your old band and the rhythm section from some other band. That demo is never rerecorded professionally, and is released as is. You go on the road with this new band and everything seems good, people seem to like it. Of course everyone still wants to talk about that dude who blew his brains out and are convinced all your songs are about that dude and/or his wife. But apart from that, life is pretty sweet.

You make another record that's also damn good and you get a couple of hit singles, then things start to slip a bit. You're still the nicest dude in rock 'n' roll, and you still grind out decent music, but the edge has gone somehow. Your music now lacks danger, lacks venom, lacks balls. So you put your band on hold for a while and go back to playing drums with some dudes from the deserts of California and together you make a really fucking sweet record.

You also play with some cult comedy duo/rock group from L.A. who did a show on HBO which ran for a whopping three episode and you play a demon in one of their videos. As well as tons of other cool people, included someone who once wanted to fuck someone like an animal. You even make an album with all your favorite metal singers from the 80's. Why? No reason, just because you fucking felt like it. You seem to be back on track musically, you've regained that edge.

But once you're back with that band of yours the edge is gone again. The music you make together isn't necessarily bad it's just... bland. It doesn't say too much, doesn't really do anything, mere fodder for the F.M. listeners who don't care if they play you or Hoobastank. It's neither as groin-throbbingly spectacular as your first two records nor is it as salivatingly eyebrow-raising as the music you made playing drums with other bands. You either don't know how to fix this, don't care, or just don't realise there is even a problem. All while your band makes some more records and continues to become even blander.

But then one day, completely by accident, you stumble upon some crappy metal mp3 blog with terrible colors (brown? yellow? wtf?) and read a post (by some guy who seems a little too cocky for his own good and likes to think he knows what he's talking about) concerning your band's first album, that one you threw together in no time at all, that one you played all the instruments on. The one that was a little noisy and abrasive, a little rough around the edges and kicked people in the vagina. The one you made without even thinking, just some tracks you threw together.

And suddenly you realise that's exactly what you should be doing. Not polished, dire albums with bombastic productions better suited for U2, no!

You realise you need to step back into that garage with one drumkit, one bass, one guitar, one mic, some cracked speakers and a 4-track machine and make another record that writhes and breathes, an album with a pulse, an album that's not a daffodil but a fucking cactus, an album that grabs people by the throat and bites their nose off and shoves it up their pee hole.

And in the liner notes you will dedicate the album to the blogger who made you come to your senses and got your band back on track.

You're welcome.

(mp3) Foo Fighters - Weenie beenie
(mp3) Foo Fighters - Wattershed
(mp3) Foo Fighters - Exhausted (recommended!)

Buy @ Amazon.com.

Weenie Beenie live in 1995: