Bob Mould.

Bob Mould is the Ben Franklin of indie pop. Founding member and driving force of ’80s punk trio Hüsker Dü (whose influence resonates today through Foo Fighters and Ryan Adams), Mould has succeeded at everything he’s tried, and he’s tried a lot. Credits include the post-Hüsker band Sugar (classic record Copper Blue), solo hits including “See a Little Light” (which appeared in Buffy, HBO’s Mind of the Married Man, and a commercial for TIAA-CREF), one half of the deejay phenomenon Blowoff, the theme songs to The Daily Show and TLC’s In a Fix, a stint as a writer for World Championship Wrestling (!), lead guitar on the soundtrack to Hedwig and the Angry Inch, gay rights activism, and a truly excellent memoir.

Eight-Day Week spoke to Mr. Mould last week. At 52, he retains a shocking percentage of the fire and enthusiasm that incubated “Celebrated Summer” and “59 Times the Pain,” and he drew the arc between his newest record, Silver Age, and the heyday of Hüsker Dü:

“The template for this record was Copper Blue. The notion of shorter/faster/louder guitar pop songs. As far as Flip Your Wig goes, I’m on record as saying that’s my favorite Hüsker Dü album. Beyond the great songs on there—“Makes No Sense At All,” “Divide and Conquer,” “Green Eyes”—after the records with Spot at the helm for SST, for me and Grant to take charge and to make the pop record that we always knew was in there. That was the end of the good times. Touring with Soul Asylum. That was the best of days.”

Mr. Mould has continued to innovate, even as many of his colleagues from mid-80s punk rock have fallen by the wayside. (We are grateful he went back on his 1998 promise to hang up his electric guitar.) He launched a successful Kickstarter campaign to fund the release of a video concert from a 2011 appearance. "There was a tribute show of my songbook at the Disney Hall in Los Angeles, and this is a movie about the event. Kickstarter has been a great way for artists to underwrite projects that fall a little bit out of the mainstream."  The project raised over $100,000 from 1800+ backers and now fans can see artists like Dave Grohl (Foo Fighters), Ryan Adams, No Age,  Britt Daniel (Spoon), The Hold Steady, The Shins and even Margaret Cho perform songs from the Mould catalog.

Mr. Mould, who is playing on Wednesday night as well, says both shows will rock, but notes that Bear in Heaven, who are opening Tuesday night, released one of his favorite records of the year.

The Bowery Ballroom, 6 Delancey Street, doors 9pm, tickets $25.

Dave Grohl (Getty Images)

In a letter sent to press, Foo Fighters frontman and onetime Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl announced that the band is to take a break. "I'm not sure when the Foo Fighters are going to play again. It feels strange to say that, but it's a good thing for all of us to go away for a while. It's one of the reasons we're still here."

Mr. Grohl indicated that the band will, at least in spirit, not be breaking up, noting that "it's not just a band to me. It's my life. It's my family. It's my world." The Foo Fighters are pressing pause just as they're on top: the band won five Grammys this year and their most recent album, Wasting Light, was their first to top the Billboard 200. Mr. Grohl is currently preparing to release his documentary on Sound City Studios through his Roswell Films banner.

In statement emailed by her representatives, Ms. Cobain—an artist who shows under the name Fiddle Tim—has denied her mother's accusation, explaining:

While I'm generally silent on the affairs of my biological mother, her recent tirade has taken a gross turn. I have never been approached by Dave Grohl in more than a platonic way. I'm in a monogamous relationship and very happy.

Twitter should ban my mother.

For the record, that is her paragraph break. We should note that this is not a formal request for Twitter to ban Ms. Love, but a casual one, and is likely not the first time this sentiment has been expressed by the daughter of a mother on Twitter. Then again, your mother is not Courtney Love, and she's also not accusing Dave Grohl of hitting on you.

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

Singing into a microphone and learning to play an instrument and learning to do your craft, that's the most important thing for people to do... It's not about being perfect, it's not about sounding absolutely correct, it's not about what goes on in a computer. It's about what goes on in here [your heart] and what goes on in here [your head].

The more you know, indeed. Mr. Grohl was ultimately played off the stage while shouting about rock and roll, prompting at least one viewer to Google to make sure he recalled the correct definition of "rockism." Mr. Grohl, in his statement, notes that his speech was "not the Gettysburg Address, but hey......I'm a drummer, remember?"

Mr. Grohl went on to discuss the technological advances in the music industry, noting:

unfortunately,  some of these great advances have taken the focus off of the actual craft of performance. Look, I am not Yngwie Malmsteen. I am not John Bonham. Hell...I'm not even Josh Groban, for that matter. But I try really fucking hard so that I don't have to rely on anything but my hands and my heart to play a song. I do the best that I possibly can within my limitations, and accept that it sounds like me.

The singer is in no way backing down from his criticism of, say, the entire Best Pop Vocal Album field save Adele. But he does have room to praise Skrillex, because he knows Skrillex is popular. "We have a different process and a different set of tools, but the "craft" is equally as important, I'm sure." (Nice use of the passive-aggressive "I'm sure" there! Dave Grohl: master of the neg.)

Not to pile on a musician who had a week of criticism (we're talking about Dave Grohl here), but if Mr. Grohl is so terribly concerned with authenticity, why did he perform alongside Chris Brown, America's top lip-syncher?

Why? Well, Bravo's reality shows excel at presenting contestants with dumb challenges made slightly less dumb by involving some amount of cool (see also the drag queen challenge on the last season of Project Runway). So we have the genial, feel-good Foo Fighters, a band it seems is almost impossible to hate. Some dislike Dave Grohl for having a good time after the suicide of former bandmate Kurt Cobain of Nirvana, and especially for being successful, and rock nerds like to point out he wasn't the original drummer anyway, maaan, but those types hate everything. Oh the other reason is that, according to Dave Grohl, the band members are "fans of Top Chef... we watch it a lot!"

Moving on, wait! This dumb challenge has dumb twists! After a preliminary Quickfire challenge that was notable only for its use of double product placement (Top Chef cookbooks and Swanson broth), "the Foos" appeared (via TV screen) to lay out the challenge: Cook for the band and its crew, paying attention to the official show rider for likes and dislikes (likes include such culinary oddities as "bacon"), and deal with the unrelenting crapitude of the fake privated kitchen the show set up to mess with the chefs. The winner gets to see the Foos play their awesome rockin' show, and the losers have to clean up all the dishes (one wonders who cleans up on every other episode).

As a Spoon song played (is that ironic somehow?), Team Sexy Pants and Team Cougar (yes, in reference to the team's hot older woman: she's 41) faced off to see who would make something totally crummy. The guy making s'mores kept complaining about how tough this challenge was. I wonder if his s'mores turned out bad? The Foos showed up, and someone noted they "look like rock stars," which must have made the band sigh in relief, though another contestant called Tom "Tom-bear-hottie-icon-Colicchio," which is arguably greater praise.

As the band ate and made comments, we learned (again) that Dave Grohl loves bacon, and is also (sorry) quite a ham. His goofy sidekick Taylor Hawkins shared such crits as "I just don't like figs and stuff in my stuffing" and "I don't like pumpkin foam" and "I don't usually even order dessert," while Grohl ruled the night with the simple summation "no more BARFAITS!" Meanwhile the guy who used to be in Sunny Day Real Estate made more serious comments and loved the vegan stuffing (typical!), while Padma put on a kind of devil-may-care burnout act clearly in an attempt to look cool for the band.

The big drama last week was when Padma spit up some overly sweet bit of glop, and this week spit made another cameo, first when Padma made a face a lot like the spit up face, but then managed to not spit, and then when Grohl noted that the vanilla cream on his s'more looked a lot like spit. Next week? more spitting in preview!

Anyway, Team Cougar barfait-ed and spat their way to cleanup duty, and s'mores dude (Richard) packed his knives and went, in tears. Sad, especially when he mentioned he'd tried out three times to be on the show. The Foos won the dumb cel phone poll asking who viewers dumb enough to vote in a Top Chef poll would most want to cook them Thanksgiving dinner. Duh, those guys are famous. In other news, the band recently announced it was taking a long break from touring. Related?

For the swamped reviewer, used-record stores are a salvation. By unloading excess albums, we render our walls visible once again, and salve our existential despair with some extra cash.

Like so many pleasurable experiences, however, the selling of unwanted promo CD's isn't lawful.

Strictly speaking, the discs are the property of the record company that sent them, and are only lent to the critics for the purpose of a review. But since the labels don't really want their CD's back-I've never been asked to return one-they've generally turned a blind eye to the mutually remunerative trade between music journalists and used-record stores.

Now, ensconced as they are in the world of file-sharing and Internet piracy, record labels are surmising that mailing out hundreds of promotional CD's to relative strangers may no longer be in their best interest. The lost revenue from a few illicitly sold albums can be absorbed, but the post-Napster reality is that, if just one of those CD's is converted into computer sound files and placed online for all comers, it's conceivable that no one in the world would ever have to pay for the thing.

A disturbing prospect, to be sure, and so the labels are taking action. More and more, writers are receiving advance copies of albums with their names inscribed on the disc, or with a special electronic code embedded in its programming. This "watermark" automatically transfers itself onto any digital copy that might be made of the music, allowing labels to track bootleg sound files to their source.

There are other, more ham-handed methods of deterring piracy as well. Epic Records recently raised eyebrows by sending journalists advances of the new Pearl Jam album glued into portable CD players to discourage song theft.

Some folks have gotten so paranoid that they won't let advances out to the press at all. That's why, when I wanted to review the new Foo Fighters release, One by One (RCA), for this column, I had to traipse downtown to a publicist's office to hear it.

I listened to the album three times, enough to store it in my memory, and I took extensive notes. But I wasn't allowed to take the music home, spend some time with it and reach a more educated judgment - because the record company has deemed rock critics untrustworthy.

To which I say, "Physician, heal thyself." Yes, most music writers will cop to selling promo CD's. But we-or at least those of us with any kind of reputation we wish to keep-are not to blame for the spread of online thievery. After reading the Los Angeles Times on Oct. 13, I am dying to know, like every other critic in the business, which as-yet-unnamed writer is being held responsible for leaking Faith Hill's new record to the Internet, as the artist's label, Warner Bros., alleged in the article. But I'd almost be willing to bet that the perp was looking for trouble-the kind that makes a statement about this whole messy issue.

If Warner is going to make an example of the alleged culprit (as they already seem to be doing), then they, not to mention all the labels, should also look inside their own ranks. Practically everyone in the business knows the people most responsible for unplanned Internet leaking are employees-usually in the A&R and radio-promotions departments-of the very same record companies that decry piracy. And yet the labels maddeningly persist in scapegoating the press. They apparently haven't realized that annoying journalists won't further their cause.

This concludes my grand pronouncement for the week. So what about the Foo Fighters record? Well, it's damn catchy and proudly unashamed of sounding commercial, even though the band's attack is heavier than on its last release, 1999's There Is Nothing Left to Lose . With their ominous, weirdly accented guitar riffs, album centerpieces "Burn Away" and "Times Like These" initially seem off-putting, but they soon blossom into anthemic choruses perfect for stadium sing-alongs.

The seesawing chord progression of "Lonely As You" and the buttery vocal harmonies on "Have It All" also show that the Foos' principal singer, songwriter and guitarist, Dave Grohl, believes in pleasant surprises. Mr. Grohl, of course, is famous for being the drummer in that epochal Seattle band of the late 80's and early 90's, Nirvana. But the clever melodic twists of several songs here more closely resemble the work of another group from the same city and time: those underrated champions of power pop, the Posies.

Devotees of Nirvana's deceased leader Kurt Cobain may protest, but to these ears, the Foo Fighters' quartet of albums reveal Mr. Grohl developing into a more sophisticated-and more interesting-songwriter than Cobain ever was. Mr. Grohl no longer shares his late colleague's fondness for mind-numbing melodic repetition. The structures of his songs are more complex, with frequent unexpected turns. His lyrics have become sharper, too, and he rarely takes refuge in gibberish -"A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido," anyone?-the way Cobain sometimes did.

And despite the formative years he spent raging in hard-core punk bands-not to mention his recent stint playing drums for hard-rock titans Queens of the Stone Age- One by One offers more evidence that Mr. Grohl, at heart, is a softie. When Kurt Cobain howled out "Rape Me," his angst was undeniable. Mr. Grohl screams a lot, too, especially when the subject is dissatisfaction ("All My Life") or romantic anguish ("Disenchanted Lullaby"). But his many shrieks on One by One don't sound like the exorcising of some personal demon; they sound like someone making a racket because it's fun.

If you're in the mood for less abrasiveness, I recommend Cobblestone Runway (Nettwerk), the newest album by Canadian singer/songwriter Ron Sexsmith. Hailed by fellow musicians for years, Mr. Sexsmith remains an unknown quantity to most ordinary people. It's a shame, because ordinary people are whom Mr. Sexsmith writes about, and the empathy with which he details their predicaments leaves little doubt that he cares deeply for his subjects. In these cynical times, naming a song "God Loves Everyone" invites listeners to expect a joke. But if any Randy Newman–style irony is present in Mr. Sexsmith's lyrics, it's skillfully concealed. As far as I can determine, he really means that God loves everyone.

These are hopeful songs-Mr. Sexsmith is always on the lookout for the silver lining-but they're also bittersweet. The tension between future hope and present disillusionment is right there in Mr. Sexsmith's voice. A humble instrument, it has a tendency to go flat and to smear the ends of notes with a vibrato that seems beyond the singer's control. Just like life.

So, for example, during the touching solo-piano ballad "Gold in Them Hills," when Mr. Sexsmith sings about the potential for growth amid adversity and urges us not to lose heart, the tremor in his delivery is all the reminder we need of how far we are from where we wish to be. Occasional clattering samples by Claes Bjirklund spoil the atmosphere of a few numbers, but on the whole, Cobblestone Runway is remarkably poignant folk-rock for grown-up ears.

You couldn't possibly use the word "grown-up" to describe Spend the Night (Atlantic), the latest opus from the Donnas, and thank heavens for that. This band of Northern California rock chicks started making records in high school; they're now well over 21, but their music has lost none of its gleeful adolescence. Titles like "Take It Off," "Please Don't Tease," "I Don't Care (So There)" and the instant classic "Take Me to the Backseat" offer good clues as to what's on the gals' minds, and the accompanying songs prove worthy of their names: utterly teenage and uniformly hilarious.

I'm particularly fond of "All Messed Up" and its opening couplet: "Well I must've had too many Diet Cokes / 'Cause I'm laughing at all your stupid jokes."

Still, the Donnas have grown in at least one way: They've turned into great rock 'n' roll musicians. The playing of guitarist Donna R. (née Allison Robertson), bassist Donna F. (Maya Ford) and drummer Donna C. (Torry Castellano) has all the hormone-pumping panache of their obvious idols-AC/DC, Kiss, Van Halen-and the gutsy snarl of lead singer Donna A. (Brett Anderson) is an ideal match for such a swaggering display of prowess. It seems the older the Donnas get, the better they can express their inner sophomore.

Finally, honorable mention to Röyksopp, an electronic duo from Norway famed in certain circles for its "chill-out" music (i.e., music aimed at clubbers who are too tired to keep dancing).

Not that the group's new album, Melody A.M. (Astralwerks), warrants the buzz currently surrounding it. For much of its duration, pure aesthetic appeal is undermined by emotional emptiness. As Johnny Rotten might say, it's pretty-pretty vacant. Yet a few cuts, most notably "So Easy" and "Remind Me," stand out for the way they combine a serious mien with an endearing lightness of touch. They're distinctive enough that I won't be selling this CD to the used-record store anytime soon. I won't put any of it up on the Web, either. I promise.

"We have recently undertaken a major review of our employee classifications," wrote Nancy Ashbrooke, vice president of human resources at Miramax, in a letter obtained by The Transom. Copies of the letter, which went out in early March to the affected staff and ex-staff, further stated: "[T]his has resulted in the reclassification of employees in certain categories, and attendant changes in the manner in which affected employees … are paid for regular and overtime work." The letter adds that the new policy is effective as of the first payroll period of 1998. All the letters were accompanied by the checks, which sources said ranged from $50 to $2,000.

The Labor Department probe, which began in July 1997 and was handled by the agency's Wage and Hour Division, was an effort to assess pay owed and to compensate Miramax employees for extra hours worked. Labor Department spokesman Randy Wilson would not disclose how the situation at the studio came to the Federal agency's attention, but a source suggested that anonymous phone calls from disgruntled employees had been the tip-off.

Mr. Wilson said the Labor Department recommended that Miramax make the payments, and that the studio was cooperative throughout the investigation. Neither of its co-chairmen, Harvey and Bob Weinstein, had a comment, but a statement released by the company emphasized that "there was no formal proceeding or actions taken by the [Labor Department] at any time. The actions Miramax has recently taken were as a result of the management review which we voluntarily conducted."

Still, sources in the studio complained that the Labor Department's estimate of $80,332 is far too low for the pay employees are owed. Several people interviewed described working 60- to 80-hour weeks.

"Clearly, the people that ended up in that list [of 136] were entitled to overtime," said Mr. Wilson. He noted that "except for some people who are in exempt categories, workers in general are entitled to one and a half times their regular rate of pay for hours worked over 40 in one week." Common exemptions to this rule, Mr. Wilson said, include "teachers, certain kinds of salespeople, the advertising industry and people in supervisory and management positions.… We can't make blanket statements about who's exempt and who isn't."

There are other exceptions to the law, too. For example, professionals whose work involves artistic tasks that require, in the language of the courts, consistent exercise of judgment, are not entitled to overtime pay. One could certainly argue that a job at Miramax fits that description.

Artsy though the studio may be, it's no haven for slackers. One film executive interviewed by The Transom described a "meat grinder" atmosphere at Miramax's TriBeCa offices. To which another film executive replied, "That's the movie industry."

The vindictiveness of the business could explain, in part, why no current or former employees of the studio were willing to speak for the record. But Miramax-which enjoys enormous clout in the New York and Hollywood film arenas-is a good job if you can get it, and no one interviewed wanted to jeopardize his or her employment status.

However, it seems that the situation might get worse before it gets better. About three dozen employees are apparently refusing to cash their remuneration checks in protest. Some of them, grumbling that they may yet sue Miramax, have contacted lawyers. One attorney said to have been retained by several employees is John J. Tormey III. (Mr. Tormey did not return phone calls.)

"We're not saying that we have this malicious intent with Miramax," said one ex-employee, who is the self-described leader of the protest against the film company. "We all agreed to work for our salaries. [And] it's a great learning place, no doubt. But if it turns out that, legally, they owe us money, then we don't feel bad about saying 'Go ahead and write us a check.'" The employee added that the number of people affected was greater than the 136 people the Labor Department had asked Miramax to compensate. To which Miramax spokesman Andrew Stengel replied, "We will be meeting with people and responding to questions that they may have."

As a result of these perceived oversights on the part of the company, former and current employees are encouraging the Labor Department to reopen its investigation of the film studio.

According to the same ex-employee, the portion of the Nancy Ashbrooke letter that most irked its recipients was the following: "We are happy to inform you that management has decided to pay you the additional amounts shown below as compensation for estimated overtime work."

"How did they get these estimates?" asked the former employee, who said he communicates daily with the three dozen other check-holding protesters. "From time cards that were filed by either employees or supervisors? Well, I know … that I never did a time card. They were done, possibly, by a supervisor, but I know that my direct supervisor never filled out a time card.… The average employee leaves the building after the average executive does. So how would any supervisor, or any manager, actually know the correct amount of hours?"

Mr. Wilson neither confirmed nor denied that Miramax submitted time cards to the Labor Department, but said that the studio had some method of keeping track of hours.

What no one can dispute is that since this ruckus erupted, quality of work life at the studio has improved in at least one respect: Managers at the studio have apparently been sending staff members home early. In other words, no more 10 o'clock nights at Miramax.

The Party Crasher

Not rating an invitation to Dani Janssen's exclusive Oscar party may be tough on the egos of Los Angeles' social swells. But there is one thing even more humiliating: getting thrown out of the soirée by a furious Ms. Janssen as the likes of Jack Nicholson and Diane Lane watch.

That's what happened in the wee hours of March 24 as Ms. Janssen discovered her first crasher in the five years since she resuscitated the annual home-cooked, media-free Oscar bash that she used to throw with her late husband, David Janssen, star of The Fugitive .

Ms. Janssen told The Transom that she had never worried much about crashers in the past, given the strict security in the I.M. Pei-designed Century City apartment complex where she owns two adjacent penthouse apartments on the 28th floor. Indeed, she recalled that last year one Oscar winner, whom she wouldn't identify, was turned away from the building's front gate because his name was not on her invitation list.

The socialite knew that something was amiss, however, when her longtime butler Willie Sterling approached her around 4 A.M. to say that a woman at the party had accused him of stealing her rhinestone-handled purse. Knowing that such an allegation was "out of the question," Ms. Janssen said that she asked Mr. Sterling, "Who is this woman? We only wear diamonds here."

Ms. Janssen then confronted her butler's accuser near the dessert buffet. Although the evening's invitations are issued personally by her, Ms. Janssen does allow her guests to bring friends, many of whom she has never met before. So Ms. Janssen said that she asked the woman, "Excuse me, who are you here with?"

The woman replied: "I'm here with all these lovely men," referring to Mr. Nicholson and, Ms. Janssen said, Warren Beatty, Garry Shandling, Billy Crystal and "Mikey D." (Ms. Janssen's nickname for Michael Douglas), who all left within the hour of the confrontation between the two ladies.

"I don't think so," said Ms. Janssen. The woman, who identified herself as Lynette Treffinger, then said that she had been invited by a couple The Transom will call, for reasons that eventually become apparent, the Smiths. Ms. Janssen then informed Ms. Treffinger that she was the one who did the inviting and asked her to leave. Instead, she said, Ms. Treffinger ran over to the seated Mr. Nicholson, draped herself around the flummoxed Oscar winner and began to whisper in his ear. (Mr. Nicholson apparently had encountered the crasher earlier in the evening, marveling at the moon on Ms. Janssen's terrace, and had nicknamed her "the Moon Woman.")

Ms. Janssen pursued Ms. Treffinger and grabbed her by her blouse. "You are leaving," she said.

"You don't know who you're talking to, I'm a countess," Ms. Treffinger shot back. Apparently, she was once the wife of Count Franz von Walderdorff but has since divorced him. Her family is also said to have once owned the Remington gun company.

Ms. Janssen's reply managed to hush the 20 or so people still in her apartment: "I don't give a fuck if you're a princess, get out of my house." She then removed Ms. Treffinger from Mr. Nicholson and marched her out the door of her apartment. Ms. Treffinger then apparently spent several minutes marching up and down the hallway, speaking Italian.

After initially considering legal action, Ms. Janssen said she wants an apology from the woman. She has since pieced together how Ms. Treffinger managed to crash the party, which is where the aforementioned Smiths come into play. Ms. Treffinger had been invited to another party within the building, and when she left that soirée at around 3 A.M., she took the elevator to Ms. Janssen's 28th-floor penthouse and managed to stay out of the hostess' sight until the rhinestone incident. Ms. Janssen's neighbor, Ms. Smith, who asked not to be named, told The Transom that she has given the building's security guards Ms. Treffinger's name and a picture of her and instructed that she not be let into the Century City complex again. "I've terminated the friendship over this. I have to live in this building," said Ms. Smith.

Calling from her Westwood home, Ms. Treffinger would not confirm or deny any of this information. She would only say: "This is a very big misunderstanding" and "I would say world news is far more interesting."

To which Ms. Janssen replied, "She's lucky I didn't stick a poker in her."

The Transom Also Hears

… "Dude, I like it when people don't watch me. I get so nervous." Foo Fighter Dave Grohl was sipping on a Rolling Rock backstage after Donatella Versace's Versus show on March 28. The Transom had just asked the former Nirvana member what it was like to rip through "Monkey Wrench" and two other songs for a crew of journalists, department store buyers and assorted fashionistas at Roseland.

Competing for the audience's attention was a light show on the other side of the runway, a bench full of 14 or so celebrities, including Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown, Woody and Soon-Yi Previn (she in a baby-doll dress), Minnie Driver (who had memorably worn that red Halston to the Oscars), Hugh Grant and Elizabeth Hurley, and, almost as an afterthought, a fashion show.

The closest thing to a mosh pit for the Foo Fighters' performance was the celebrity bench. Because no one dared risk his or her reputation by sitting elsewhere in the room (and there were certainly enough seats to accommodate everyone), the celebrities jammed onto that bench like a bunch of frat boys in a telephone booth. And despite their rather intimate proximity, there was very little intra-celebrity chitchat.

Mr. Allen would have had a difficult time making small talk once the show started and the Foo Fighters began playing. That's because the volume of the live music moved the film director and jazz musician to plug his ears with his fingers for the entire show. Post-show, Mr. Grohl, the band's leader, seemed quite happy with this. "Wasn't that good!" Mr. Grohl said, taking another swig of his beer. "That's all we were talking about when we went into the van," parked outside Roseland, which served as the Foo Fighters' crash pad. Just a few minutes before Mr. Grohl said this, Mr. Allen had walked past the rocker, oblivious to the fact that Mr. Grohl had been one of the men offending his cochleas. Mr. Grohl noted this. "I wanted to walk up to him and say"-for effect, Mr. Grohl made like he was jiggling his index finger in the imagined ear of Mr. Allen-"Hey, man, you still with us?"