42. Van Halen – Van Halen / 1984
*Sorry about the delay in posting this week. A last-minute change to the order of my list moved what was going to be this week’s pick way into the future. But I’m like the mailman, ladies and gentlemen, delivering witty and creative bits of autobiographical criticism through rain, sleet, snow, or numerical indecision. Because that’s my job. And you depend on it.
Everything I knew about early rock I learned from my Uncle Jimmy. He was a New Yorker in his 20s when my brother and I were little and just happy to be there, up north where the grass felt different and it might actually snow for Christmas. He loved horror movies, always owned the latest Madden and hockey game and would play them with us under the alias “The Master.” He’d take us to the movies, Mets games. He’d play Wiffle ball with us in the backyard, had a German Shepherd named after Charles Haley, sung in a band and rocked a haircut that would now be recognized as a “mullet,” but then was a “perm” (but just try getting him to admit that).
Uncle Jim was the kind of guy you’d imitate and look forward to hanging out with. Even though he was so much older than us, he’d go out of his way to spend time with Chris and I, almost like he actually wanted to, like he actually “got” us. In his bedroom closet there was a bottle of tequila with a worm resting curled and fuzzy at the bottom; pinned to a cork board over his desk, a picture of a topless blonde lying on the beach. When we got a little older, he told us about the first time he got caught drinking cheap beer underage by his friend’s dad who sighed and said something like, “If you’re gonna do this, at least use the good stuff”—then handed them some Budweiser. Then about the signal one of his friends came up with that meant his parents were gone for the night and it was prime to party: he’d turn on the Christmas lights that were kept up year-round outside his house.
We always looked up to Uncle Jimmy. So it’s no surprise that when he introduced my brother and me to Van Halen in his car one day—probably while he was taking us to ice cream or to Modell’s to pick up a stickball bat for the schoolyard—of course we loved it.
You can cite a million things in records like 1984 and Van Halen to appreciate, and considering the fame and reputation of this band, a million past reviewers already have. It’s Van Halen—not exactly the most original pick for a Top Whatever list, I admit. But for me, it isn’t so much how insane Eddie is on guitar or how perfect a presence David Lee Roth projects that makes these records special. It’s the balls-out, tongue-in-cheek showmanship that gets me.
Van Halen (not Van Hagar!) epitomized the culture of excess that defines so many avenues of rock n’ roll. I think of their music the same as I do professional wrestling, what with DLR gracing the stage in his flowing mane and trademark tights with no shirt, jumping from the drum platform to pull off mid-air splits, Eddie turning away from the crowd at shows when he’d solo to build mystique, and song after song that were as much about jokes as they were kicking your ass (“Ice Cream Man” comes to mind, a tune about sex [go figure] that starts soft and bluesy with Roth, like a jackass, “dedicating one to the ladies” then blows up to remind you it’s a rock song).
Van Halen’s music with David Lee Roth was nothing short of the sound of pure enthusiasm, a kind of unbridled creative delight it’s doubtful we’ll ever see again in the mainstream circuit. A group today just couldn’t get away with what VH did back then. They were new and untouchable and, like so many great bands, a representation of their decade.
Disco? Uncle Jimmy didn’t want to listen to disco, the 70s were over—and the release of 1984 made him 13 years old and so ready to try out what breaking the rules felt like. When he’d see his buddy’s Christmas lights on and head over there for some good old fashioned American underage drinking, he wanted to do it with something playing in the background that would make him feel like even more of a badass than the illegal beverage hanging from his fingers did. He wanted something he could imitate, hang a poster of on his bedroom wall and call his own.
He found that in Van Halen, which made it no wonder when he chose “Panama” to be the song he’d walk out to at his wedding reception nearly 20 years later, when he and his wife would be presented as a “Mr. and Mrs.” for the very first time. He walked out with his new bride Anna, with whom he now has two girls, and he pumped his fist in the air as everyone clapped for them. The music was blaring and they were smiling and perfect in that moment, ecstatic to be leaping into life the way they were, like madmen dressed in tights, jumping from the highest platform they could find and never once dreaming of closing their eyes. Because the age of humility was over. And if you blinked, you might miss something awesome.
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This entry was posted on Saturday, July 31st, 2010 at 1:28 pm and is filed under cd reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
