‘The Radio Doesn’t Play Songs for Me Anymore’: Tailgaters at the Foo Fighters’ Stadium Tour Mourn the Dimming Light of Rock Music

Bob, a 54-year-old fan, slumps in a lawn chair, weighing a drag from his Marlboro Red against a sip of Budweiser. He opts for the beer first—a wise call under the blazing sun that bakes the sprawling parking lot outside Philadelphia's Lincoln Financial Field on Aug. 13. The Foo Fighters are scheduled to hit the stadium stage in five hours, and Bob has brought along his 31-year-old son, Albert, plus a rowdy crew of friends. "I'm the old man here, so maybe there's new stuff out there," Bob admits between puffs. "But back 20 or 30 years ago, you'd flip on the radio and hear rock. Now I just load up a podcast for my commute." Albert chimes in from a few feet away, shouting, "Radio sucks! Give us some rock!"

They had picked the right spot. Dave Grohl, the Foo Fighters' frontman, has positioned himself as a tireless crusader for guitar-driven music. Midway through the second song of the night, "The Pretender," he bellowed, "Do you want some rock 'n' roll music? I know Philadelphia loves rock 'n' roll!" The crowd erupted, one of the evening's loudest moments. Yet beyond the Foo Fighters and their tour openers, Queens of the Stone Age, rock's broader cultural clout has faded. Country dominates the charts at a record-breaking clip, pop still shapes the mainstream conversation, indie and emo enjoy a Millennial-fueled revival, and folk-leaning acts like Noah Kahan and Mumford & Sons pack arenas. Meanwhile, experimental guitar bands such as Geese and Idles often feel too niche for listeners craving big, singable hooks. Outside of a few regulars still recording—Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Weezer, Muse, and Metallica—and legacy acts like AC/DC, Guns N' Roses, and Iron Maiden touring on past glories, rock's footprint has shrunk, not unlike hip hop's evolution in recent years. Still, you'd never guess it from the energy in this lot.

"This is like church for me," says Linda, a tailgater who prefers not to share her age. "Growing up, it was Queen and Meat Loaf on the radio; you'd belt out Cheap Trick and The Cars. There are no guitar bands anymore, no songs to sing along to. I've got a few favorites on Pandora, but it's the same rotation, so I've learned to catch them live when they roll through. And who doesn't love the Foo Fighters?" That refrain—that modern rock lacks staying power—echoed across multiple conversations. Jeremy, a 16-year-old at the show with his parents and cousins, calls himself tech-savvy but still hasn't found current music that hits him the same way. "I love Queens of the Stone Age as much as the Foo Fighters, and I found them through Spotify mixes," he explains. "But they're the newest band I listen to. Most alternative or hard rock playlists I see are all Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Audioslave—stuff like that. It sounds amazing, so I keep going back, but my friends think I'm stuck in the past."

Jeremy likely felt right at home during the marathon five-and-a-half-hour bill, which kicked off with Philadelphia's own Mannequin Pussy. Frontwoman Marisa Dabice ripped through 10 punky tracks, her powerful voice and catchy hooks winning over the early crowd. Queens of the Stone Age followed with an hour of hits, Josh Homme—Grohl's close friend—bringing his trademark swagger. But Grohl clearly saw himself as rock's unofficial ambassador, sprinting around the stage for nearly three hours, screaming, riffing, and soloing through 30-plus years of Foo Fighters material. In the packed stadium, tens of thousands sang along to everything but the most obscure cuts. Hours earlier, Beau, 48, had been in the lot with his wife and friends, playing cards at a fold-out table while John Mellencamp blared from the car stereo. He asked if the band would play "Everlong," his favorite tune. I promised him they would—it closed the encore. "Man, I can't wait," he said, grinning. "Cold beers, a hot dog, a summer night with my buddies singing along. What more could you ask for?"