The untold story of Dave Grohl and Foo Fighters

Dave Grohl has a lot of fond memories of Lemmy, but there’s one that stands out above all the rest.

It was late morning in Los Angeles many years ago. Grohl was on his way to The Rainbow, Lemmy’s favorite spot on the Sunset Strip, for an early meeting with the Motörhead icon. Halfway there, his phone rang. Lemmy wanted him to come to his apartment instead. Grohl didn’t hesitate. He had never set foot inside Lemmy’s home, and the invitation was too good to turn down.

When he arrived, the sight that greeted him was unforgettable. “I got to the apartment,” Grohl says, laughing, “and I was shocked at how filthy it was. There were stacks of magazines and VHS tapes three or four feet high. Lemmy was on the couch in black bikini briefs with a spiderweb on them, hair freshly dyed black, doing a phone interview while a video game was paused on the TV.”

Lemmy motioned for Grohl to sit down as he wrapped up the call. Then he turned and asked if Grohl wanted a drink.

“It was eleven fifteen in the morning,” Grohl remembers. “I said, ‘Sure.’”

For the next five hours, they sat on Lemmy’s couch, drinking huge pours of Jack Daniel’s, listening to old Dudley Moore tapes and the new Motörhead album. As the songs played through the TV speakers, Lemmy looked him in the eye and mouthed every lyric. For a Motörhead fan, it was pure magic.

“I will never, ever forget every little detail of that day,” Grohl says. “Especially not the black underwear with the spiderweb and the black widow spider right where the dick is.”

Jack Daniel’s, Motörhead, spiderweb briefs — it’s a story that’s pure Lemmy, but also pure Grohl. He may front one of the biggest rock bands of the past quarter-century, but deep down he’s still the same kid who worships his rock heroes. For all the record sales, stadium shows, and celebrity contacts, Dave Grohl remains one of us.

When he calls over Zoom, it’s 5 p.m. in the UK and 9 a.m. in LA. He’s at home, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, coffee in hand, having already made breakfast. “I know what it feels like to stand in front of 80,000 people and yell, ‘COME ON MOTHERFUCKERS!’” he says. “But I also know what it’s like to wake up to my alarm, go downstairs, and make scrambled eggs and bacon for my kids.”

We’re here to talk about Medicine At Midnight, the Foo Fighters’ tenth album, and how a punk kid from Virginia became a stadium-filling superstar. But mostly, we’re here to talk about rock and roll.

“Well,” Grohl says with a grin, “I’m your man for that.”

The year 2020 was supposed to be a massive moment for Foo Fighters. Along with the planned release of the new record, it marked the 25th anniversary of both their debut album and the band’s official formation.

“Oh god, man, we had a world domination scheme that lasted for eighteen months,” he says. “It had movies, documentaries, special gigs, and then it all kind of disappeared. We hit pause in March and everyone went their own way. I had a break for the first time in ten years. That felt so strange.”

Six months later, Medicine At Midnight finally arrived. Recorded in just a few fast-paced weeks at the end of 2019, the album took shape in a big old house in Encino, California. Some of the band members swore it was haunted.

“Oh, weird shit definitely happened,” Grohl admits, though he doesn’t give away more than that.

Foo Fighters albums usually come with a clear angle. There was the half-electric, half-acoustic double album (In Your Honor, 2005), the raw garage record (Wasting Light, 2011), the documentary companion (Sonic Highways, 2015), and the grand, genre-bending Concrete And Gold in 2017. Medicine At Midnight is, in Grohl’s words, the party record.

“I thought instead of making some complicated prog-rock album, which we love, let’s make it simple. Bigger choruses, fatter grooves, faster tempos. Something people can jump around to when we finally play live again,” he explains. “You know when your parents get older and start wearing stuff they shouldn’t wear in public? That might be what Foo Fighters are doing right now.”

He describes the nine-track record as “disco,” though it’s more The Game-era Queen and early-80s David Bowie than Saturday Night Fever.

“Most Bowie purists would tear me to shreds for saying Let’s Dance is my favorite Bowie record,” he laughs. “But honestly, as a drummer listening to Omar Hakim and Tony Thompson, I thought, ‘Wow, they really brought heavy funk into these songs.’ I wanted a Foo Fighters album that people could dance to.”

Of course, the album doesn’t stay on the dance floor for too long. “No Son Of Mine” nods to his punk roots, while “Waiting On A War” and “Love Dies Young” echo the band’s biggest anthems. The whole record feels alive and full of joy.

“I mean, come on, that’s what we need right now, right?” Grohl says. It’s hard to disagree.

Grohl grew up in Springfield, Virginia, just outside Washington, D.C., immersed in the early 80s punk and hardcore scene. As a teenager, he found his place in sweaty clubs, whether in the pit or on stage with his first band, Scream. He loved punk, but never rejected classic rock.

“In the punk scene, there was this anti-hero, anti-classic-rock attitude,” he says. “I understood why, but I also loved The Beatles and AC/DC. I’d go to a punk show, then go home and listen to Foghat and not think it was a crime.”

That spirit followed him when he moved to Seattle in 1989 to join Nirvana. No one, least of all Grohl, imagined they’d become the defining band of the decade.

“When I first joined, it was just fun,” he recalls. “I slept on Kurt’s couch, we rehearsed in a barn, people bounced around. It felt real. Then as the band got bigger, it started feeling strange. But as the drummer, I wasn’t as recognizable. I could walk in the front door and no one bothered me.”

Kurt Cobain’s death in 1994 ended Nirvana. Grohl rarely plays Nirvana songs with Foo Fighters. When he does, it’s with Krist Novoselic and Pat Smear, and someone else on vocals.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable singing a song that Kurt sang,” he explains. “I feel at home playing those songs on drums. I still have dreams that we’re in Nirvana, that we’re about to play a show. But I don’t sit at home playing Smells Like Teen Spirit by myself. It’s bittersweet.”

Grohl has always had a love for touring. One of his pandemic-delayed projects is a documentary called What Drives Us, celebrating the early days of life on the road.

“It’s about what makes people throw everything away to jump in a van with their friends,” he says.

Grohl himself has done that twice. First in the 80s with Scream, and then again when he started Foo Fighters. In the aftermath of Cobain’s death, he recorded the songs that became their debut album, brought in Pat Smear, Nate Mendel and William Goldsmith, and turned a solo idea into a real band.

“When we started Foo Fighters, I was twenty six,” he says. “In 1994, I had this personal awakening that life is worth living every day. That was the band’s whole purpose.”

Their first tour in 1995 wasn’t glamorous. They opened for Mike Watt in a small red van, earning 750 dollars a day, and nearly fell apart from exhaustion.

“It was the toughest schedule I’ve ever done,” Grohl says. “But after that, every tour felt easy.”

Foo Fighters rose quickly. Their debut surprised people, and The Colour And The Shape proved they weren’t a fluke. By the early 2000s, they hit a rough patch, but Grohl’s love for making music kept the band alive.

Songs like “Learn To Fly,” “All My Life,” “Times Like These” and “Best Of You” turned them into one of rock’s biggest forces. In 2008, they headlined two nights at Wembley Stadium. When Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones joined them onstage, Grohl had only one thought.

“The main thing was: ‘Don’t fuck it up, Dave,’” he laughs. “It started raining, and I got really emotional. I thought, we started this band with a demo tape and an old van, and now we’re here with a stadium full of people singing every word.”

Grohl has since lived out every fan’s dream, playing alongside his heroes. He’s also become one of them.

In 2017, when Axl Rose broke his foot, Duff McKagan called to ask if Guns N’ Roses could borrow Grohl’s throne. He didn’t hesitate. Axl later sent him a gift: an early-60s Gibson ES-335, which Grohl still calls the best guitar he’s ever played.

That respect runs deep because Grohl has always stayed true to the spirit of rock and roll. If you want proof, look at Play, the 22-minute instrumental he released in 2018.

“A lot of that was me proving to myself that I could do it,” he says. “It was like an obstacle course. Every step of my career has been, ‘Let’s see if I can do this.’ Once I do, I just push it aside and say, ‘What’s next?’”

For Grohl, Lemmy remains a guiding light.

“I always admired how real he was,” Grohl says. “No bullshit, straight to the point. And he had that outlaw twinkle in his eye that showed his sense of humor. In this strange world of being in a band, keeping your sense of humor alive is everything. Taking this too seriously can be the death of any band.”

Medicine At Midnight is out now.