MUSIC
Foo Fighters | Take Cover Tour ★★★★
Marvel Stadium, November 14
Welcome to Foo Fest 2026. Circle the belly of Marvel Stadium where bars, carnival-style cuisine and a robust smoker’s section swarm with Foo Fighters’ multigenerational fanbase. As the band takes the stage, charismatic master of dad rock Dave Grohl promises, firmly, to kick our asses with three hours of rock’n’roll.
Female-fronted openers FRENZEE and The Belair Lip Bombs are a thoughtful balance to the masculinity marathon. Foo Fighters bear the weight of three hours – and 31 live-playing years – with power.
Grohl is an impeccable frontman, who says f— a lot, and motherf—er almost as much. His presence is amplified on towering screens, tracing neck muscles straining in each scream, chewing gum slipping between brilliantly bared teeth. Grohl swaggers with rockstar theatrics, flinging hair, chugging beer and breaking for wandering digressions that are charmingly, well, dad.
The production flashes with lightning-storm illumination and ever-changing video aesthetics: dreamy, distorted, scribble-scattered or bursting with colour. Even those at the back get one hell of a show. Classics deviate into fresh solos. The crowd collaborates, enunciating the anthemic Best of You and My Hero, stamping to the chugging riffs of Walk, carrying a constellation of phone lights in These Days.
Foo Fighters has a muscular sound. Grohl can sustain screams but falters a little in quieter moments, straining for Under You, his melodies in This is a Call swallowed by guitar snarls and crashing drums. An exception is Aurora, played in honour of late drummer Taylor Hawkins, pensive sorrow-rock powered with gentle, earnest vocals.
Ilan Rubin is a captivating successor to Hawkins, from galloping beats and a mind-melting solo in No Son Of Mine to the hypnotic drive of Run. Drumroll attacks in Monkey Wrench are matched by frenzied cinematography, this possessed musical beast about to destroy himself. Grohl plays towards him, a mirroring of mop-haired, black-clad men. In the medley, they switch: Grohl smiling ecstatically in his old home at the kit, Rubin rippling out a guitar solo.
Instruments enjoy clear definition in the medley: Nate Mendel’s bass momentum, Pat Smear and Chris Shiflett’s ringing guitar solos, Rami Jaffee’s bubbling keyboard. Audio clarity drifts throughout the show, at times slipping into muddiness.
But Everlong is the climactic fever pitch. Arms are thrust into the air, bodies against barriers. When Grohl reaches out a hand, eyes fixed intensely, growling “Breathe out, so I can breathe you in”, you think, f— me, Foos have still f—ing got it.
Reviewed by Kosa Monteith
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Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: www.smh.com.au
