“Metal Monkey Girl’s Origin Story” Published in The Junction

At eleven, my daughter has spent the past several years listening mostly to pop while landing somewhere between pale interest and monkish patience where it came to my classic rock. Don’t get me wrong. She’s always giggled at the Pink Floyd song with the timeless “do goody good bullshit” lyric. And smiled at how the Eagles’ lyric about riding up and down the highway, not seeing a goddamn thing, frequently lulls the devils of radio censorship into such a stupor they can’t do their dirty work. To her, though, classic rock sans the cussin’ has been a cupcake without frosting — just a motherfucking muffin.

Long ago I decided not to be that jerkface pushing my auditory agenda. Whatever her music of choice, no soapboxing about you kidses noise today. Having spent the last decade or so steeping in sounds of the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s, I could be at least a little objective about the past: some songs were great, others were fine-ish, others were the non-Disney Happy Meal toys of music — cheap plastic pleasure — from the kidses of yesterday. And moreover, what business was it of mine. The “respect their autonomy” credo inherited by this generation of parents isn’t a bad one as generational gospel truths go. Don’t push him into sports. Let her do what she wants with her hair. Don’t garden their playlists while they sleep.

I lay this groundwork before talking about the Foo Fighters’ Concrete and Gold album for two reasons. To establish

  • that the alluded-to musical eras I have loitered in were long. Looong. It’s taken me the better part of one decade to properly anthologize — and, to an extent, eulogize — three other decades. And in the grand scheme of things, it’s been only recently that I’ve gotten around to the few, the proud, the people committing rock and roll now. Forgive me, Fighters of Foo.
  • that I’d assumed all my classic rock, even at its most David-Gilmour-led-Pink-Floyd pastoral, was too hard or structurally unfamiliar for my daughter’s taste, so (not that it mattered . . .) I shouldn’t expect us to often be on the same page musically.

Enter the Foo Fighters.


Check out the rest at The Junction!