Through glass, we lose our favourite toys.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain what today actually felt like without sounding a little dramatic, but I’m going to try anyway.
A while ago, for my birthday, my boyfriend got us tickets to see the Foo Fighters at I-Days in Milan this July.
They’re his favorite band. I basically grew up with them. So they’ve always been… there. In the background, in different phases of my life, without me even realizing it.
Then, out of nowhere, this winter, my mom started listening to them. And not just casually — she fell in love with them. To the point that she decided to come to the concert too, even though she hates the venue.
So now it’s going to be the three of us: me, him, and… my mom.
It still feels surreal.
And somehow, that already made everything feel more… meaningful, even before today.
Then I saw a post from Virgin Radio — a chance to attend a preview of the new album, Your Favourite Toy.
And I thought: “Well, if there’s a way to make this even more special for him, I have to try.”.
So I did. I sent everything they asked for, plus a desperate little note like “please, I need to make up for the fact that he’ll have to survive the concert with his mother-in-law”.
And somehow… we got in.
But the thing is, once I was there, it stopped being about that.
The room was bright. Very bright.
Almost too bright for what was happening.
There were no shadows to hide in, no dim lights to soften anything — just people, light, and whatever they were carrying inside.
And yet, it was quiet.
Not empty quiet, but dense.
The kind of silence that feels shared. Like everyone was holding something in, waiting for the music to start.
And when it did, it didn’t feel like a typical listening event.
It felt like something else.
Almost like a collective ritual.
There was this idea that kept coming back while listening — like looking at someone through glass. You can see them clearly, you feel like they’re right there in front of you, but there’s this invisible barrier you can’t cross.
And that’s exactly what loss feels like.
They’re everywhere you look. In reflections, in memories, in small things.
But you can’t touch them anymore.
And somehow, this album sits in that space.
Not in the same way But Here We Are did, which felt raw and openly grieving. This feels like what comes after — when the pain is still there, but it’s been turned into something louder, sharper, almost restless.
The title track, Your Favourite Toy, hits right at the core of that.
The idea that something as simple as a toy can hold an entire world inside it — a person, a moment, a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore.
“Someone threw away your favorite toy for good” sounds almost childish, but it lands like something much heavier.
Like being discarded.
Like losing something you didn’t even realize was holding you together.
And then there’s that line — “try not to choke on the glitter” — which feels like a quiet, bitter commentary on visibility, on pressure, on how something shiny can slowly become suffocating.
But what really stayed with me wasn’t just one song.
It was the feeling of the whole room.
At some point, between the first half of the album and the second, there was this almost religious silence.
No one was just “listening”. Everyone was feeling something.
Like the music wasn’t just sound, but a way of digging into something shared.
My personal highlights ended up being:
— Amen, Caveman
— Spit Shine
— Unconditional
with a soft spot for Asking For A Friend.
And I think it makes sense, because they all hit differently.
But more than anything, what stayed with me was this:
rock isn’t just noise.
It’s sitting in a room full of strangers and realizing that somehow, this man — Dave Grohl — is putting into words something that belongs to all of you.
It’s turning a hole in your chest into something you can scream along to.
It’s not an event. It’s not promotion.
It’s a kind of collective healing.
A reminder that even in loss, even in chaos, there’s still connection.
Maybe that’s why the atmosphere felt like this strange mix of things I can’t fully separate:
deep blue, like grief
silver, like reflections and distance
and amber, like warmth, like being close to someone
And when it ended, I walked out feeling… full.
Full stomach, sure (the themed pizza and beer definitely helped),
but also something else.
Like my heart was warmer.
Like my mind was quieter.
Like my soul was just a little bit more rock and roll.
And now July feels closer than ever.
