Edward Van Halen

As I noted before in this space, there was a happening in the little lake resort town where I spent the best summers ever as a kid. Edinboro for many years relied on these cement obelisk figures to indicate names of streets, white background with black text. But these were supplanted some years ago by real street signs that I assume would be easier to read from, say, the cab of a fire truck. But the little white towers remained.

This summer, these became a painting project. All yinz had to do was to claim a post and you would get to paint it. My longtime neighbor Tom Brown didn’t claim one soon enough to get one in his neighborhood, but he did get a nice site down on Lakeside. And he painted it in green and yellow and black stripes, and I knew immediately that this was a tribute to Edward Van Halen.

(Tom later included the poster during an artists’ tour to provide context.)

These posts were officially complete by early October. Tom’s post would be more timely than any of us would have liked. Edward Van Halen died Oct. 6. I don’t think Tom Brown had any sort of premonition. But I do wonder if he felt a disturbance in the Force or something. It would not surprise me. Van Halen fans are grounded like that.

My own encounters with Van Halen were initially fleeting; I remember hearing “Dance the Night Away” on the radio, that’s right about 1979. But I was fished in entirely in 1982 when the cover of Martha and the Vandellas’ “Dancing in the Streets” started getting airplay. There are things going on in that song sonically that just should not exist and I am certain had never existed previously. It would not be long until I would have a homemade cassette of Diver Down playing from my boom box, sometimes strapped to my back as I biked across town to see friends.

And there was a lot of catching up to do. Van Halen. Van Halen II. Women and Children First. Fair Warning. Soon these cassettes were gobbled up regularly by me, often with bulky headphones on and turned up loud. How else are you going to dig “In a Simple Rhyme” as thoroughly as possible? And Fair Warning, that was my leaf-raking jam. Not much else could help that drudgery pass like “Mean Street” through “One Foot Out the Door.”

Soon, Van Halen’s technique of hammering-on was highly imitated (and in fact, Eddie didn’t even invent it). Steve Vai comes to mind. The Zappa axeman was a Van Halen contemporary and recalled a visit from Van Halen to his own studio space.

“I was at my house in Hollywood, and in my studio, I was using my guitar, my rig, my pedals, my amps,” Vai says. “And Edward came in. We were just hanging out and talking, and he says to me, ‘Let me show you this one thing I was working on.’

“And he takes my guitar and he starts playing and I realized instantly that it was Edward Van Halen. It didn’t sound anything like me. It had that ‘brown sound’. It was everything we love about Ed’s tone. He was playing my exact gear, and it sounded like him.”

Later in the Guitar World interview, Vai copped: “I could never play like him. I never tried. Only an idiot competes with Eddie Van Halen.”

Because learning the technique is mighty impressive. However—and forgive me if this sounds a bit obvious—being Edward Van Halen was something only that guy could do. He brought the technique, but he also brought the joy and the genius. I may tend to harp on Diver Down because it is not only my favorite Van Halen record, but it is my favorite rock album of all time. Funny that the brothers weren’t so fond of it. I mean what was Eddie doing when he laid down the guitar for “Dancing in the Streets?” I’m thinking he sped up the Purdie Shuffle and made it come out his guitar. Something like that. How else do you explain how he painted the air with those notes?

I think I adore Diver Down among other reasons because it sounds so analog and so basic. I feel like they ran everything through an Electro-Harmonix Memory Man, and it works. “Secrets” may be the most stripped down thing the Van Halens ever did, forward rock and roll, simple perfection on the guitar parts, Roth’s dreamy lyrics and vocals. And Diver Down birthed “Cathedral,” and the “Little Guitars” suite. I for one think Diver Down is Van Halen at its best.

Don’t get me wrong. I dove with all my might into 1984, which soon supplanted Mean Street as a companion to my Saturday leaf-sweeping drudgery. 1984 was like something you’d loved secretly for years and then, suddenly, it exploded and got all over everybody. Who wasn’t blasting “Panama” that year? “Hot for Teacher?”

Then came 1985, when we heard that David Lee Roth had left the band. And

Then came 1986, when the new big green album called 5150 was released. Sam Hagar introduced himself to Van Halen fans with a Big Bopper nod and the rest was history. Hello, baby! Indeed.

And so began the existential challenge of the Van Halen fan. What is Van Halen? Are you good with Van Halen led by Mister I Can’t Drive 55? Mister Three Lock Box? I don’t know about you, but while I enjoyed albums from the Van Hagar era, it was still like rubbing your earlobe 20 years later, wondering where that earring went.

Something was missing.


I am skipping Van Halen III completely for obvious reasons.


In February 2012, Van Halen released its twelfth album, A Different Kind of Truth, and now today after learning yesterday that Edward Van Halen had stopped refusing to die, my appreciation for this album has blown up even more.

When I put this sucker on, I feel like I’m there again with my large headphones on, rockin’ out to “Love in a Simple Rhyme.” There’s something refreshing about Truth, a sense of familiarity. By the time I get to “Bullethead,” I think I realize it: This feels like a Van Halen album. Not 1984, not a Van Hagar era please-please-like-us-we’re-van-halen record.

This is why I am forever grateful to Wolfgang Van Halen, Edward’s son, who was reportedly quite the spark for Truth. Because I think the album provides quite the service to the average Van Halen fan. It provides context to the existential problem of Van Halen: What is Van Halen?

To me Truth reinforces what I thought all along. Van Halen is the brothers Van Halen and Diamond David Lee Roth. Other iterations may have had the brand, but this album brings new VH material to light and shows what the band can do when the correct energies are present.

Anyway. Losing Edward Van Halen this year was just icing on the cake I guess. Wolfie’s tribute is probably the best thing to end with. I look forward to seeing what else the kid comes up with.


One of the great discoveries that came out of my move to Rochester in 2011 was the great local radio station here, Different Radio WRUR and, specifically, a show that airs 6 – 9 p.m. Friday nights called “Rejuvination.”

Deejay Scott Wallace spins up a sublime collection every Friday of some of the most soulful soul music that exists. We’re talkin’ Soul Children, Tower of Power, Isley Brothers, Kool and the Gang, James Brown, Minnie Riperton, Sam Cooke, Solomon Burke, Junior Walker, King Curtis, and on, and on, and on.

And Wallace won’t shy away from good soul music from white artists, either. He’ll crack out a Laura Nyro tune from time to time, for instance, and this always furrows my brow a bit. But it fits. Nyro is, at heart, a soul singer. Says it right there in her most famous song. Stoned. Soul. Picnic.

And sometimes, he’ll play a little Jimi. I’m telling you, the man’s appreciation runs broad and deep.

I’ve been saving Wallace’s playlists for a couple of years now, and when I have time, I try to find those songs in Spotify, and I add them to my own playlist called, what else, “Rejuvination.” But Wallace’s own collection must be so deep because from time to time, I cannot find the track. Occasionally, Spotify errors out: “We’re sorry. The only person who owns this track is Scott Wallace of Rochester, New York.”

Okay. I exaggerate. A bit. But I’m telling you, the man’s collection is deep.

With the Trump Plague, we lost “Rejuvination” for a while. WRUR replaced it with some campy show featuring New Orleans music in the “shuckin’ and jivin'” genre. It was not what I was in the mood for. Each Friday night at 6, I’ve asked my trusty Amazon device to queue up WRUR, and every time since mid-March has been a letdown.

I mean, obviously, I’d rather the man stay at home through this as we all have had to do. But man, that Friday night jolt of gettin’ on the good foot sure would have made this easier.

Now, I work at home, and I work nights. So had my meetup mic had been open at 6 p.m. last night, my co-workers would have heard a 52-year-old man jump and holler.

Because Scott Wallace is back.

I drank in yesterday’s show like I’d been lost in the desert and someone just brought me a tray of margaritas. What a cap to the week.

Dear Fellow Freaks

This was an exchange I had in a Facebook group for Frank Zappa fans. I am copying it here for posterity.

Q: it took me until recently to realize that “weasels ripped my flesh” is a great essential classic mothers record up there with the first 4, but i cant seem to get into “burnt weeny sandwhich”. i enjoy every note of the album in some ways but unlike “weasels” which has “oh no” and “my guitar”, BWS doesnt seem to have anything essential to his conceptual continuity and feels like it was put together without a lot of care. Can someone make a case for it? I want to enjoy it

A: Sure. Put it down for a while. Stop trying. If you’re trying, and you don’t get it, you won’t make it. Listen to “Weasels.” Listen to “Uncle Meat.” Listen to “Apostrophe.” Listen to “ABBA Gold.” Then, put on a nice dress and walk around your apartment in the dress and scream the first verse of Edward Lear’s “The Table and the Chair” at the top of your lungs. Then whisper the second part. Then say the third part like you’re Howard Cosell. Skip the fourth verse. Then sing the fifth verse to the tune of “Oh When The Saints Go Marching In.” Then, look into a mirror and say “I’m good enough, I’m strong enough, and doggone it, people like me.” Wait one week and then eat an entire pecan pie. After this, try “Burnt Weeny Sandwich” again. I think you’ll be ready.

A Story in Three Tweets

Lisa Lucas is Executive Director of the National Book Foundation. Her father, Reggie Lucas, was a musician and songwriter of some import, and he died in 2018.

Lucas tweeted this on Father’s Day:

Every American kid in my generation now has a song in their head. “Never Knew Love Like This Before,” released in 1980 and as performed by Stephanie Mills, was ubiquitous at the time. The record beat entrants by Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Roberta Flack, and Minnie Riperton for R&B Song and Best Female R&B Vocal Performance at the 1981 Grammy Awards.

Lisa’s mother, Kay Lucas, tweeted a response.

It turns out this was new information for Lisa Lucas.

As you might imagine, that Twitter feed is blowing up right now.

day ten facebook ablum chlalenge

I have once again been nominated to do the whole album list thingie on Facebook, by world champion band-name mashup queen Liza Belmonte. You are supposed to post 10 album covers for 10 days that have affected your life, with “no explanation.” This is day ten.

There is no list of albums that I could possibly make without