Queens of the Stone Age
– Songs for the Deaf
Songs for the Deaf kicks the door in and dares you to flinch. The concept album thing is there, sure—fake radio stations, dusty highways, devil-dusted DJs—but it never gets in the way. This is desert rock, soaked in gasoline and lit with a cigarette flick. Every track snarls, grooves, or creeps with intent.
Best of…
Josh Homme carves the riffs out of bedrock and paints them in motor oil. And then there’s Dave Grohl—possibly the loudest drummer to ever join a band as a “temporary” member. He plays like he’s been locked in a garage too long. The guitars aren’t clean, the lyrics aren’t polite, and the pacing doesn’t give you much room to breathe. But that’s the point. It’s not trying to win you over. It’s trying to run you over.
Still, there’s melody in the wreckage. Harmonies snake through the feedback. Hooks crash into verses like headlights into fog. The album’s structure pretends to be radio-friendly while stuffing the airwaves with menace and seduction. It’s a joyride into the furnace—too smart to be dumb rock, too dirty to be anything else.
Choice Tracks
No One Knows
That seesaw riff feels like it was built in a lab to hypnotize you. The groove is tight, the chorus hits just right, and Grohl pounds the kit like he’s angry at it. Radio rock with a knife under its coat.
Go with the Flow
Speeding with the windows down and no seatbelt. The chorus is pure rush, the guitars buzz like bees in your bloodstream. Simpler than some of the other tracks, but it lands harder for it.
Song for the Dead
This one starts like a car crash and only gets heavier. Mark Lanegan’s vocals feel like someone waking up in a ditch, confused and furious. And Grohl? He throws the entire drum kit down a flight of stairs—on purpose.
First It Giveth
Riding that tightrope between religious ecstasy and substance crash. It’s got swing, it’s got sludge, and it tells a story without needing a single detail.
Songs for the Deaf is a sandblasted fever dream of rhythm, distortion, and bad decisions. Queens of the Stone Age push rock through a twisted lens, crafting one of the 2000s’ loudest, smartest, and least apologetic albums.