More Dave Grohl than Jim Morrison…

Don’t get me wrong here. Jim Morrison is still The Lizard King, my reptilian and lyrical hero.

A source of musical and poetic inspiration since my teens, the frontman for The Doors died within eight weeks of my birth. I kept a book of his poetry, Wilderness, in my backpack during the Pali High years. I also attended SMC like Jim, went to UCLA to study film, and one of my first agency representations with Steve Fisher was with APA, which had also represented The Doors. Was any of this intentional on my part to align with their talent? Not really; I consider it a happy coincidence that my hair was as brown and unruly as my inspiration’s. Incidentally, The Palisades was also home to both band members and their parents, even up to the fires. Piro, a charming and youthful server at the local, beloved restaurant, Cafe Vida, once regaled me with a story about the time he was floored to meet The Doors’ drummer, John Densmore, when he came to pick up his phone order. In hindsight, I only regret not asking what was chosen from their menu.

It’s officially six months since I came home to Pacific Palisades as the town struggles to regain the glory that was erased almost instantaneously by the smoldering embers of January 7, 2025. It has been a challenge for me, and I can now say definitively that living in the wreckage is not for the faint of heart. The Palisades is especially not the place for the “feint” of heart, as the last thing we need in our vulnerability is people who are taking advantage of the collective trauma. And even though I indulged myself with a Doors album and a record player on which to enjoy it as God intended in the 1960s, I feel my journey (six months in) aligns more precisely with the musical stylings of one Dave Grohl than my musical deity, Jim Morrison.

I didn’t pay much attention to Dave Grohl’s talent or drumming when Nirvana first hit the scene in my youth. Drummers I was more invested in while impressionable included Larry Mullens, Jr, who was pounding away on behalf of Irish social justice, and Brit Rick Allen, who was doing it for Def Leppard with only one arm. In fairness, Kurt Cobain could eclipse the sun so much so that decades after his passing, I still don’t know how to spell the third member of the grunge revolution’s most eponymous band’s last name. Kurt Cobain joining the “27” club (the tragic grouping of musical geniuses who met their untimely end at that age, including Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and my beloved Jim Morrison) must have been a devastating blow for a young Grohl. Music clearly was a salve for his trauma as The Foo Fighters was formed in 1994/95 after the loss of Cobain.

To me, it makes perfect sense that Dave Grohl would lose himself in his talent to reconcile both the death of his bandmate and their band in one fell swoop. Apparently, the name Foo Fighters is derived from a World War 2 term and refers to unidentified flying objects detected by pilots, which are not meant to be taken too seriously. In his healing, Dave Grohl played all his own instruments and recorded several songs as a method of coping with what had transpired in his young life. He needed to do what felt right and write artistically to heal, and I truly believe in that method of dealing with the unexpected. I can’t stop writing everywhere and on everything, from NextDoor to lengthy, private journal passages, to deal with my grief. Tragedy turned out to inspire a lot of important songs for Grohl, and I listen to so many of them now, even on a daily basis. The Foo Fighters quickly evolved from his solo pain into a fully formed lineup, transforming the band into one of the best live rock bands of my generation.

The Foo Fighters won over fifteen Grammy Awards and were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The aspect of their history I am most struck by is the relationship between Dave Grohl and the late Taylor Hawkins. The era of Taylor began in 1997, and he was essential to the band’s sound and chemistry. Hawkins was, in my opinion, the drummer that Dave Grohl needed to support and reflect his vision with a talent that far surpassed Grohl’s own on the drums. That astounding ability gave Grohl the space and confidence to head up the band, which, to this day, is one of the most dynamic for live arena performances. That brotherhood and keen understanding of each other probably compensated for what Grohl had lost and also probably inspired him for what could still be. Together, they came up with what feels like my personal theme song/anthem for this iteration of my Palisades life. It’s called Times Like These. And some of the lyrics go something like this…

I, I'm a new day rising

I'm a brand-new sky to hang the stars upon tonight

I, I'm a little divided

Do I stay or run away and leave it all behind?

I can’t imagine how agonizing the sudden death of Hawkins while on tour must have been for his bandmates, especially for Grohl. Considering this tragedy, it almost feels like Fate playing a cruel trick for what Grohl endured with the loss of Cobain. But, this sadness also speaks volumes to the unpredictability of life, just as the fires do to mine. We are informed by loss, and we are stronger when we are proactive about our healing. Music has always been an integral part of my socialization, and even in the sadness of this tragedy, I opened a box that belonged to my parents to rifle through the records they were listening to when they were untouched by tragedy and had big dreams for their future. My father was known to warble beautifully both in English and Hindi. Singing is healing. At least, I hope it is.

It's times like these you learn to live again

It's times like these you give and give again

It's times like these you learn to love again

It's times like these time and time again