Having publicly declared In Your Honor, the Foo Fighters' fifth full-length since their start in 1995, the Physical Graffiti of the band's oeuvre-- hence, the Foos' definitive artistic statement-- frontman Dave Grohl understands the sudden need for gravity. Now he sings with his eyes closed-- earnest and calm, face pressed to the microphone, hair plastered to his forehead: the two-disc In Your Honor is Grohl at his most pensive, purposefully distanced from his all-American prankster persona, attempting to build a legacy that extends beyond the shadows of Nirvana and Kurt Cobain, past well-publicized star-turns in other people's bands. In Your Honor is Dave Grohl claiming ground.
Sadly, the record suffers from that largeness-- reportedly recorded in a warehouse, its double disc conceit (one half is hard rock, the other acoustic) is heavy handed, the segregation too deliberate. Grohl's "metal" voice periodically strains, like he's concentrating too hard on forefronting his emotional intensity; likewise, the softer tracks can sound stifled, like their proprietor is holding something back, curbing his urges for the sake of classification.
Disc One features loads of thundering guitars and manic drum breakdowns, classic Foo structures (brash verse, anthemic chorus) and aggressively contemplative lyrics. Single "Best of You" muses furiously about the frailty of the human heart, asking clunky questions ("Were you born to resist, or be abused?/ Is someone getting the best of you?"), Grohl's chest-screams barely seeping through his bandmates' soupy guitars. The song fades out where it should climax, bleeding into "DOA", a twisty, death-obsessed cut ("It's a shame we have to disappear/ No one's getting out of here/ Alive") with docile vocals (that almost sound as if they were snatched from another song.) Meanwhile, the 70s rock-infused "Resolve", a dynamic call for tenacity, is memorable-- but still weirdly reminiscent of nearly every Foo Fighters single ever shot to radio.
The big problem is that the Foo Fighters are telling the exact same story, over and over: heavy guitars, Grohl's bitter, self-directed hollers, loud drums, catchy choruses. At their best, the Foo Fighters are muscular and unrelenting, pushing in all the right spots-- but Disc One still confirms an undeniable stasis. Ten years have passed, and the band isn't evolving: This is where In Your Honor's big curveball-- the acoustic second disc-- attempts to make up for all the retreads.
It succeeds, to an extent. The bossanova-tinged "Virginia Moon" (which features guest vocals from Starbucks' own Norah Jones) proffers brushed cymbals, flamenco guitar, and tinkling piano bits-- it sounds more like a classic Norah Jones track than anything the Foos have ever recorded, but the band's sudden break in character is also intriguing: With its jazzy, coffee-table lyrics ("Sweetest invitation/ Breaking the day in two/ Feeling like I do/ Virginia moon, I wait for you tonight"), "Virginia Moon" allows Grohl to croon gently into the night sky, singing lullabies to an army of dudes driving home from their girlfriend's houses in their Honda Accords. Barely breaking a whisper, Jones and Grohl's respective vocals blend effortlessly; surprisingly, it's Jones who adds a bit of grit to the track, her grainy murmurs sneaking texture into Grohl's squeaky-clean pipes.
The docile "Miracle" features a cameo by Led Zeppelin's own John Paul Jones, although its gentle piano and sweet acoustic strums aren't terribly suggestive of sharp Zep bluster. "Cold Day in the Sun" sees drummer Taylor Hawkins assuming lead vocals, steering the Foo Fighters dangerously close to adult contemporary mush; "Friend of a Friend", a Nirvana-era Grohl original (supposedly written about his former bandmates) is eerily quiet, just strums and voice, Grohl's vocals controlled and determined, pushing his way through. That unwavering restraint provides one of the most emotionally honest moments on In Your Honor-- listen close, and you can almost hear Grohl's face going white.
In Your Honor, like most Foo Fighters records, is sterile and controlled; there is never any threat of dissolution. While Grohl's musicianship and charisma are certainly a credit to any project he participates in, he still lacks the volatility typically inherent to life-shaking art. Nirvana felt wobbly, fragile, and fleeting, Queens of the Stone Age pound deranged, Probot are full-on bananas: The Foo Fighters are strong, neat, and clean. So we wonder: Can a steady, hard-working everydude from northern Virginia make transcendent art? Sure. Does Dave Grohl? Sometimes.
