Grohl - From cradle to stage: stories from the mothers who rocked and raised rock stars

In the spotlight

T HE LIGHTS IN THE ENORMOUS ARENA DIMMED. A thunderclap of one drum stroke. And thenthe ROAR! The overwhelming surge of young voices screaming their acclamation for this exciting new band with the high-energy drummer. It was Nirvana, and the power hitter behind the drum kit was my son, Dave Grohl.

I held my breath. I knew nothing would ever be the same. That roar and that moment signaled the life change that propelled David Grohl from a musician in a van to the cover of Rolling Stone. The little boy who had pounded on homemade drum kits on his unmade bed and played his guitar to the records of Led Zeppelin and the Beatles was now on a big stage, masking his fright by frenetically pounding away. The music that had begun years before in a little suburban house in Virginia was now being heard throughout the world.

And I was the mother of a Rock Star.

Had I seen it coming? Of course not. But ours had always been a life full of music. I loved Motown and Mozart. My daughter, Lisa, collected a wide array of albums by Hsker D, David Bowie, and Neil Young, to name a few, and shared them with us. And Davids friends brought records from Metallica and Black Flag and other dangerous-sounding groups to our house. There was always music.

We sang together, most often in the car on long trips to visit grandmothers or out-of-state friends, those trips substituting for the vacations and airfares we couldnt afford. Today I would gladly trade a first-class flight to London for one of those happy, just-the-three-of-us car trips. We made up songs, we harmonized, we sang to the radio. And we played games, clapping the rhythm of a song for the other two to identify. Always music.

Sunday afternoons often found us at the jazz workshops at One Step Down in Washington, DC, a dark, smoky room where musicians in town for a Saturday gig would stop by and join the house trio. Everyone really listened there. No talking allowed. It was a gem of a place, now long gone but sorely missed.

Ive often wondered about the mystical force that urges some of us to listen, to play, to sing, to surround ourselves with music. As time went on and I sat at the sides of larger and larger stages, I became more intrigued. I wanted to talk about it with some of the other mothers whose sons and daughters were sharing those stages. But they werent to be found at the shows and festivals I attended.

Several years ago, at the New Orleans Jazz Festival, as I wondered aloud, Where are they? a friend said, Go find them. You should write a book!

So thanks to Jill Berliner, my stop complaining and do something friend, my journey began. Since then Ive met remarkable women, all members of this special sorority of mothers of musicians. They have welcomed me into their homes, poured me cups of tea, and told me their stories. We have talked about the challenging energy levels of our supercharged progeny, the music lessons most of them rejected, the schools they endured, the paths they took. Weve recalled the times and places that came before the fame, and the family histories that shaped the backgrounds of our beloved superstars. I have loved every minute of it.

I hope to share this collection of vastly different life stories with readers who are interested in the trials and joys of raising creative children and with those who are curious about how one generations story forms the basis for the creators of the next.

Ireland

Mrs. ODonoghues B&B

Assisting at The Flying Saucer, Lisas coffee shop

E VERY MUSICIAN REMEMBERS HIS FIRST LESSON.

That moment when you feel the spark of inspiration ignite, and your entire world catches fire. The rush of revelation. The earth-rattling epiphany that music is no longer just a sound, its every breath youll ever take again. A puzzle that youll never solve, though you hold all the pieces. An addiction that youll never kick, though youve been given the antidote. A religion that wont forgive, though it feels like heaven. That moment when youre handed the key to an alternative universe where everything is beautiful, everything is free, and nothing will ever be quite the same again. For some, the first day of the rest of their lives.