The first Foo album was essentially a test run; the second examined a shattered marriage from contrasting musical and emotional shards that shone and cut. But here Grohl and a largely new lineup settle into a formula of rough guitar and smooth vocals that sounds immediately familiar on the first spin and slightly hackneyed by the third, like a set of Nirvana covers by the Alan Parsons Project. There's no crime in common rock and roll, of course - and plenty of this is pretty and gritty in all the right places, from the grunge-rooted "Stacked Actors" to the country-tinged "Ain't It the Life." But any Foo fan who believes that it somehow helps free us from Kurt Cobain's legacy of anguish and anger simply can't be dumbed down to enough.

© 1999 Viacom International Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 1968-1999 Rolling Stone Network. All Rights Reserved.

Clues are here for the finding: "I want out, I'm alone and I'm an easy target," he sings in "Alone+Easy Target." The title "Good Grief." And buried deep in the speed metal blitz of the inexplicably titled "Weenie Beenie," an echo of the movie Deer Hunter:" "One shot/No bullshit/One shot/Nothing."

Grohl outghouls the ghouls at every turn.

Surely he can't be so callous or hardened, he seems like such a nice guy, funny too. But to come clean with a weepy testimony would have been absurd, more absurd than Grohl's cagey lyrics.

The lightly strummed early-60s lilt of "Big Me" is a silly, undecodable pop ditty. The lyrics refuse to be nailed down, but get used to it. "When I talk about it/Carried on/Reasons only new/But it's you/I fell into." It's all gobble-dee-gook, right down to the very clearly slurred vocals. It's work even to understand Grohl's buried lyrics, and when they do surface, it's to say that "Fingernails are pretty/Fingernails are good," or "The cow is you."

But it's no surprise Grohl didn't try to sell his album by spilling his guts about his friend and bandmate, especially after a listen to the searing, explicit attack on the music industry in "Wattershed." Any tribute is in the concealing, the refusal to turn Cobain's suicide into a clever verse-chorus-verse or to commodify his pain over Kurt's passing.

"I'll Stick Around" gives the clear answer to anyone wondering what will happen to Dave Grohl. He comforts before scolding: "It's alright if you're confused/Let me be;" and then the repeated, cutting scream "I don't owe you anything."

Grohl does all the writing on the album, and save for guitar work by Afghan Whig Greg Dulli on "X-Static," plays all the instruments and does all the singing.

Right from the outset, Grohl exhibits the unlikely influences that marked the best Nirvana work. Check out the unmistakable Beach Boys intro to "This Is A Call." The roaring guitars aren't far behind, of course, and the hooks are buried from here on, with dramatic stop-time moments obscured by lingering noise. Breezy verses careen into brawling guitar attacks, and "For All the Cows" is almost a jazz riff interrupted by a tear around the fretboard. Although Grohl owes something to Cobain for his vocal choices, he has his own way around a song.

Ed Hewitt