Adam and I were listening to the new Foo Fighters song, St. Cecilia, the other day on the ride home from picking up some prescriptions and groceries. It was the first time he had been to Winn Dixie with me in a while, and he had to leave the store shortly before I had finished with the grocery shopping, because walking past the coffee had reminded him of his mother, and the loss of her hit him all at once.
When I got out to the car, the song was playing.
David Grohl and the Foo Fighters just seem to get better with time and age.
And at 4 am, I am listening to another Foo Fighters song, “Let it Die,” and recalling the conversation we had on the drive home from Winn Dixie.
David Grohl has surpassed anything he ever accomplished with Nirvana. That is not to say that, had he not killed himself, Kurt Cobain would not have grown and developed and become something more extraordinary. But he cut his life tragically short.
I made a comment about the damn addiction.
Adam corrected me.
Not the addiction. The addiction was probably the only thing that prevented him from doing it sooner. It was when he cleaned up, when he no longer had that crutch, that the depression got him. Kurt Cobain shot himself. But it kind of makes you wonder about so many who clean up and then immediately go back only to overdose. How many of them were intentional?
How often is addiction merely a form of self-medication?
How often are the Kurt Cobains and the Heath Ledgers, Janice Joplins, Jimmy Hendrixes and Amy Winehouses of the world just trying to avoid the void of depression?
Some holes can never be filled.
Nevertheless, Dave Grohl, you rock.