Van Halen: Reflection of A Changing America By Michael Gavin

One early Sunday morning in the late winter of 1982, in my church vestibule waiting to serve mass as an altar boy, my life was forever changed. For the record, it was not changed by what you’re already assuming -- that never happened to me. Why not? That may be a good subject for therapy, but, at the very least, it’s not relevant to this story. While waiting for the priest to saunter in to perform mass, my partner-in-service-and-petty-crime, Jake, and I were watching on the small black and white TV what every kid without MTV watched at the time: Casey Kassam’s Top 40 songs of the week and the videos that went with them.

The usual – Donna Summers, Billy Idol, and Judas Priest – were still top of the charts. However, a new band – a new sound! – came on that redefined modern music to the 12-year-old me. The band was Van Halen, and the video was “(Oh) Pretty Woman”. A song I had heard many times by the original performer Roy Orbison (as my mother was a child of the ‘50’s), but it sounded nothing like what I was listening to on this holy day.

When I asked Jake if he had heard of Van Halen, he said, “Oh yeah! Columbia Records sent me all their albums. They’re okay, but I don’t want them.” Jake told me he had used up all his “Buy-12-for-1-cent” Columbia Record & Tape Club promotional credits on AC/DC and Rush. As all teens of the eighties remember well, according to the terms and conditions of the contract, Jake owed the full retail price on the promotional albums they sent him each month – unless he mailed them before the next monthly promotional albums arrived. Basically, Columbia Record & Tape Club was preparing the youth of America for their student loan nightmares to come.

Because our family was frugal, my siblings and I were not allowed to join Columbia Record & Tape Club. Unless the offerings were Dave Brubeck or Elvis Presley, which they were not. (Eddie Rabbit and the Village People might have come close.) Still, I was able to buy Jake’s back log of Van Halen LPs that afternoon for a nickel each. Jake got to unload his unwanted wax at what he felt was a profit, and my eyes, ears, and mind were finally opened to the rock ‘n roll reality of the times.

After eagerly collecting up all of my new-found treasures, I immediately rushed home and confiscated my little sister’s Playskool record player. (No way was anyone besides my father – or a NASA engineer – even mildly capable of working the foreboding family record player in its large wooden sarcophagus.) Anyway, the Playskool record player came in handy – the quiet output on the tiny speaker made it easier for me to audibly hide my new contraband.

On a grey day in 1982, I started listening to the albums in the order in which they were released (a decision that satisfied my nerdy OCD mien). I played Van Halen I (1978) first. After the initial crackling, the sound of a car’s horn roared towards me. Following that primitive call, a pounding deep bass line blended into an unworldly combination of guitars, drums, and the war screams of a maniac singer … and I was hooked. I stayed up until well into the night, enchanted by this music. So much so, that I missed watching Dr. J’s Sixers on television so I could listen to the entire catalog! While on the surface, this music met my Lord of the Flies soul’s appetite, my pre-teen mind felt there was something more here. Something I didn’t yet fully understand. Years later, on reflection, this music made the whole era clearer to me. I realized this music was the foundation for the sound of my generation’s identity-to-come.

Back to the days when Van Halen was born. When we look at the music and movies of the late 70’s, we think of greats like Led Zeppelin and Star Wars. This was also the decade that created Smokey and the Bandit. And, yes, as much as we might be loath to remember it – Disco Duck. Okay, who doesn’t like a movie about wealthy whackos who hire Burt Reynolds to smuggle beer on the highways? (I can’t write anything positive about the Duck.)

The country was in an executive branch-labeled “Malaise.” High-unemployment coupled with high-inflation. A President was shot (Reagan) and a Beatle was killed (Lennon). When I think back to this time, even the weather seemed grey and flat, much like the television screens before HD. A generation of energy-for-change began at this moment. This is when the “forgotten generation” first saw the world we were inheriting and had to improve on it or create something different.

On top of the national hangover still pounding from the party that was the 60s, the nightmares of Watergate and Vietnam were fresh on peoples’ televisions, on the radio, and in our collective consciousness.

In this oppressive social climate, the great music we fondly look back on today was still being celebrated and loved – even on the Billboard charts. Rock music was alive, but starting to bloat. Punk was still marginalized, and Hip Hop had yet to catch hold (outside of the five boroughs of the Big Apple). And in the late 70s and early 80s – with blackouts, crime, and fires – New York City was not a place middle-America was looking to for inspiration.

Southern California was where the future was. Pasadena, to be exact. A four-piece rock band – Eddie and Alex Van Halen, two immigrant brothers of Dutch and Indonesian decent; plus Michael Anthony and David Lee Roth, two powerful Midwestern transplants. This band brought it all! The skills of hard rock, the swing of big band, and the raw energy of punk – all melted into one sound. Want to escape into your headphones because your girlfriend left you? “Little Dreamer.” Science fiction fan? Listen to “Eruption” and you’ll be transported to the sounds of your spaceship revving up.

These four melodic raiders ushered in the era of the “Good Ol’ U.S. of A” with their fellow Californian Ronald Reagan when he became the Leader of the Free World. They forged a new era together. On the surface America was back, baby! Lower inflation rates, lower unemployment rates. Even those pesky Russians were summarily beaten by American teenagers in the film Red Dawn. (“ Go Wolverines!”) If you didn’t feel “The need! The need for speed!”, you needed medical assistance. The Mighty Van Halen brought the backyard party to everyone and anyone who had ears and eyes.

Sure, at first glance they were a glittery rag-tag group of testosterone and bandanas. But underneath the surface of both the band and the country, things were growing deeper and darker than first recorded. In this way, the band reflected the dichotomy of the country at the time.

In spite of being “the shining light on top of the hill,” there were still issues in the United States. Women and minorities were lagging in their pursuit of the American dream. The consequences of questionable foreign policies at the time can still be felt today. Factory jobs were lost forever and never came back. And drugs became much more destructive then they were in the Height Asbury days. Even disco’s cocaine was not enough. Crack came and decimated a generation through its use, distribution, and block-by-block turf wars.

Van Halen once again proved to be a mirror of the country. The excesses of substances were tearing the band apart, and the lyrics of this party band were becoming pretty dark. The band’s top song in its catalog might have had had peppy keyboards, but the lyrics were inspired by a man who attempted to jump to his death broadcast on the local news. “Might as well JUMP! Go ahead and JUMP!”

The original Van Halen foursome ended at the peak of the Reagan era when David Lee Roth left and they immediately ushered in veteran replacement singer, Sammy Hagar. Much like George H. Bush’s term in office, the Van Hagar years appear different through the lens of time than they did at their moment in the spotlight. Important changes occurred during George H. Bush and Sammy Hagar’s respective postings, but they don’t get the credit they deserve. President Reagan engineered the fall of the Berlin Wall. Bill Clinton steers the nation during a time when the U.S.A. was the lone superpower. And Van Hagar gets the band’s first of a string of number one albums. Yet, no matter what Sammy sings, and no matter how much it was loved in the moment -- does anyone today blare “When It’s Love” on Spotify like they do “Panama”? No, I’d bet that they don’t. And I’ll even give you odds.

During the late-nineties (under President Clinton) the U.S. was the world’s sole superpower, with a Presidential impeachment and a population that was worried about the End of Days – Y2K. (Check it out, kids. It was a real concern.) We were at war with people who felt the world passed them by, and yet we considered it a policing issue more than a global concern. From the Oklahoma City bombing on our own soil to the war in Afghanistan, we did not think about until the marginalized until they made us take notice.

During all this time, the excitement of America’s prestige on the world stage was at its peak. Diamond David Lee Roth returned into the Van Halen fold exactly where the band was now elevated: at the MTV Video Awards. This was the time of Van Halen III. It was all was too brief. A decade-plus later – and two lead singers into the band, one having just returned – I still felt the same way that I did back on that grey day in 1982. Van Halen. Great band. Simple on the surface with something hypnotically undefinable simmering underneath.

But no good thing lasts forever. From financial crises, war, and Van Halen III, we now know that shoot-first-ask-questions-later approaches rarely work. If they did, then perhaps we’d all be surfing Netscape to buy our pet grooming items on Pets.com while waiting in Ticketmaster’s que for the VH III lineup to visit our town. (Ticketmaster – for anyone who has been stuck in its que and survived – will perpetuate and never change or disappear. Like jellyfish after Armageddon, their painful surcharges will sting until the music dies.)

Which brings us to the recent present. We are living in the time of refurbished childhood memories. Disney has given us an expanded universe of our childhood idols from the silver screen to the iPad. Han Solo and Indiana Jones are back! And like those Harrison Ford characters, Van Halen with David Lee Roth rises like a raised drum kit with its gigantic gong on fire because Eddie Van Halen’s son is now in the picture. Thank you, Wolfgang Van Halen.

Do we care if our legends are smaller now that we are larger? NO! Are we concerned that our heroes look like they’ve been frozen in carbonite since we last saw them? NO! We DEMAND more anyway! Even if it’s only 2 minutes more. (Bladerunner Director’s Cut, I’m looking at you!) While the younger generation Tik-Toks to the latest fad, we buy them Taylor Swift “ERAS” tickets that cost more than the price of our parents’ first house. We want what’s rightfully ours!

Han Solo’s origin story in 2017? Diamond Dave screaming about his lonely pain on “A Different Kind of Truth” LP? For many of us, we’re willing to put a portion of our hearts, minds, time, and money into Cloud City to get through these days of having to be the grown up in charge of things. Adulting is Hard! Brief escapes into our glory days is what it’s all about.

America today is changing, even if its red, white, and blue spandex don’t fit anymore and no one wants to see it. When we tried to step away, we got a health crisis, a war in Europe, and a potential powder keg in the Pacific. The Fugles penned a song “Where is David Lee Roth?” It says “We need him now more than ever!” Without a solid America, as without David Lee Roth, a vacuum occurs, and nature abhors a void.

I have not seen my friend Jake since Reagan’s first term. I hope he’s alive and well and that the Columbia Record & Tape Club haven’t scoured the globe with their Records Special Ops Unit to sanction him to the fullest for breach of contract for selling me those illegal Van Halen albums. As Roth said, “Look at all the people here tonight!” Yes, look around: no one else is running the place. We need to drive this school bus.

Waldo and all.