fooooooooooo

I had the weirdest urge to listen to the Foo Fighters tonight, because they've come up a couple times in conversation lately. I reached for There is Nothing Left to Lose first, because, even though I listened to it a million times when it first came out (I even made my buddy Chris Vendrick buy it for me the day it came out because I didn't have my driver's license yet), it's the least familiar of the ones I own (I don't own anything they did since that one, because who cares about that crap?).

There is Nothing Left to Lose is surprisingly good. It's not a great album, but it's probably about as good as a band as unambitious and unabashedly poppy as the Foo Fighters were ever going to make. Lots of big hooks, lots of big guitars. A testament to its hooks is the way that I still could sing along to most of the songs despite the fact that I probably haven't heard them in well over half a decade. A testament to the rockingness is the fact that I had to drop what I was doing and play air drums a few times.

Also, give the Foos credit for attempting to jump on the 80s bandwagon a few years ahead of schedule with "Headwires."

Anyway, the weirdest part of this experience is that finding out that I still apparently have the little rub on tattoo that came with the album. Check it:



















I still wonder whose neck is on that cover photo, by the way.