**1/2 (out of 4)
As beloved genre torchbearer Dave Grohl toes the line of being "a guy who just loves rock 'n roll, man," no one bats an eye to the fact that his band hasn't made an interesting song in years. Foo Fighters didn't challenge themselves on 2011's "Wasting Light," as if there was no reason for the veteran group to try anything new when you can be swaddled forever by people who still worship at the altar of Nirvana.
To their credit, the Foos change things up on "Sonic Highways," which is essentially brought to you by the number 8. The 8-track album is the group's eighth studio release and was partially recorded in eight of the biggest music cities in America (Austin, Chicago, Los Angeles, Nashville, New Orleans, New York, Seattle, and Washington, D.C.). Each song features a prominent musician from the city in which it was made (including Cheap Trick's Rick Nielsen in Chicago, Gary Clark Jr. in Austin and Ben Gibbard in Seattle) and was recorded in iconic studios like New York's Magic Shop (Sonic Youth, David Bowie, The Ramones) and Steve Albini's Electric Audio in Chicago. In addition, the band shot an HBO documentary series chronicling the process. Cool, right?
Well, kudos to the band for attempting something refreshing. But anyone seeking an iconic look at American music through a Dave Grohl lens will be disappointed, as the gimmick ends up shining more than the music it produced. That's partly because on "Highways" Grohl continues a career-long streak of spotty lyrics. Yes, he mentions icons appropriate to each involved city (Muddy Waters on the recorded-in-Chicago "Something from Nothing"; the historic intersection of 14th and U streets in the D.C.-focused "The Feast and the Famine"). He then undoes that goodwill by lobbing corny lines like, "I've been throwing knives to see just where they land, now my world is in your hands." Ugh.
The band shreds like no other but only in the interest of repeating former glory, save for the aforementioned "The Feast and the Famine," which to my recollection is the first time the Foos have attempted anything resembling social commentary. All the concept of the anthemic, middling "Sonic Highways" required was a celebration of American rock, connected to its origins. What the album delivers is the equivalent of one of those fantasy camps where middle-management types pay to shred with legends. You decide who here comes off as the icon and who sounds like the Average Working Man hanging out.
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