HELL YEAH, I REMEMBER…
TWENTY YEARS AGO, something happened to me that literally changed my entire life forever.
No, I didn’t find God or see the light or anything that lame. But I did walk into a place feeling like myself and left it feeling as though I’d completely changed.
But let’s backtrack, because you need to know who I was 20 years ago. I was a stay-at-home mom to then 2-year-old Jack. We’d be living out here in Vancouver, Washington, for about 5 months and while I loved the scenic beauty and pretty much everything about Portland, I still felt isolated and alone. I didn’t have any really close friends here yet, and being home with even the world’s most perfect child is lonely at times. I had thought this move would change things; it had been the same back in Albany, Georgia, where we’d moved from. A small town where they were excited by the opening of a new Circuit City, Albany was good to us in many ways but was ultimately not the right place for us.
While living in Albany as a new mom, I discovered the lure of the internet postboard, where you could make friends from all over the world who shared a similar interest. Babies sleep a lot, and you gotta pass the time somehow. In my case, the similar interest was the Foo Fighters. I developed an insane crush on Dave Grohl. And by insane, I mean, the kind of crush a teenage girl gets. I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back it’s so crystal clear: I was lonely and bored and he was hot and exciting, and he became the go-to fantasy guy. People get crushes on celebrities all the time. I grew up constantly crushing on Matt Dillon and John Taylor (I might have a type). So Dave was my celebrity crush, for years.
But I also made real friends on the Foo board, people I’m still in contact with (hi, you guys!). I also made some enemies, not fully understanding at that time the power of the internet, and the way things can get misconstrued when you only have the written word to explain yourself.
By the summer of 2001, my marriage was on shaky ground, and other than my sweet darling little Jack, there wasn’t much in my life making me happy. So when there was a post on the Foo board announcing a special show in L.A. JUST for postboard members, I flipped. You had to enter to win a spot, and I did, not thinking I’d get in. I mean, at the time there had to be at least 30,000 people registered on the site, with hundreds of active members posting daily. But when the admins posted the winners’ names, mine was among the first. I was elated and felt energized for the first time in a very long time.
Hasty arrangements were made. My husband had to work that weekend, but our friends (the dad was also a doctor, and our kids were close) agreed to watch Jack. I made plans to stay with my then-friend, Amy, and my friends Jill and Angela would meet me at the airport in L.A. In the days leading up to the show, there was a lot of chatter on the boards. We posted our pictures so we’d recognize each other at the show.
I flew to L.A. and was met at my gate (sigh, remember doing that?) by Angela and Jill. Amy picked us up and we ate at Canter’s on Fairfax. It was great to be with these other cool chicks, who loved this band as much as I did, and we were all beyond excited.
The next day, August 5, 2001, Amy and I headed for the Troubadour to wait on line. We were among the first there. We stood in line in the hot sun all day to get wristbands that would let us into the show. Once we got those, we went back to the end of the line to make sure we were first to get in. Everyone knew this would be my first Foo show, and I had every intention of being up front. At one point, Amy needed to go to the bathroom and a friend who was staying at a motel across the street offered their room to her. She made me go with her (actually, the A/C felt nice after a day spent in the August sun), and when we got back, everyone was freaking because Nate and Dave had just gone in through the front door. “Your stupid bladder made me miss Dave!” I mocked-yelled at Amy.
Finally, we went in. The Troubadour in L.A. is a legendary rock venue. There’s no barrier between the crowd and the stage, which is fairly low. My friends and I headed for the center of the stage. I was right in front of the microphone, just inches from me. “Dave’s going to lean over and SWEAT on you!” Amy said. “And the problem with that is…?” She was on one side of me, Maria on the other. Kevin, a legend among Foo fans (he’s got two tatts of Dave) and a big dude, was right behind me and promised to protect me from the crowd.
The lights dimmed, the crowd swelled, and the opening band took the stage: The Atomic Punks, a Van Halen cover band circa the David Lee Roth era. They dressed the part, sounded identical to the original, and they totally rocked. At one point, Chad Smith from the Red Hot Chili Peppers took over on the drums. “Let’s see…” the faux-Roth said, “Do we have any OTHER friends who want to join us?” The crowd screamed and there in front of us were Taylor Hawkins and Dave Grohl. I’d actually seen Taylor before the show, behind the venue, looking thin and tired (this is called foreshadowing). But this was the first time I’d ever seen Dave live, and he was right in front of me, sharing the mic while Taylor and Chad drummed together. The place was going nuts. And Dave looked hotter than ever: tight white t-shirt, black jeans, goatee and short hair (my preferred Dave hair, which had its own topic on the Foo board. Yes, people discuss his hair like other people discuss the situation in Darfur). It was intense.
The Atomic Punks finished their set and there was a brief break while the Foo’s roadies set up their gear. The Foo Fighters crew are nearly as famous as the guys in the band. The die-hards all know Joe Beebe and Sean Cox, as well as all the others. Finally finally finally, the lights went down and all four of the Foo Fighters walked out on stage.
“What’s up, weirdos?” Dave greeted us. The cheers were the loudest I’d ever heard. Dave would occasionally post on the board, always calling the posters “weirdos” in an affectionate way. We suspected he read some of the threads, because he would occasionally respond (like when there was a rumor he’d hooked up with Christina Aguilera).
The band immediately launched into “Monkey Wrench”. I was the happiest I’d been in a very long time. I was with my friends, I was seeing my favorite band for the very first time in this cool little venue, they sounded absolutely amazing, and the hottest man alive was singing his ass off right in front of me. I mean, come on.
The song ended and Dave took a swig of beer. This is where time stands still, where the plates shift, where everything changes. I am gazing up at him, he is at the mic, and he looks at me. He smiles. He says,TO ME, into the mic for everyone in this tiny packed room to hear: “ I know who you are!”
The word stunned doesn’t begin to describe it. Paralyzed, maybe. What did he just say?
I turned to Maria: “What did he just say?”
“He said he knows who you are!”
I turned to Amy: “What did he just say?”
“He said he knows who you are!”
Dave was watching this exchange with a total shit-eating grin on his face, knowing that he was totally freaking me out. I looked at him. He smiled again. And from then on, like every girl’s rock and roll fantasy, he sang to me. He flirted with me. He smiled at me a lot. And then, they played a new song they were working on, with the title “Gun Beside My Bed.”
Once the song ended, Dave talked about it becoming a huge hit. And then we decided to yell out how great his hair looked, and he said, “Thanks a lot, Tara, that’s really nice.” Dave Grohl SAID.MY.NAME. Holy fucking shit. I have an mp3 of this moment, one of the most coveted of all Foo Fighters bootlegs (I won’t post it, but if Dave wants it…) and it still makes me laugh when I hear him say, “Thanks a lot, Tara…”
So after that, after he said my name, I can’t really remember a whole lot. I do know at one point he was holding on to the mic stand, leaning way over, his face close to mine, and he said, “Hey, Tara,” in a breathy voice that to my ears sounded more intimate than anything my husband had said to me in years.
When the show was over, I felt physically and emotionally exhausted. I’d had very little sleep on Amy’s very uncomfortable couch, I’d been standing all day, I’d just experienced a hot and sweaty rock show, and oh, one of the world’s biggest rock stars knows my face and my name. I’d been holding on to the hope of maybe meeting Dave outside the venue or something, but now I was determined to talk to him. How did he know me? He must have seen me on the board, but why me? How? What the fuck?
Meanwhile, Jill and Angela were at the back bar and had made the acquaintance of Jimmy Chamberlin of the Smashing Pumpkins. He bought them shots and then asked them if they wanted to go backstage. The backstage at the Troub is this tiny room above the crowd. It has windows so you can watch the show from there, and before they’d gone on we’d caught glimpses of Dave and Taylor up there with Chad Smith. I saw them heading up there and frankly, I just tagged along. The security guy said to Jimmy, “All these girls with you?” Jimmy looked back and said yes. We were allowed into the small, smoky room. And standing alone against the wall, sipping from a can of Coors Light, was Dave Grohl.
I decided to go balls-to-the-wall and greeted him like a long-lost friend. I went over to him, spread my arms, and said, “Hey, Dave!” A huge smile appeared on his face and he pulled me into his arms. “Tara!” he said, “it’s sooo good to finally meet you!” The hug lasted a nice long time. He’d changed into a shirt that said “I ❤ The Soaps!” What a dork. I was so in love with him.
“Uhh...I think I should be saying that to YOU!” I said. “How do you know who I am?”
“I’m smart,” he replied. “ I know everything.”
“Come on…” I began, but we were interrupted. Everyone wants a piece of The Grohl, and as many times as we tried to have an actual conversation, someone would come over and want a picture, or an autograph, or something else. Someone offered him a joint and he said, “No thanks, man…I’m a clean teen!”
Amy wanted to leave way too soon, unfortunately. I got a picture with Dave, many hugs, and as we said goodbye, he gave me a quick kiss on the mouth. The power of speech then left me.
After that night, my crush on Dave ramped up even more. The next show was in February 2002, at the House of Blues in Anaheim. He called me out from the stage again and when we assembled after the show for photos, he pulled me into a tight hug and announced to everyone, “Ooooh, I love this one, she’s my internet crush!” Too bad he had his new girlfriend with him, who is now his wife of 18 years (Happy recent Anniversary, you two!).
We never got out of the Friend Zone (seriously, no bodily fluids were ever exchanged. Which is something I sometimes regret, but not too often. But I genuinely think maybe it’s better we never did, so that we’ll always have a different kind of connection), but we did have some great talks over the years:
— When Dave was drumming with Queens of the Stone Age, they went on tour in the summer of 2002 and came to Portland. They played at the old Berbati’s (RIP, you awesome music venue), and Dave let me watch the soundcheck. After I met Josh Homme (“C’mere, you cute little baby,” was Josh’s response when I asked for a picture), Dave said “Let’s go sit down”, and we got comfy on this giant baby blue velvet banquette. We then had a conversation about Coachella (he was playing with both Foo and QOTSA) that I’m positive he doesn’t remember, but I do. Foo Fighters were on the verge of breaking up, and Dave seemed way more into playing with QOTSA. After our talk, Foo Fighters not only didn’t break up, Dave wrote one of their biggest hits, “Times Like These”. Did I inspire him to write it? I’m basically 99% positive that I did, but because I’ve never been able to confirm that with him, I’m leaving out the specifics of that conversation until I can talk to Dave again about it. I also forgot about that conversation for a while, because the next time I saw Dave, I had been through a major personal trauma and it fell out of my head. When it came back to me, it was after the last time I’d seen him, so I’m still waiting for that chance.
— We sat outside behind the Salem Armory in early July 2003, 6 weeks after I prematurely gave birth to my younger son (the major trauma that caused the Mommy Brain, plus the rest of 2003 was personally very difficult), and even though I was carrying so much postpartum weight, Dave still called me a “fox”. He told me about his upcoming wedding, so when the stories came out, I already knew the wedding was at his house in Southern California, and that they had a Beatles cover band play.
— A month after Salem, Foo Fighters played the Paramount in Seattle. Dave put me on the list for that, as well as a session the band did for 107.7 The End, and after the show that night, I got to ride back to the hotel on his tour bus along with Krist Novoselic and Pete Yorn, who opened the show. Yes, I was on Dave Grohl’s tour bus and still kept all my clothes on. It can happen! Sadly, I have no photographic evidence to back this up, but it’s true. Also, this was the week after Courtney Love went on Howard Stern to say Kurt Cobain and Krist Novoselic hated Dave, and Krist still hated him. Meanwhile, I watched them interact on more than one occasion (he was also at that QOTSA show), and I saw them hug and then Krist kissed Dave right on the cheek when they said goodbye in the lobby of the W Hotel in Seattle. Krist said, “See you in a few weeks!”, meaning at Dave’s upcoming wedding. I know stuff, you guys. They LOVE each other. Krist played on the “Wasting Light” album. Don’t listen to those rumors.
— In August 2004, a month after I had gotten my dream radio job on KNRK in Portland, I flew to So Cal to attend Street Scene in San Diego to interview Jimmy Eat World and a couple of other bands. Foo Fighters were headlining and while I couldn’t get an official interview with Dave, I did get a few minutes alone with him in a trailer, where he recorded some liners for the station to play before a Foo song (for the acoustic version of “Everlong”, he said, “Hi, this is Dave from Foo Fighters and this is the acoustic version of ‘Everlong’, because the ladies love acoustic guitars!”). I also got him to settle a long-standing dispute from the postboard: did he, or did he not, mind being called “The Grohl”, a nickname I’d given him. I got my answer.
Right before we parted, he gave me a tight hug and told me I looked great and said a few other things that are none of your business. Then we took this picture, and yes, he’s biting his lip, because maybe I said something slightly inappropriate right before it was taken.
— In November 2009, six months after I lost my dream radio job, Dave was touring with Them Crooked Vultures (along with Josh Homme and John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin, and if you’ve never listened to that record, download it RIGHT NOW) and they played the Roseland in Portland. I managed to get myself up front and their tour manager, Joe Beebe (usually the Foos’ guitar tech) saw me and blew me a kiss. He must’ve told Dave I was there, because when the band hit the stage, Dave scanned the crowd, looking for me. When he saw me, his jaw dropped because I had gotten a few tattoos on my arms that he’d never seen. “HOT!” he mouthed to me, gesturing up and down his own arms. After the show, his drum tech, Gersh, made a beeline for me and gave me a drum head. Clearly sent by Dave, I let Gersh know I wanted to say a quick hi if possible. Gersh disappeared and a few minutes later, Dave himself emerged to bring me back downstairs to the green room. He was furious I’d lost my radio gig (“What the fuck, Tara?” he fumed. “What can I do to help?”). I met John Paul Jones but didn’t say “Led Zeppelin” to him once (we talked about “Automatic For the People” instead). And a friend took my favorite picture of Dave and me, because even though we’re not looking at the camera, you can see we’re deep in conversation like people who actually know each other. Even though it was clear we were having an intimate talk, people kept interrupting us by saying things like, “Hey Dave, sorry, but it’s late and I need to leave and I really wanted to just get a picture with you…” And Dave would oblige, but after maybe the fifth time it happened, he responded with, “Sure, I’ll get up and take a picture with you, I’m just sitting here trying to talk to MY FRIEND TARA.” That was kind of glorious.
That was the last time we had a chance to talk. I haven’t seen the Foo Fighters since 2015, when Dave had a broken leg and performed from a custom throne. They played at the Moda Center here (my days of flying off to shows are long behind me); I placed myself at the end of the catwalk and screamed his name until he finally saw me. He looked delighted to see me (“Hey!” he called out, pointing to me, a huge smile on his face. “How the fuck are you!?”) and dedicated “Breakout” to me, saying “This one goes out to the OLD FANS, who’ve been with us SINCE THE BEGINNING.” And at the end of the show, Dave got up on his crutches and tipped the end of one at me, like he used to do with his guitar at shows when he’d enter the stage and see me. “TAAAAARAAAAA!” he yelled (Taylor also saw me and recognized me and waved hello, that was a nice moment too). Sadly, I didn’t have a pass that gave me the access I used to have, so that was our last encounter.
Twenty years is a very long time to wonder why a big deal rock star would single out a regular person. Whatever his reasons were, Dave changed the way I saw myself. Prior to that night, I had no real sense of self-esteem, no clear identity of my own other than wife and mother, still feeling very much like a little girl pretending to be a grownup despite the fact that I was 32 years old. But Dave Grohl saw something in me that he liked, so I assumed there must be something special about me. I wondered what it was: had he read my posts and then seen my picture and decided I was cute? Was it the other way around, a cute pic and then he read my posts? He had to know that I was pretty blatant about my crush on him when posting, but so was every other female on that postboard. Why me?
Eventually, I stopped asking why me. What matters is that it was me. From that point on, I had this one little thing that set me apart from other people. Plenty of music fans get to meet their idols, but my story is pretty unique. I mean, grabbing girls out of the audience is nothing new to rock stars, but how many of them know the girl’s name ahead of time, and remember her every time they see her after that? This was different, this was something that is all mine. It’s the best humblebrag ever.
And now I’ve written a whole (very heavily fictionalized) book about an unhappy woman who goes to see her favorite band for the first time, and the lead singer calls her out from the stage. But her story is different from mine, because she doesn’t go home to her husband after the show; she goes home with the lead singer and never leaves. I started writing it in 2015, but hit a wall in the story and then got distracted by politics. When the quarantine happened, I decided to revisit the pages, realized I had something really good, and found a way around the wall. Coincidentally, two days after I resumed writing, Dave started his own project called Dave’s True Stories, and I’ve seen some startlingly coincidental overlaps in some of my writing and his. My book is best thing I’ve ever written in my entire life and I’ve submitted it to agents for consideration. I can only hope it’ll see the light of day, because I think people will also fall in love with the rock and roll love story I’ve created. I couldn’t have come up with a meet-cool that unique on my own if it hadn’t actually happened to me, because it just doesn’t sound like a real thing that could happen.
There are the stories I tell other people, and then there are the stories I tell myself. While I have a few lingering questions for Dave should we ever get the chance to catch up, the memories I have will be more than sufficient even if I never get the answers. Dave told me things about himself I’ve never shared with anyone and never will, because of my continuing respect for him as a person. It’s been amazing to see him become the great dad I knew he’d be, and it’s even cooler to read his writings on the semi-regular, because it’s like hearing him speak through his words. It’s so funny to see peoples’ reactions whenever he publishes something in The Atlantic; like, rock stars can be smart? I’ve always known what a great writer he is, so it’s gratifying to see him getting the additional respect he deserves.
Even if we never see or talk to each other again (oh but I hope we do, because closure is a thing that matters very much to help my poor brain finally rest a little), I’ll always have a special place in my heart for The Grohl, and I think he knows it.
Always.
Thanks, Dave.
