To

Denise and our two little rockers

 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people contributed to the researching and writing of this book. Along
with my extended family, I owe a special thanks to my wife, Denise Dutton, who
kept the home fires burning as I worked to finish Van Halen Rising. I am
fortunate that key participants in the rise of Van Halen saw the merit in this
project and took the time to speak to me: thank you to Pete Angelus, Michael
Anthony, Marshall Berle, Donn Landee, Ted Templeman, and Neil Zlozower.
Michael Kelley generously shared his knowledge of the L.A. rock scene in the
’70s and has been an unwavering supporter of this project. Roger Renick and
Janice Pirre Francis offered me their time and their trust, and they helped me
make many essential connections with key interview subjects. Debbie Imler
McDermott and Kim Miller shared their priceless memories of their adventures
with Van Halen. David Konow introduced me to my fantastic agent, Bob
Diforio. Matt Wardlaw helped me secure an essential interview, while Nathan
Hodge and D.X. Ferris helped me keep my eyes on the prize. Thanks as well to
Jack David, Erin Creasey, Michael Holmes, Laura Pastore, Susannah Ames, and
everyone else at ECW Press. You guys are the best.
Other individuals generously gave their time and energy to the nuts-and-
bolts aspects of producing and marketing this book. Andy Harris and Gita
Varaprasathan graciously housed me on my Los Angeles research trips. Jesse
Fink connected me to many individuals who helped me spread the word about
the book. Ruth Blatt, BJ Kramp, Marshall Poe, and Rich Zeoli gave me
platforms to discuss this book long before its release. Vain Eudes provided his
graphic artistry for my websites and this book’s cover. Jeremy Entin built my
fantastic website, vanhalenrising.com. Bill Flanagan and Robert J. Stoltz fact-
checked and helped edit the manuscript, saving me from many errors. Rob
Heinrich patiently labored through many early drafts of my chapters. The
talented Jeremy Steffen color corrected and lovingly repaired many of the images
that appear in this book. Tom Broderick, Nik Browning, Douglas Guenther,
Steven Rosen, and Mike Wolf shared some key source material. Doug Anderson
gave me a tour of his fantastic Van Halen Museum. Lou Capoferri offered legal
counsel at a key juncture. Thank you all.
I was also fortunate to have a number Van Halen fans as friends, whose
emails and messages reminded me that there were many people eager to read this
book. Thank you to Gibson Archer, Aaron Cutler, Kevin Dodds, Scott
Faranello, Jeff Fiorentino, Allen Garber, Jeff Hausman, Cully Hamner, Heath
McCoy, Josh Peters, Mark Prado, Mark Reep, Grant Richards, Cary Schiffman,
and David Schnittger. Rock on, all.
A number of individuals shared their rare photographs and memorabilia
and, in doing so, greatly enriched this book. My deepest thanks to Lorraine
Anderson, Tom Bonawitz, Brian Box, Patti Fujii Carberry, Mary Garson, Dan
Hernandez, Mike Kassis, Lynn Larson Kershner, Miles Komora, Jan Velasco
Kosharek, Julian Pollack, Leslie Ward-Speers, Steve Tortomasi, Cheri
Whitaker, and Elizabeth Wiley.
While conducting research for Van Halen Rising, I interviewed more than
two hundred people. Those who went above and beyond the call of duty in
helping me include Mark Algorri, Rusty Anderson, Vincent Carberry, Dennis
Catron, George Courville, Martha Davis, John Driscoll, Bruce Fernandez, Jackie
Fox, Kevin Gallagher, Tommy Girvin, Lisa Christine Glave, Tracy “G.”
Grijalva, Carl Haasis, Leonard Haze, Eric Hensel, Bill Hermes, Terry Kilgore,
Chris Koenig, Jonathan Laidig, Greg Leon, Larry Logsdon, Debbie Hannaford
Lorenz, George Lynch, Matt Marquisee, Rafael Marti, William Maxwell, Mike
McCarthy, Dana MacDuff, Mario Miranda, Gary Nissley, Valerie Evans Noel,
Nicky Panicci, George Perez, Maria Parkinson, Jim Pewsey, Gary Putman, Joe
Ramsey (RIP), Randy Rand, Janet Ross, Donny Simmons, Emmitt Siniard,
Dana Spoonerow, Nancy Stout, Steve Sturgis, David Swantek, Dan Sullivan,
Dennis Travis, Jack Van Furche', Terry Vilsack, and Peter Wilson. To each of
you, my sincere thanks.
Most of all, I owe a thank you to those most responsible for sparking this
project: Michael Anthony, David Lee Roth, Alex Van Halen, and Edward Van
Halen. Van Halen fans hope to see you in the future, not in the pasture.
 INTRODUCTION
In light of heavy metal’s perennial popularity, it’s easy to forget that the abrasive
musical form was on the ropes by 1978. Bands that had packed coliseums just
years earlier, such as Mountain, Deep Purple, and Grand Funk, had splintered
and disappeared. Hugely successful acts like KISS and Black Sabbath saw their
album sales soften at a time when the industry enjoyed its greatest profits ever.
[ 1 ] Even Led Zeppelin, one of the genre’s originators, hadn’t released an album
since the spring of 1976.
As metal declined, other genres exploded. Punk rock, with its aggressive
sound and nihilistic lyrics, took root in New York City and London. The
growing movement, which was spearheaded in America by Television and the
Ramones and in the UK by the Clash and the Sex Pistols, had conquered
England and seemed poised to do the same in the States. As the trendsetting
Seymour Stein of Sire Records predicted in late 1977, “Boston, New York, San
Francisco, and Los Angeles are all into punk now … by February and March of
next year, I expect punk to explode in America.”[ 2 ]
While punk had yet to prove its mass appeal, light rock had become a
commercial colossus. Starting in the early 1970s, West Coast–based singer-
songwriters, country-folk artists, and soft rockers filled stadiums and dominated
airplay. By 1977, its appeal showed no sign of subsiding. In fact, the latest
releases from Los Angeles’s two leading rock groups, Fleetwood Mac and the
Eagles, each sold four million copies within twelve months of release.
Then there was the throbbing beat of disco. What had begun in the early
’70s as an underground urban phenomenon had become a national dance
sensation.[ 3 ] Radio stations of all stripes switched to the format, and the
music-industry revenues derived from disco totaled something like four billion
dollars annually in the late 1970s.[ 4 ] The Billboard charts, naturally, reflected
disco’s ability to turn vinyl into gold. For example, the Saturday Night Fever
soundtrack, driven by the seemingly limitless appeal of the Bee Gees, sold an
astounding twenty million copies in 1978 alone.[ 5 ] And in perhaps the most
powerful statement of the genre’s chart power, rock acts like the Rolling Stones
and Rod Stewart recorded their own disco-flavored singles.
This three-pronged attack further corroded heavy metal’s popularity. Punk’s
ferocious assault on metal’s conventions rendered the once mighty Led Zeppelin
and Black Sabbath dinosaurs in the eyes of many rock fans. High school kids
who came of age hearing hard rock from Ted Nugent and Aerosmith blasting
out of their radios encountered the easy listening sounds of Peter Frampton and
Jackson Browne on their FM dials by the time they were old enough to vote.
Other young people traded leather for polyester and found their musical release
on lighted dance floors rather than smoke-filled arenas.
These trends led many industry observers to declare that metal’s days were
numbered. Creem, which had come to embrace punk, asked, “Is Heavy Metal
Dead?”[ 6 ] Circus, which covered hard rock, queried, “Will Heavy Metal Survive
the Seventies?” and “Why Are Rockers Going Disco?”[ 7 ]
Even rock critics who’d previously flown the metal flag stopped saluting by
1978. Sylvie Simmons gave the Motor City Madman a kick in the balls by
writing: “Ted Nugent plays about the best powerhouse rock around, but that’s
not to say he isn’t getting stale. Heavy metal music per se is getting
stale.”[ 8 ] Lester Bangs, who was once known as America’s greatest rock critic,
concluded, “We might as well forget about heavy metal making a comeback,
ever.”[ 9 ]
These trends and appraisals help explain why Van Halen remained unsigned
in Los Angeles for years before Warner Bros. Records snatched them up in early
1977. Record industry executives who had encountered Van Halen, a quartet
consisting of singer David Lee Roth, guitarist Edward Van Halen, drummer
Alex Van Halen, and bassist Michael Anthony, had little use for the group. The
conventional wisdom was that the singer, who didn’t have the greatest chops,
came off like a cheap imitation of the outdated Jim “Dandy” Mangrum of
boogie-rockers Black Oak Arkansas. Likewise, the guitarist’s playing was too
uncontrolled to find a niche on commercial radio. In short, label executives
thought the band was an anachronism.
Moreover, Van Halen was too intense and aggressive even for A&R (artists
and repertoire) men drawn to riff-based hard rock. Van Halen didn’t sound
much like the studio-crafted, melodic Boston, the platinum act that in 1976 had
produced the bestselling debut of all time. Van Halen sounded even less like
Foreigner, the smooth, radio-friendly band that had broken through in 1977. An
authority no less powerful than KISS’s manager, Bill Aucoin, told the band in
late 1976 that they had “no commercial potential” — this more than three years
after the Van Halen brothers had joined forces with David Lee Roth.
In the face of this seemingly intractable opposition, Van Halen didn’t spend
their time trying to drum up label support. Instead, they filled their calendar
with bookings and gigged their asses off. Long before anyone outside of the San
Gabriel Valley had heard of Van Halen, they played huge backyard parties, ones
that saw sedate suburban streets play host to mini-Woodstocks, and cemented
their reputation as Pasadena’s most outrageous and notorious local band. They
performed at sticky-floor dives, providing the soundtrack for Los Angeles’s first
wet T-shirt contests. When the city’s leading nightclubs wouldn’t hire them,
they put on their own concerts. And when an unsigned Van Halen opened for
the powerful UFO in May 1976, they bulldozed the headliner, leaving no doubt
that the quartet was ready for the big leagues.
Van Halen’s years in the wilderness also helped the band build a repertoire
of amazing original material. While the band had cut their teeth as a cover band,
they penned great songs as an unsigned act.[ 10 ] Indeed, the band had written
future Van Halen classics like “On Fire,” “Runnin’ with the Devil,” “I’m the
One,” “House of Pain,” “Feel Your Love Tonight,” and “Little Dreamer” long
before they recorded their debut album with producer Ted Templeman.
Their constant gigging and outstanding originals helped the band build a
large local following. Because Van Halen didn’t have a record deal, their wide
popularity surprised even veteran observers. Hollywood DJ and scene-maker
Rodney Bingenheimer was stunned by what he encountered when he went to
Pasadena Civic Auditorium in April 1976 to watch Van Halen perform in front
of their hometown fans. As he told the Los Angeles Times, “When I got there,
they had something like two thousand kids in the place. They had put the show
together themselves. Amazing.”[ 11 ]
Generating this kind of impassioned support was the band’s game plan from
the get-go. “We campaigned hard to get a following when we started,” Roth
later explained. “All the time we were playing we were drawing larger and larger
crowds.”[ 12 ]
In the spring of 1977, the band finally got a contract, and in February 1978,
their debut dropped. Van Halen, an eleven-track LP featuring a cover of the
Kinks’ megahit “You Really Got Me,” seemed to have a decent shot at charting,
especially because it came with the backing of Warner Bros. Records and hit-
making producer Ted Templeman.
But industry tastemakers on both sides of the Atlantic took one quick listen
to the adrenalized material on Van Halen and forecast that the quartet would
meet the same fate as metal’s moribund giants. Outlets like Hit Parader and the
New Musical Express panned the album, suggesting that Van Halen had just
recycled the heavy metal sound of years past. The influential Robert Christgau
piled on by writing, “For some reason Warners wants us to know that this is the
biggest bar band in the San Fernando Valley.”[ 13 ] But Creem drew the most
blood. Seeing Van Halen as the last of a dying species of metallic dinosaurs, the
publication predicted that the quartet would “find their evolutionary fulfillment
in a quick extinction.”[ 14 ]

One of the thousands of flyers distributed by the band and show promoters for one of Van Halen’s
Pasadena Civic shows. MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ
 In retrospect, it’s clear that metal-averse critics didn’t listen dispassionately
to Van Halen. When they heard the ass-shaking swing of “Ice Cream Man,” they
grouped Van Halen with boogie-rockers like Foghat. When they heard the
bottom-end stomp and monster riff of “Runnin’ with the Devil,” they labeled
Van Halen as a born-again Black Sabbath. When they heard the virtuosity of
“Eruption,” they pigeonholed the band’s guitarist as just another self-indulgent
Ritchie Blackmore clone. They thought they’d heard it all before, and what they
heard from Van Halen, they hated.[ 15 ]
In spite of the critical opposition, Van Halen started to sell. Driven by the
first single, “You Really Got Me,” which topped out at No. 36 on the Billboard
singles chart, a buzz built about the band and their album.[ 16 ] In early March,
Van Halen cracked Billboard’s Top 200 albums chart and would eventually peak
at No. 19.[ 17 ]
In the meantime, Van Halen toured the world and performed like their lives
depended on it. After years of gigging in Los Angeles, they were a tight and
powerful band. In the spring, Van Halen pummeled melodic rockers Journey and
monster guitarist Ronnie Montrose, who kept them on the bill largely because
they’d become a draw. Soon after, Van Halen left that tour for greener pastures
as the Pasadena quartet’s album went gold in America by selling a half a million
copies.
In the months that followed, Van Halen stole the show everywhere they
played. The band’s creative consultant Pete Angelus, who saw every date of the
tour, remarks, “As the success grew — and it grew very quickly — at every venue
and with every act that they played over or opened for, the response from the
audience was just overwhelming.” Van Halen was a hurricane of power and
energy that devastated audiences and bands alike.
By selling over two million albums worldwide and thrilling hundreds of
thousands of fans in 1978, Van Halen kept heavy metal from slipping beneath
the waves. Don’t believe me? Consider the Billboard chart and sales
performances of some other potential saviors, young hard rock/metal bands that
would become massive in the decade that followed. AC/DC’s Powerage, which
was released on May 5, 1978, stalled at No. 133, and wouldn’t achieve platinum
status until 1981.[ 18 ] Judas Priest’s Stained Class, also a 1978 release, peaked at
No. 173 and wouldn’t go gold until 1989.[ 19 ] The Scorpions’ Taken by Force,
released in December 1977, failed to chart and has sold less than half a million
copies to date.[ 20 ] These talented acts, despite recording great records for
major labels, were still some years away from their commercial breakthroughs.
Van Halen, in contrast, broke big right out of the gate.
It’s always a rare feat when a brand-new band tops the charts and becomes
an in-demand live attraction.[ 21 ] But Van Halen had accomplished something
even more remarkable. They’d transformed the staid sound of metal into
something that sounded fresh and vibrant, an undertaking that many observers
would have deemed impossible before Van Halen’s street date.
They pulled this off by performing an alchemical miracle on the album.
They started by retaining metal’s essential elements: the swagger and screams,
the monster power chords and over-the-top guitar acrobatics, and the
jackhammer rhythms. At the same time, they removed the abrasive impurities —
the meandering song structures, fantastical lyrical themes, and doomy sound —
that had made metal unpalatable to many late-’70s consumers. They then added
hooks so big they could land a whale and choruses so sweet they could rot teeth.
With Roth’s otherworldly screams and Edward Van Halen’s groundbreaking
guitar pyrotechnics dominating each of the album’s eleven tracks, Van Halen
had distilled heavy metal down to its essential elements.
So when rock fans dropped the needle on Van Halen, they didn’t hear
lengthy, self-indulgent jams or lumbering, doomy dirges. On the contrary, they
heard what Roth would later term “Big Rock”: a streamlined sonic assault that
combined metal’s power, energy, and virtuosity with shimmering pop sensibility.
In doing so, they invented pop metal — radio-friendly hard rock catchy enough
that it could sell millions in a musical climate that was flat-out hostile to the
genre.
In the end, Van Halen’s success proved the theory of musical evolution and
made it difficult for critics and cynics to make the case that in 1978 heavy metal
was doomed to extinction. By drawing up the lasting blueprint for pop-friendly
hard rock — and heavy metal guitar prowess — Van Halen redefined and
reinvigorated hard rock at the very moment when it seemed destined for musical
obsolescence and cultural irrelevance. Van Halen, in other words, saved heavy
metal from the scrap heap.
Remarkably, the way that Van Halen evolved into a band great enough to
sell millions of records and skilled enough to electrify stadium crowds has been
shrouded in mystery and supposition since Van Halen became famous. That’s a
pity, because before anyone outside of Los Angeles knew about the greatness of
Van Halen, everything that has made the best episodes of Behind the Music
must-see TV had already happened to the band. Van Halen’s road to success
wasn’t smooth and it wasn’t short, but it was a dizzying, white-knuckle ride.
 CHAPTER ONE: BEGINNINGS
It’s rare that something so loud comes to life in someplace so quiet, but that’s
exactly how it happened with America’s greatest rock band. In the 1970s, Van
Halen evolved into a musical force in Pasadena, a Los Angeles suburb of white
picket fences, tree-lined streets, and good schools. David Lee Roth reminisced
about those environs on the band’s 2007 reunion tour. “The suburbs, I come
from the suburbs,” Roth told a packed house at the Staples Center in Los
Angeles. “You know, where they tear out the trees and name streets after them. I
live on Orange Grove — there’s no orange grove there; it’s just me … we used to
play the backyard parties there. I remember it like it was yesterday.”[ 22 ]
But years before Van Halen ever disturbed the peace in Pasadena, the
group’s future members laid the foundation for a partnership that would make
rock history. Soon after arriving in America in 1962, the Van Halen brothers
resolved to become top-flight rock musicians. Likewise, David Lee Roth set his
sights on becoming a rock singer — a rock star, as he’d put it — before he and
his family even made it to the San Gabriel Valley in 1963. Van Halen didn’t
come to life until the early 1970s, but the band’s true genesis dates back a decade
prior.

Before the Van Halen family made music in California, they made it in Holland.
Jan van Halen (Jan would begin capitalizing his surname’s first letter after he
arrived in America) was born in Holland on January 18, 1920, to Herman van
Halen and Jannie Berg.[ 23 ] When the Netherlands fell to the Nazis in 1940, a
young Jan joined the Dutch resistance, only to become a prisoner of war. After
his Nazi captors discovered that he had an aptitude with the saxophone and
clarinet, they placed him in an orchestra that toured German-occupied Europe.
[ 24 ]
When the conflict ended, he played in jazz acts, hit the road as part of a
circus orchestra, and later performed on live radio shows in Holland.[ 25 ] He
then relocated to Indonesia, where he met and married Eugenia van Beers. “Our
pop went over to Indonesia on a six-week radio contract, which turned into six
years,” Alex recalled. After the fall of the Dutch-backed Indonesian government,
the couple moved to Amsterdam, where they welcomed two new additions to
their family: Alexander Arthur van Halen, born on May 8, 1953, and Edward
Lodwijk van Halen, born on January 26, 1955.[ 26 ]
The boys had their musical baptism almost at birth. In Holland, they started
taking piano lessons when Edward was about five years old.[ 27 ] They also
traveled with their parents as their father toured with jazz and big band acts
during the late 1950s. “We were taken all over the place,” Alex explained to the
Los Angeles Times. “If my dad was going somewhere, we’d all go to the gig and
hang out. My mom couldn’t afford a babysitter.”[ 28 ] Edward added, “Growing
up in Holland when me and Alex were seven years old, we used to go across the
border to Germany to clubs where he played. That was just normal to me …
staying up to two, three in the morning, hanging in the club.”[ 29 ]
By 1960, Jan’s career was on the ascent. His talents had earned him a spot in
the elite Ton Wijkamp Quintet, which won honors at Holland’s Loosdrecht Jazz
Festival that year.[ 30 ] Edward, reminiscing about his father’s musical career in
Europe, said, “My dad was one of the baddest clarinet players of his time. He
was so hot — unbelievably.”[ 31 ]
Despite Jan’s success, the van Halen family began to consider relocating.
Some of Eugenia’s relatives, who lived in Southern California, had written to Jan
and Eugenia and told them about the promise of American life. “We had some
family that had moved to L.A.,” Alex said, “and they were always writing letters
about the beautiful weather, the ample opportunities, and whatnot.”[ 32 ]
Convinced that Jan could find greater success in America, the van Halen
family departed Holland on February 22, 1962, by steamship. They carried with
them a few suitcases, a Rippen piano, and about seventy-five guilders. To
subsidize the cost of their passage, the family entertained their fellow passengers
during the nine-day trip. “Alex and I actually played on the boat while we were
coming to America,” Edward recalled. “We played piano, and we were like the
kid freak-show on the boat.”[ 33 ]
After arriving in New York, the family took a cross-country train trip to
Southern California and settled in the prosperous Los Angeles suburb of
Pasadena, having spent most of their savings to pay their way to America.[ 34 ]
As Edward would later summarize, “My father was forty-two years old when he
left Holland and came to Pasadena with fifteen dollars and a piano.”[ 35 ]

Despite the city’s advantages, the family’s dream of a better life did not initially
come to pass. Instead of finding themselves in a suburban dream home, the Van
Halen family rented a cramped apartment at 486 South Oakland Avenue. Their
new home was so modest that all three families in the building shared the same
bathroom.[ 36 ] Over the next four years, the family would relocate in Pasadena
at least two more times.[ 37 ]
During their first months in America, the Van Halen clan had bigger
problems than housing. “My dad couldn’t speak the language … and he didn’t
even know how to drive a car, ’cause in Holland you ride bicycles, at least back
then,” Edward said, as he recalled his father’s first American job as a dishwasher
at Arcadia Methodist Hospital.[ 38 ] Because his father didn’t even own a
bicycle, he walked six miles each way to work,[ 39 ] and his mother pitched in by
working as a maid.[ 40 ] These difficulties led their youngest to call the
“American Dream” that had brought them to America “a crock of shit.”[ 41 ]
Of course, Jan had hoped to support his family through music. “For my dad,
America was the land of opportunity,” Alex remembered. “Then he found out
differently, of course. The big band thing wasn’t happening here either.”[ 42 ] In
fact, when it came time to provide the city of Pasadena with information for the
1962 city directory, Jan listed his occupation as a “machinist.”[ 43 ] Nevertheless,
Jan did find some part-time work as a musician.[ 44 ]
For the brothers, the language and cultural barriers that initially separated
them from their peers drew the two together. Alex explained, “The only friends
we had were each other. That’s part of the reason we’re so close. We knew no
English whatsoever. It had a lasting effect on us in terms of [being able to
accept] traveling and touring and not being sure what the next day brings.”[ 45 ]
Edward agreed, adding, “We were two outcasts that didn’t speak the language
and didn’t know what was going on. So we became best friends and learned to
stick together.”[ 46 ] Still, in the months that followed, the brothers began to
build friendships with kids they’d met in school and in their neighborhood.
As the brothers acculturated, their parents’ hard work began to pay off. On
April 27, 1966, they purchased an 896-square-foot home located at 1881 Las
Lunas Street in Pasadena.[ 47 ] Still, the Van Halens remained far from
prosperous. George Courville, who lived nearby and has known the Van Halens
since he was seven years old, remembers, “They had the smallest house on the
block. These were all Pasadena bungalow homes. There were two bedrooms.
The kids had one room and the parents had the other. There was a single
bathroom, a living room, a dining room, and what they called a galley kitchen.”
 Ross Velasco, who was a close friend of the brothers, recalls an incident that
highlights life in the Van Halen household in the 1960s. “Alex and I had been
down to the beach to bodysurf. Someone broke into my van when we were in the
water and stole all of our clothes, even our shoes. So we drove back to Pasadena
in our wet swimsuits. When we pulled up to Alex’s house his mother was at the
door. She was such a sweet woman. He told her what happened, and she got
very upset. I think at that time she might have been sewing and making the
clothes he wore. She was most upset that he had lost his shoes.”
This hand-to-mouth existence prompted Jan and Eugenia to ponder their
sons’ futures. In their minds, music offered the best prospects, and so music
lessons remained a staple in the brothers’ lives. Alex and Edward took violin
lessons while in elementary and junior high school, with Alex progressing well
enough on the instrument to make the Los Angeles All City Orchestra.[ 48 ]
But their parents had one particular hope for their children. “Mom had this
grandiose idea of us becoming concert pianists,” Alex told the Los Angeles Times.
“We kept it up about ten years. It made for a great foundation in music. You
learned all the theory, and it forced you to listen to different kinds of
music.”[ 49 ]
While Edward’s and Alex’s years of piano lessons are a well-known
component of the Van Halen story, less is known about who gave them lessons.
Soon after settling in Pasadena, Jan and Eugenia hired an elderly Lithuanian
pianist named Stanley Kalvaitis. He’d teach the boys for a stretch of years during
the 1960s. From their first lesson onward, the brothers learned that Kalvaitis was
nothing if not demanding and harsh. “I had this Russian teacher who couldn’t
speak a word of English,” Edward told Guitar Player, “and he would just sit there
with a ruler ready to slap my face if I made a mistake.”[ 50 ]
Despite the family’s meager resources, Jan and Eugenia had not employed a
run-of-the-mill teacher. Kalvaitis was a seasoned professional pianist and a 1914
graduate of the elite Imperial Conservatory in St. Petersburg, Russia, an
academy that trained, among other musical greats, Pyotr Tchaikovsky. While at
the Conservatory, Kalvaitis studied under some of the giants of Russian classical
music, including composer, pianist, and conductor Nikolai Tcherepnin and
violinist Leopold Auer. He also shared classrooms with luminaries like composer
Sergei Prokofiev and violinist Jascha Heifetz.[ 51 ] Edward and Alex, it turns
out, learned piano from a musician who’d studied and played with world-class
talent.
In the case of Edward, these revelations cast his later guitar mastery in a new
light. While he never took guitar lessons, his musical foundations came from
formal study with an elite musician.
Kalvaitis, who recognized his young pupils’ gifts, entered them in the
Southwestern Youth Music Festival in Long Beach between 1964 and 1967.
[ 52 ] As a contestant, Edward enjoyed success. “I was good,” he told journalist
Steven Rosen. “You sit there and practice one tune for the whole year, and they
put you in a category and judge you. I think I won first place twice and second
place the last time.”[ 53 ]
Despite Edward’s achievements, neither Edward nor his brother enjoyed
these lessons or thought much of their undergirding philosophy. Alex
remembered, “We used to go to these contests, where you were given a certain
piece of music, and they tell you to play it, and if you don’t play it the way they
interpret it, then you lose points. Well I don’t think music should be that
way.”[ 54 ] Edward rebelled by memorizing the compositions rather than
learning how to read music.
Still, Jan and Eugenia indulged their children by letting them play other
kinds of music with friends. Dana MacDuff, who went to school with Edward
and Alex, remembers one of these kiddie acts: “I was a third grade student at
Hamilton Elementary School. We’d have lunch outside near the pergola and
there’d be performances for the student body. One day there was a band playing;
it was Ed and Al, and their band was called the Broken Combs. I was totally
unaware that they were budding musicians.” The pint-sized group, which
featured Edward on piano and Alex on tenor saxophone, was rounded out by
Don Ferris on alto saxophone and the Hill brothers on drums and guitar.[ 55 ]
“They were just kids at our school. Ed played the piano. He was a year ahead of
me. I remember the guy who was the leader of the group said, ‘And now — your
favorite and ours — Boogie Woogie!’ They played that kind of music.”
For young boys who loved music but were less than enthusiastic about violin
and piano, guitar-driven rock music had become a potent distraction by the mid-
1960s. Edward noted that the brothers had been “kind of sheltered” from rock
prior to their arrival in America.[ 56 ] As Alex recalled, “Edward and I were
seriously going to train to be concert pianists, but then the Beatles and the Dave
Clark Five came along, and so it was goodbye, piano.”[ 57 ] Alex, who’d begun
taking flamenco lessons, now wanted an electric guitar, while his brother coveted
a drum set.
To pay for these instruments, the brothers became paperboys. Edward’s
childhood friend Rafael Marti remembers, “Alex had a double paper route.
Hmm, I think both of them had double paper routes come to think of it. They
used the money to buy equipment. It was beg, borrow, and steal with those
guys.”
Before long, friction arose in the Van Halen household over Alex’s and
Edward’s declining commitment to the piano and violin. Alex, who struggled to
make progress on the guitar, saw his interest shift to drums, which he played
with gusto when his brother wasn’t around. Edward, in turn, took to guitar as he
continued to play drums. Despite their parents’ wishes, it became clear that the
brothers’ other instruments wouldn’t be central to their aspirations.
Within a short period of time, both brothers realized that they had an
affinity for each other’s instruments, which led them to make their legendary
swap. As Alex explained, “I could play all the chords and do whatever, but for
some reason, my fingers could just not move fast enough. I knew that I was
limited. I mean, you can practice all you want; if it isn’t there, it isn’t there. It’s
not going to grow. But I noticed when Ed picked up the guitar, he could play
better than guys who’d been playing for years. So when he was gone, I got on the
drums and just started playing them.”[ 58 ]
For Edward, the switch made sense not only because he had a talent for
guitar, but also because the instrument inspired him in a way that drums didn’t.
“The first song I ever learned was ‘Pipeline,’ by the Surfaris, and ‘Wipe Out.’
Then I hear this song on the radio — it was the ‘Blues Theme’ on the
soundtrack to [The Wild Angels],” he told Spinner. “It was the first time I heard a
distorted guitar, and I’m going, ‘God, what is that?’ I didn’t really have an amp
then. I went to Dow Radio in Pasadena, and I jury-rigged this plug to plug into
the stereo. I just turned the damn thing all the way up, and it distorted. So every
amp I’ve ever used, I just turn it all the way up.”[ 59 ]
Rob Broderick, who was friends with the brothers, remembers when
Edward had taken up guitar full-time and had gotten his hands on an amp.
“When I first met Eddie, he was going into sixth grade and I was going into
seventh, and he had this little Fender twin amp. He was playing something like
‘Day Tripper’ and I was like, Wow, this kid is playing this song well and he is in
elementary school!”
Edward’s and Alex’s interest in rock only grew after they formed a band
with a friend. Jim Wright, who met Edward at Pasadena’s Jefferson Elementary
School after Edward transferred from Hamilton Elementary, recalls, “My last
name is Wright, so they stuck the new kid with the last name Van Halen by me.
We got to talking and we got along. Ed said, ‘Do you want to come over my
house and have lunch?’ I said sure. So I went over to the house on Las Lunas. I
see this guitar and drum kit in the back room.”
That day, Edward strapped on a Sears Silvertone guitar plugged into a
Fender Deluxe Reverb. “Ed played something and I said, ‘Wow, you can really
play!’ Well one thing led to another and we became close friends. This was in
sixth, seventh, and eighth grade. Ed said, ‘We’ve got these paper routes. Why
don’t you save your money, buy a guitar, and I’ll teach you how to play.’” After
throwing papers for some weeks, Wright had an instrument of his own.
Wright remembers that soft-spoken Edward was eager to teach him. “I
played bass guitar on a regular guitar, so I wasn’t much of a bass player.” Wright,
who isn’t a natural musician, says that his friend did his best to improve his
chops. “I took guitar lessons from Eddie Van Halen,” he laughs. “He was very
patient. He never got mad. I’d never tell people I took lessons from him, because
today all I can do is barre chords. Ed taught me everything I knew how to play,
and Al would get frustrated because I played it so poorly!”
Regardless of Wright’s struggles, a new band was born. “Our band was first
called ‘The Sounds of Las Vegas,’ and then just ‘The Sounds.’ Al took this piece
of white cardboard and wrote ‘The Sounds’ on it and stuck it in his bass drum.”
The brothers then set out to teach Wright the songs they knew and learn
some new ones together. This meant that at first the Sounds’ repertoire
consisted largely of surf music. “Mostly we played things like ‘Wipeout,’
‘Pipeline,’ and instrumentals like that. They liked the Ventures.” Edward later
recalled that one of the first songs he learned on guitar was “Walk, Don’t Run”
by the Ventures, suggesting that the Sounds played this tune as well.[ 60 ]
Later, the band added pop songs by the Beatles and the Monkees, including
“Steppin’ Stone.” Wright remembers, however, that they played them without
vocals. “None of us liked to sing. Ed didn’t really sing during my time with him.”
By 1967, the brothers had discovered Cream, the English blues-rock power
trio that had broken big in America after the release of their Fresh Cream and
Disraeli Gears albums. Wright says, “They were both Cream fanatics. Alex was
really into [drummer] Ginger Baker.”
Edward, in turn, went wild for Eric Clapton. At that moment, Clapton was
arguably the most famous electric guitarist in the world, and his exceptional
playing would prompt rock fans to dub him a “guitar hero.” But, tellingly,
Edward’s initial attraction to Clapton stemmed more from his musical
upbringing than anything “Slowhand” had recorded. “I was just turned on by the
sound and feel he got,” Edward explained. “To me, a guitar sounds like a
saxophone. My father plays sax and clarinet, and I guess that’s part of it. But
Clapton reminded me of a tenor sax.”[ 61 ]
Wright says that the brothers’ musical obsession meant that practices
involved hard work and significant stress. “We’d learn songs. Ed and Al played
their albums. They’d listen to a part. They’d pick up the needle, and then they’d
practice it. Al worked on the arrangements. In the beginning of learning a song,
he’d say things to Ed like ‘You need to pick up the tempo.’ But mostly he left
him alone.” Instead, the intense, hardheaded Alex rode Wright, who always felt
one step behind the brothers and was intimidated by the elder Van Halen child.
“I thought we duplicated songs pretty well, but I never sounded good enough for
Alex, who was the boss. I was afraid of Alex more than anyone else. Alex was
not too nice to me.”
Eventually, the Sounds started gigging. “The Van Halens played at Marshall
Junior High School,” Dana Anderson remembers. “It was an assembly where
kids could show off their talents … I don’t know if Ed would remember this. I
was sitting in the audience with a girl named Sandy, and we were going, ‘Oh
man, these guys are good!’ Alex played drums and Ed played guitar, and they
had another guy on guitar.”
Rudy Leiren, who later served as Edward’s guitar tech, saw the same show.
He recalled, “I was way up in the balcony of Marshall Junior High School here
in Pasadena. Down on stage there were these three guys in jeans and white T-
shirts standing there, playing Top 40, all the top hard rock songs back then. I
was just spellbound. They were playing all the songs I knew off the radio.”[ 62 ]
Along with learning songs on their own, Edward and Alex also received a
musical education at the hands of their father during the mid to late 1960s. Jan,
who didn’t love his sons’ tastes but was thrilled that they’d taken to music, gave
Alex, Edward, and Wright the chance to warm up his audiences. “Ed and Al’s
dad was a clarinet player, and we also played at a nightclub when he played.
We’d be the intermission act for his polka band. Ed and Al and I would play our
Monkees music. That was our heyday,” Wright laughs.
In the years that followed, the brothers tagged along with their father when
he gigged. Edward recalled that Jan played “weddings, bar mitzvahs, polkas, and
all that other shit … My dad would play at the Continental Club every Sunday
night, and we would sit in with him. He’d play at a place called the Alpine Haus
off of San Fernando Road in the Valley, and we’d wear the lederhosen.”[ 63 ]
When Jan let thirteen-year-old Alex sit in on drums, he’d tell him “just duck
your head down,” in the hopes no one would notice he wasn’t even old enough
to drive.[ 64 ]
These opportunities increased as the brothers grew up. Rob Broderick
remembers, “We were down playing football at Victory Park, and their dad
shows up and says, ‘Kom hier’ to Alex. He wanted him to substitute as a
drummer that night. This had happened before, but I didn’t know it. But then
Jan decided to drag Ed and me along to be the ‘baby band’ and open the show.”
They all repaired to a large German-American club on Hollywood
Boulevard. Broderick recalls Jan wearing his lederhosen as he helped the boys set
up onstage in front of a “very festive, all-German” crowd. That night, Broderick
played drums while Edward played guitar. “It was the very first time we got to
hear Eddie sing” in front of an audience, he says. “We were doing ‘Day Tripper’
and all this Beatles stuff.” At the end of the night, Broderick says Jan “passed the
hat” so the boys could be paid for their performance. Edward later recalled that
on a night just like this one, Jan collected twenty-two dollars. He counted the
money and then handed Alex and Edward each five dollars before telling them,
“Welcome to the music business, boys.”[ 65 ]

In 1963, Nathan and Sibyl Roth and their two children, David and Lisa, moved
from Massachusetts to Altadena, a community that abutted Pasadena. Nathan,
who was training to be an ophthalmologist, hoped to start a medical practice to
support his family. David, who was born on October 10, 1954, in Bloomington,
Indiana, would describe his new environs as “the middle of the lower-middle-
class multicultural hodgepodge.”[ 66 ] A few years later, Nathan and Sibyl would
have another child, Allison.
In elementary school, Roth became enamored with music and began soaking
up the influences that would give shape to the classic Van Halen sound. But
unlike the Van Halen brothers, who were instrumentalists, Roth focused on
vocals.
His interest in singing took root early. When he was barely in elementary
school, Roth got his first phonograph records, which were Al Jolson recordings.
As he told Rolling Stone, “I had a collection of the old breakable [Jolson] 78s. I
learned every song, and then the moves, which I saw in the movies.”[ 67 ] Roth
explained to Musician what drew him to the long-dead singer, actor, and
comedian. Jolson, Roth said, “was doing something completely off the wall. He
had a great voice, a lot of conviction, determination, a show that shook the
world.” Roth had “learned all his greatest hits by the time I was seven. And ever
since, I’ve known that I would make music onstage.”[ 68 ]
While Jolson’s influence would never fade, Roth had arrived in California at
the same moment that the British Invasion hit American shores.[ 69 ] He
embraced the Beatles, the Kinks, and the Rolling Stones.[ 70 ] Roth explained,
“Music got cool. At the same time, it was revved so hot that you would watch
The Ed Sullivan Show and one week see the Beatles and the next week see the
Rolling Stones. Now, the Beatles had matching suits without lapels, the boots
with the pointy toes.”[ 71 ]
He also came to love soul music. Roth, who’d received a radio as a gift from
his Uncle Manny, remembered the life-changing moment when he first
switched it on: “I put it on, and there was Ray Charles singing ‘Crying Time,’
and I just knew I had to be on the radio.”[ 72 ] Roth sang along with Motown
artists like Martha and the Vandellas, the Four Tops, the Temptations, and
other black singers like Major Lance, whose 1964 smash “Um, Um, Um, Um,
Um, Um” was the first record Roth ever bought.[ 73 ]
By the time Roth matriculated to Eliot Junior High School in Altadena in
the fall of 1966, his love for music had already shaped his aspirations. He’d tell
his younger sister Lisa, “I’m going to be a rock star.” As Lisa observed to her
friend Maria Parkinson (who’d later appear in Roth’s “Yankee Rose” video),
Roth wouldn’t say, “I want to be a rock star.” Instead, he’d tell his sister, “I’m
going to be a rock star.”
He soon started sharing this vision with his friends. George Perez, who met
Roth in seventh grade at Eliot, remembers that one day he and Roth struck up a
conversation about the future. Perez told Roth that he wanted to be a ballplayer,
and then asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Without missing
a beat, Roth replied, “A rock and roll star.” Perez says, “I looked at him and
went, ‘Yeah, right, sure. Whatever. You’ve got to be kidding. You? Come on!
You’re a little punk kid! What are you talking about?’” Bill Maxwell, who later
played in a garage band with the Van Halen brothers, recollects having similar
exchanges with Roth. “Way before that guy met anyone in Red Ball Jet [Roth’s
first band], that guy wanted to be a rock star. He did. We used to laugh at him.
‘You’re never going to be a rock star!’ You know how kids can be so mean.” But
as Perez explains, regardless of what he, Maxwell, or anyone else thought, Roth
“was determined. Determined.”
Still, Vincent Carberry, a friend of Roth’s who also attended Eliot, insists
that Roth was no one-trick pony. Carberry met him in ninth grade, sometime
after Roth had departed and then returned to Eliot after a less than stellar
semester at the private Webb School. “I think we probably just met walking
home from Eliot Youth Club or something. Now I do remember him often
talking about music, but he also talked about other things. That’s kind of how
we got started being friends; we were both interested in stuff maybe most other
kids our age weren’t interested in, like new books and books that were cool, like
Catch-22 … We could talk about jazz music or Lenny Bruce or something,
things most guys our age didn’t have a clue about. Most of the guys we knew
either liked that kind of stuff or white hot-rodder, hard rock type of stuff. There
were very few people we knew [who] liked both. Dave had a very wide-ranging
cultural knowledge.”
Part of that knowledge involved horses. In his early teens, Roth took up
horseback riding, a pursuit that his mother loved as well. Dennis Neugebauer
met Roth at the Arroyo Seco Stables, where Roth’s mother boarded her horse. “I
had to work out at the stables, because my grandmother owned them,” he says.
“He was a very good rider. His younger sister, Lisa, and his mom, Sibyl, also
rode.”
Roth would take a job at the stables around 1967 and would work alongside
Neugebauer and Bill Maxwell. Maxwell explains, “We worked there and walked
horses and got kicked or bit or whatever for two bucks an hour.”
Roth’s life was profoundly changed when his mother had a riding accident
at the stables. At the time, Roth was in the ninth or tenth grade.[ 74 ] Sybil, it
turned out, had suffered a significant head injury and spent a year in the hospital,
leaving Dave, his two sisters, and his father to hope and pray for the best as she
convalesced.
Sybil’s fall and the subsequent dissolution of his parents’ marriage affected
Roth in another way. It somehow unshackled him. Perez observes, “In middle
school he was pretty straight. His dad had a lot of influence over him, a lot of
control. Dave couldn’t really do a lot back then. He went to youth club dances
back in seventh and eighth grade and his parents picked him up. They pretty
much had control over him during those early years. I think the change came
when his mother had an accident on a horse. After that his freedom exploded.”
In 2013, Roth explained to the Brisbane Times that the aftereffects of his
mother’s injury made his parents’ already strained marriage unworkable. “When
she came out [of the hospital],” Roth said, “she was a different person, and that
added fuel to an already smoldering antagonism in her marriage with my dad. I
learned when it’s over, it’s over.”[ 75 ]
Over, in the interim, meant that Nathan Roth, whose new medical practice
was doing well, would move out of the family’s home in Altadena. Carberry
recalls, “I don’t know what happened, but it was after that things all went
downhill between the parents. Dr. Roth moved out to this big, cold, modern
house in San Marino, which is a very wealthy suburb right by Pasadena.” Roth’s
parents would eventually divorce, prompting Roth to move in with his father
while he was in high school.

Meanwhile, tensions grew in the Van Halen household about the boys’ waning
interest in piano. Broderick recounts the family dynamic that developed around
this point of conflict in the late 1960s: “We played in their house all the time. It
was a small house, smaller than you even think. Their mom really couldn’t hide
from the noise of the drums and the guitar. We’d be playing and I’d ask,
‘Where’s your mom?’ They’d say, ‘Oh, she’s taking a nap.’” With a laugh,
Broderick recalls that he’d incredulously reply, “She’s taking a nap?”
But, as Broderick observes, “The drums and guitar and the amp were the
carrot. They got the carrot, but they had to practice piano or they’d get the stick.
We’d be goofing off in the back playing guitars and his mom would pop in and
say, ‘Edvahd! You must practice piano!’ He’d give her some crap, sigh, and say no.
But he had to practice at least thirty minutes every day. It was, ‘If you want to
play guitar, you have to play piano.’”
Jim Wright has a different take. He remembers that Jan and Eugenia always
put the piano first, which, at least in Edward’s case, actually served to make him
a better pianist. “Before they played drums and guitar they had to practice the
piano for the allotted time that the teacher had assigned. Ed could not pick up
the guitar until he finished that time. I think that’s why he learned to play the
piano so well. They had to finish their piano practice before they played the other
instruments and they really wanted to play the guitar and drums.”
Regardless, Jan and Eugenia remained focused on piano instruction for their
sons, especially after Kalvaitis made a very generous gesture. “We were taking
lessons in San Pedro,” Alex recalled. “It was quite a schlep, and we couldn’t do it
anymore. [Our] folks were working. Then he says to us, ‘If you come down here
on the weekends, I will teach you for free.’ So now you [feel] obligated. It creates
a very strange guilt-kind-of-a-trip. He’s doing it for free, so we better do
it.”[ 76 ]
Still, Wright says that perhaps the clearest demonstration of Edward’s
guitar-first mentality took place at their piano competitions. “Eddie and Alex
would compete in these talent contests. We’d all go, and Eddie would bring his
guitar. In between the sessions of piano we’d play guitars that we brought along.”
This kind of dedication allowed Edward to progress rapidly on the
instrument. Dana Anderson remembers the fall of 1967: “I met Ed on the first
day of seventh grade. I think I had been playing for two-and-a-half years and he
had just started playing guitar. We got together and played a few times. He was
learning very quickly.”
In the months that followed, Anderson would discover that his friend had a
musical ear that was unparalleled. “I recall going down to a local music store and
picking up Cream’s Wheels of Fire when it first came out [in August 1968]. We’d
heard a couple of songs on the radio. So we took it back to his house with my
guitar and amp to figure out ‘Crossroads.’ He listened to it the first time
through, diddling here and there. By the second time he was basically playing
along with it.”
By the fall of 1968, other musical changes were afoot at 1881 Las Lunas
Street. Wright decided suddenly to end his partnership with the Van Halen
brothers. By this point, Edward and Alex both smoked and drank and hung
around kids who didn’t make school a priority. Wright says, “Eventually I could
see that the lifestyle of a musician would lead me down the wrong path. I was
not doing well in school. I had stopped playing baseball. I was smoking
cigarettes. There was dope around. So I just stopped hanging around. Ed was
just like, ‘What happened?’ I never had the chance to explain things to him
because I didn’t want him to feel responsible. I still feel badly about that, because
it wasn’t his fault.”
Despite this bump in the road, the brothers didn’t let their lack of a bass
player stop them from playing. Brian Box, a harmonica-playing friend of the
brothers, remembers, “They practiced at my house a few times. A lot of those
days it was just Alex and Edward. Nobody else. They were just learning how to
play, basically. They knew some cover songs. One song we used to play all the
time was ‘Sitting on Top of the World.’ Other than Cream, the other one we
played was ‘Stormy Monday.’ But they didn’t have a bass player, and they didn’t
even have a vocal mike. That’s why they were always looking for somebody who
had other equipment.”
 Even without a bassist, they still played plenty loud. Box says, “One funny
thing happened when they were really young and practicing at my house. The
cops showed up. They come inside the house, saying, ‘This neighbor behind you
is complaining.’” Box and the brothers agreed to turn it down, and the police
left, only to return two more times in the next hour. “So finally this cop comes
and says, ‘If I hear one more note, somebody’s going to jail.’ Right then Alex just hit
the snare drum.” Box left the house in handcuffs.

Across town, David Lee Roth started high school at a moment of racial upheaval
in greater Pasadena. In the fall of 1969, Roth — along with Carberry and Perez
— entered John Muir High School as tenth graders just months before a Federal
district court held that Pasadena Unified School District had failed to integrate
its schools.[ 77 ] As a result, students of different races would be bussed around
Pasadena in order to promote racial balance in each school. Roth later explained
with a bit of poetic license, “See I went to the school where they first started
bussing, in Pasadena, California, and I was there on the first bus.”[ 78 ]
At the time, Muir had a primarily black student body but also had a
significant number of Hispanic and Asian students. Unlike many white students
at Muir, Roth came to embrace and internalize this racial landscape. “I started to
see myself as a black person,” Roth asserted in his autobiography.[ 79 ] He later
explained that his love of all things black led his white friends to come up with a
nickname for him: “I picked up all kinds of dancing, dress, and musical styles
from the black and Hispanic kids there. My pals from the all-white school across
town would look at me in wonderment and say, ‘There goes Diamond Dave.
Very shiny. Very colorful kid.’”[ 80 ]
Roth underwent other transformations. Carberry says, “In junior high
school, he had kind of an old-fashioned English boy hairstyle like Malcolm
McDowell in O Lucky Man! He had his hair parted on one side and one wave in
front of his eyes. Then right around ninth grade he started growing his hair
long.”
Roth’s build was also changing. Perez, who’d long had a reputation as a
fighter, had “watched David’s back all through junior high and early high
school.” But as time went on, Perez noticed that Roth was getting ripped.
“David told me he was working out and doing stuff like that. He took martial
arts. He was getting bigger and stronger, and I noticed he wasn’t a skinny
weakling like he was earlier. He was filling out.”
 At the same time, Roth developed the persona that would help make him a
rock superstar. Perez says, “I remember in high school, I realized he had
surpassed me. I had been ahead of him in popularity and all of a sudden he
passes me up, with the coolness and the popularity and so forth. He blows right
by me and I go, ‘Damn. This guy’s special. He’s really something special.’”
Roth’s charms — and perhaps his own sense of himself as a black man
trapped in a white body — also made him a favorite of Muir’s black female
students. Perez recalls, “Black chicks definitely did go crazy over him. Oh hell
yeah. There were a couple of them that he liked. I think there was one that he
really, truly loved. I can’t remember her name but she was very attractive. You’ve
got to remember that back in that era this was not common. You saw black guys
with white girls, but you didn’t see white guys with black girls very often.”
Roth’s popularity with African-American girls gave him some significant
street cred, even at other high schools. “David was definitely a cool white guy
back then,” Perez observes. “I remember David and I went to a dance over at
Pasadena High School (PHS). We met these black guys. I thought we were
going to have trouble with them. Then we started talking and this one guy goes,
‘Hey, I know you — you’re that white guy who goes with black women!’ David
looks at them and starts laughing out loud. Later he and I started talking about
how his reputation had expanded to the east side of Pasadena.”
All of these changes made it clear that Roth was going places. Carberry says,
“Pretty much everybody, well our friends in common, anyway, figured that he
was going to be successful at something. A lot of people didn’t think he was a
good enough musician to be successful at music, but they thought he’d be
successful at something. He certainly had star quality and showmanship and
God knows the gift of gab and self-confidence.”
Long before he fronted Van Halen, Roth had the chance to show off that
self-confidence onstage at Muir. Juliana Gondek, who took a drama course with
Roth, recalls, “In drama class he was a real cutup and he was a real class clown. It
was hard to nail his feet to the floor to get him to do what you wanted him to
do. But he was always bigger than life. Always. He had long blond hair and this
huge personality. The David Lee Roth that came to prominence in Van Halen?
He was that in high school.”
Gondek is quick to note that Roth did more than tell jokes in drama class.
“My most vivid memory of him is in a play by [Polish dramatist] Slawomir
Mroz˙ek. He wrote The Martyrdom of Peter Ohey. It’s a theater-of-the-absurd
play about a normal family man living in a small apartment who suddenly has a
tiger appear in his bathtub. The whole play is about what he’s to do about this
tiger. It’s a big protest play about communism. David was cast as a maharaja who
comes from India to hunt this tiger. So we all put together our own costumes.
He found himself a pair of tight jodhpurs, and nothing — nothing — was left to
the imagination. And he had on a big pair of black riding boots pulled over his
tight jodhpurs. He was shirtless and very tan. He had this great set of pecs and
no hair on his body anywhere. He looked like a Chippendales dancer. In
retrospect, of course, it makes complete sense that he would dress like that
because he was David Lee Roth.”

The Van Halen brothers remained without a stable bass player into the middle
of 1969. Still, they loved to play, and so one day they lugged their equipment
over to Bill Maxwell’s house. Some of Maxwell’s other friends, who played in a
blues band, showed up, and before long, a jam session was underway. Edward
and Alex eyed the blues band’s bass player, an older teen named Dennis Travis.
Travis says, “I guess my bass playing impressed them, as I was very into not
playing bass fast with a lot of notes … like your typical bass player of the day.
That fit in with their love for Cream, as Jack Bruce was one good bass
player.”[ 81 ]
Over the weeks that followed, Travis saw Alex and Edward play a couple
more times. The first time, he saw them performing with a bassist and figured
they’d finally solved their lineup problem. But a few weeks later, Travis was
walking past Marshall Junior High School “and heard the unmistakable playing
of Eddie and Alex.” He entered the gym and saw the brothers with their
equipment set up on the basketball court. Between songs, Travis asked, “Where
is your bass player?”
Shaking his head, Edward replied, “We got rid of him, because he was more
interested in his girlfriend than the band.”
“You need another bassist?”
“Yes! Let’s go get your equipment.”
With that, the trio went around the corner to Travis’s house. “We all went
over,” Travis says, “and grabbed my bass and amp and carried them to the gym,
and I had my first jam with them. If I remember correctly, this was the
beginning of the summer of 1969.”[ 82 ]
In the weeks that followed, Travis practiced with the brothers. They also
settled on a name: Trojan Rubber Company, a cheeky moniker that Edward
came up with.[ 83 ] They toyed with the idea of adding a keyboard player, a
local prodigy named Jim Pewsey. But after two jams with him, they decided not
to invite the serious, somewhat uptight keyboardist to join. Still, Edward and
Alex wouldn’t forget about Pewsey.
The band soon developed a repertoire. Bill Maxwell, who often played with
them, remembers, “Trojan Rubber Company played Hendrix’s ‘Foxey Lady’ and
‘Purple Haze’ and a lot of stuff off Cream’s Disraeli Gears. We played ‘Badge.’
We played ‘White Room.’”
Edward and Travis also taught each other songs. Most notably, Travis
turned his friend on to Undead, a live album by the English blues-rock band Ten
Years After, which contained a song that would later become Edward’s backyard
party signature piece. “One day I showed Eddie some of the licks from Ten
Years After’s ‘I’m Going Home,’” Travis recalls. “He learned them so fast my
head spun. All you had to do is show him one time, and he had it down.”[ 84 ]
Ten Years After, much like Cream, stretched out their songs live, with Alvin
Lee’s guitar gymnastics serving as the centerpiece for their jazz-like
improvisations.
While in later years Edward would emphasize Clapton’s influence on him, it
was Ten Years After’s guitarist Lee’s performance on “I’m Going Home” that
established a new benchmark in Edward’s mind for lead guitar virtuosity. While
Clapton’s tasteful playing profoundly inspired Edward, Lee’s manic, fiery runs
opened Edward’s eyes to the possibilities of pure speed. Indeed, it would be
Edward’s note-for-note performances of “I’m Going Home” that cemented his
local reputation as a prodigy during the early 1970s.
Travis also secured a place for them to practice and play: the St. James
United Methodist Church. After reserving the space, they’d pass the word to
their friends that they’d be performing live. Gary Taylor, who later played with
Roth in Red Ball Jet, says, “I used to go see those guys at the church. It was the
Van Halen brothers with Bill Maxwell on guitar and vocals and Travis on bass.
They were a half-assed junior high school group that actually played incredibly
good. They used to change instruments when they were playing. They’d play
three or four songs and switch out.” Dana Anderson says, “They did a few gigs
there. It was in a youth center. It had a little basement where they were allowed
to do a little rehearsal, and I remember it turned into kind of a party. I think this
was their first real gig.”
While things were going swimmingly with Trojan Rubber Company, a
traumatic event would shake the Van Halen household sometime that summer.
One night, a screaming Jan staggered into the house with his right hand covered
in blood. Larry Abajian, who owned the local liquor store that Jan patronized,
recalls, “Jan was coming home from a job and he went to pull into his garage.
The guy who lived right next door was the guy who delivered magazines,
Hustler, Playboy, all the porn magazines basically. He had his trailer out there
and it was blocking Jan’s garage. So Mr. Van Halen went to lift up the tongue
and move it, and it fell off the stand and came down and cut his finger off.” Jan
had lost half of his right middle finger, a devastating injury for a working
musician.[ 85 ]
As Jan attempted to adjust to this harsh new reality, he and Eugenia began
to reconcile themselves to another fact: their sons wanted to be rock musicians.
So on August 15, 1969, Jan took Alex and Edward, one of Edward’s guitars
(perhaps a Lafayette-branded Japanese knockoff of a Gibson ES-335), and a
Bundy Flute to a local music store called Music for Everyone.[ 86 ] Jan then
traded in the two instruments and purchased — on eighteen percent APR credit
with a twenty-dollar down payment — a new Gibson Les Paul Goldtop and a
case for Edward and a new drum set for Alex, for a total cost of $805.10, a small
fortune for a family of modest means. Despite their dislike of rock music, and
their own financial limitations, Jan and Eugenia supported their sons’ aspirations
by purchasing instruments for them — in Edward’s case, his first professional-
quality guitar.[ 87 ]
The brothers put them to good use. “We did a gig for a dance at John
Marshall during the summer,” Travis says. Edward, who loved the way that
Travis played Hendrix songs, encouraged a mid-set instrument switch. “The one
night I did take Ed up on his offer to have me play guitar, I did two Hendrix
songs — I believe ‘Purple Haze’ and ‘Foxey Lady.’ Ed grabbed my bass and
played so well without one lesson, it almost floored me! He was that good.”[ 88 ]
Sometime later, Trojan Rubber Company signed up for a battle of the bands
at the Altadena Country Club. Travis recalls that they had rented a PA and
amps, because their own hodgepodge of amplifiers looked “tacky.” They’d also
talked a neighborhood kid, Gary Booth, into singing that night.
When they showed up, they discovered that they were the youngest
musicians in the contest. Regardless, Travis says, “We made the best of it and
did our set.”[ 89 ] Along with a Led Zeppelin song, they played an original
called “Ball Blues,” which featured a bass solo by Travis. They also performed
two Cream songs: “I’m So Glad,” the only song that Booth sang that night, and
“Toad,” Ginger Baker’s drum extravaganza from Wheels of Fire. Travis
remembers, “We did ‘Toad,’ the full twenty-minute version, and I do not
remember one mistake on his drum solo. [Alex] was amazing even at
sixteen.”[ 90 ]
One of the other bands that competed that night — and won the contest —
was a Pasadena group called Colonel Savage. Don Ross, the band’s drummer,
recalls, “Even though we won, we were blown away by how good Alex and
Eddie were. At the time, our sister Janet was going out with Alex and he would
come over to see Janet and hear us practice in our Sierra Madre garage. Janet
mentioned that Alex was in a band that was also going to play at the Altadena
battle, so [we] were anxious to see his fledgling group. We were stunned at how
easily they mastered Led Zeppelin, but we thought at that time their vocals and
[lack of] stage presentation hurt them.”[ 91 ]
Over the subsequent months, Edward and Alex upgraded their equipment.
Edward purchased a wah-wah pedal and his legendary late-’60s Marshall 100-
watt Super Lead amplifier. The amp, which would become the foundation of his
guitar sound on Van Halen’s early albums, had been the house amplifier at the
nearby Rose Palace. Much to the chagrin of residents all over Pasadena, it was
ear-piercingly loud. When Edward turned it up, as he always did, his guitar
playing could be heard blocks away.
His brother, too, acquired a Ludwig double-kick drum set, one that he likely
purchased with funds he’d earned as a machine operator. This job, however,
almost cost Alex his future as a drummer. John Nyman, who played drums for
Eulogy, a band that gigged with Van Halen in later years, remembers what Alex
had told him: “He was working in some sort of a machine shop and he cut his
hand really badly, right across the web of his hand, to where it would have cut
his whole thumb off if it had gone all the way through. It was some sort of a
deep cut.” Luckily, Alex avoided permanent injury, and now both brothers, who
were just teenagers, had professional grade instruments to make great music
with.
They used this gear in Trojan Rubber Company, which had evolved into a
three-piece with Travis on bass. Bill Maxwell recalls, “There was a power trio,
just those three guys, for a long time. They just practiced and practiced and
practiced and learned. That’s basically what they did.”
Edward, Alex, and Travis continued to seek out new music. During the late
summer of 1970, they discovered Cactus, a hard rock quartet featuring drummer
Carmine Appice and bassist Tim Bogert, the former rhythm section of Vanilla
Fudge. When they dropped the needle on Cactus’s first track, an absolutely
manic cover of Mose Allison’s “Parchman Farm,” the hair stood up on their
necks. It was heavy and fast; an electrifying shuffle played at breakneck pace. It
was Cream on steroids. It was Ten Years After on amphetamines. It was the
blueprint for Van Halen boogie-shuffles like “I’m the One,” “Ice Cream Man,”
and “The Full Bug.”
In later years, Appice explained what sparked the song’s avalanche of
momentum and power. “We did a lot of speed,” said Appice. “At the time
‘Parchman Farm’ was one of the fastest songs ever recorded. And that’s what we
wanted it to be. We were trying to outdo Ten Years After. They had a this really
fast song called ‘I’m Going Home,’ so we said, ‘Let’s make ours even
faster.’”[ 92 ]
This new benchmark for speed and power attracted the Van Halen brothers.
To be sure, “I’m Going Home” was an up-tempo blues-rocker that demanded
superior musicianship. But “Parchman Farm” took things to the next level. The
Van Halen brothers, at their cores, wanted to play speedy, intense, and heavy
rock, and Cactus’s supersonic boogie-rock fit that bill.
In seemingly no time at all, Edward, Alex, and Travis had worked up the
song. When Trojan Rubber Company, with fifteen-year-old Edward on guitar,
debuted it for friends, jaws dropped. Maxwell recalls, “He was playing at [a
friend’s] house. I think it was 1970, halfway through the [fall] semester. He was
playing ‘Parchman Farm.’ I remember it was the first time I ever heard it. I can
close my eyes and still see myself standing there watching him play this. They
just tore it up. That’s the best I’ve ever seen him play.”

Edward and Alex Van Halen were teenage musicians who played better than any
other kids in Pasadena, and better than many professional musicians. But once
again, they lost their bass player when Travis moved away with his family
sometime in late 1970. Regardless, their legend would only continue to grow.
David Lee Roth encountered the Van Halen brothers around this time.
Neugebauer, who now saw Roth less frequently, remembers, “Dave and I first
saw the Van Halen brothers perform at a Jewish temple when Dave and I
belonged to this Jewish youth club called AZA. We were amazed.”
Afterwards, Roth and his friend went over to Neugebauer’s grandmother’s
house and sat in the big tree house in her backyard. The pair talked about what
they’d seen and heard and then out of the blue, Roth told his friend that he
intended to be a rock star. Neugebauer says, “I recall him asking questions like,
‘Man, where did the Beatles get the idea for Sgt. Pepper?’ For ‘Lucy in the Sky
with Diamonds’? He really wanted to be a songwriter.” The fuse had been lit.
 CHAPTER TWO: THE GENESIS OF MAMMOTH
Around 1971, Genesis, a power-trio comprised of Edward on guitar and vocals,
Alex on drums, and fellow Pasadena teenager Mark Stone on bass, was
performing in the basement of a Jewish temple in Whittier. A group of Genesis
backers had turned out for the gig, including the brothers’ friends Ross Velasco,
future Van Halen drum tech Gregg Emerson, and Brian Box. The audience also
included other kids who’d turned out to support the other bands on the bill.
Genesis’s fans, who loved to party, came prepared. Box remembers, “I had a
bottle of Jack Daniel’s I had taken to that thing. I was drinking that, but I wasn’t
shitfaced.” As Genesis played some Black Sabbath and Cream covers, the
Pasadena crowd danced and watched the band perform as Box and his friends
passed the bottle. “But all of a sudden,” Box recalls, “one of the other guys there
bumped into us and knocked all these girls down. I was picking them up and I
said, ‘Apologize.’” The other kid answered Box’s request with a shove.
Immediately, Emerson and Velasco slammed him to the floor, which ended the
confrontation. Red-faced and angry, the aggressor stormed off.
Box and the others turned their attention back to Genesis. But within a few
minutes, some of Whittier’s finest burst into the room, nightsticks in hand. The
way Box remembers it, “I was sitting down, watching the band. Then the next
thing I knew all these cops came walking in and all these kids pointed right at
me. These cops grabbed me by the back of the hair and were dragging me out of
this place.”
Velasco and Emerson were having none of it. They jumped on the cops in
an effort to free Box. Box says that this was a “really bad move” on the part of his
friends, because along with swinging their nightsticks, the cops Maced everyone.
Once that happened, Alex brought Genesis’s set to a halt and threw himself into
the fray.
By now, Box had been hustled into a police cruiser. He watched as the
disturbance spilled into the street. Backup units arrived around the same time
that he saw his “bottle of Jack Daniel’s come flying out of the crowd and hit a
police car.” At that point, the police had started arresting everyone, including
Alex and his friends. Box says, “Those cops were really out of line. That really
pissed me off,” but regardless, they still needed Jan Van Halen to come bail them
out of jail. Box says with a laugh, “Fortunately I got that taken off my record.”
In later years, Alex and Edward remembered that their “pre–Van Halen”
band (first named Genesis, later Mammoth) had a reputation for causing
trouble. Edward explained in 1985, “It seems that since Dave has been in the
band we got this rowdy and crazy brown cloud hanging over us. But we had it
way before Dave was even in the band. Schools wouldn’t hire us, [and] nobody
wanted anything to do with us.”[ 93 ]
To be sure, Edward’s correct when he suggests that folks like school
administrators, youth club directors, and parents hated Genesis and Mammoth
for playing abrasive blues-rock and heavy metal at ear-piercing volumes.
But of course, beer-drinking and hell-raising teenagers loved them for the
same reasons. The Van Halen brothers’ bands played loud, but more
importantly, they played great. Years before “Eruption,” local kids knew Edward,
then a teen, was a special talent, the kind of guitarist who could replicate any
solo. They also knew that teenagers who could play entire sides of records by the
Who and Black Sabbath without missing a note possessed astounding musical
ability. Long before anyone had ever heard of a tribute band, the Van Halen
brothers filled backyards and parks with young people who knew there was
something remarkable about three high school kids who played this well and
always aspired to get better.

In the spring of 1971, Mark Stone got to hear Genesis play at a wedding with a
bass player named Kevin Ford. Ford had a reputation as a solid player, but Stone
didn’t think much of his chops. So the next time Stone bumped into Alex Van
Halen at PHS, he told him that he could outplay Ford and said that he’d like to
jam with Alex and Edward. Soon after, Ford was out and Mark Stone was in.
Stone and the brothers got to work. They shared a love for proto-metal and
blues-rock bands like Cream, Mountain, Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, Cactus,
and the Who. They’d rehearse in the Van Halens’ living room, filling the small
space with their equipment to the point that it was hard to get in the front door
of the house. When the boys got hungry, Mrs. Van Halen would make them big
egg rolls, which she called lumpia.[ 94 ]
By the summertime, Genesis started looking for more places to play. Two
plum gigs for teenage bands were the summertime concerts sponsored by the
Pasadena parks and recreation department, which were held at two parks,
Hamilton Park and Victory Park. These outdoor gigs, despite their informality,
went far in spreading the word about Genesis’s talents.
On summer nights, Genesis, along with some other long-forgotten bands,
would set up on an expanse of blacktop. Stone and the Van Halen brothers
would hook up a small, rented PA system. But while their PA was
underpowered, the rest of their equipment was professional quality. Alex would
set up his silver Ludwig double-kick kit. Edward tuned up his Les Paul Goldtop,
and Mark did the same with his Lucite Dan Armstrong Bass. They plugged
their instruments into their powerful amps. Stone played through an Acoustic
360 while Edward used his 100-watt Marshall amp, which stood tall on top of
two Marshall cabinets. Before any of the three were old enough to vote, they all
had equipment used by rock’s leading musicians.
A teenage bassist from Pasadena named Lee Gutenberg remembers when he
first saw Genesis. He says, “When I was fifteen, I used to see Genesis on
Sundays at Victory Park. The city had funded it, and they’d book the Van
Halens. I don’t know if they got paid for it, but they’d be up there on a tennis
court or a volleyball court. There’d be two or three dozen people, and it was just
a place to meet girls and stuff. I had just seen the Woodstock movie with Alvin
Lee, and Eddie did Ten Years After’s ‘I’m Goin’ Home’ note for note. It was just
unbelievable. And Alex had a double bass — two kick drums. On them, it said
‘Genesis.’ It was written in black, kind of in hippie-art style.”
Sigificantly, Edward’s rising local fame as a guitarist coincided with the
cultural ascent of the Guitar Hero. Since the late 1960s, rock fans who loved
blues-rock had come to embrace guitarists who’d mastered their instruments,
making the riff-rock of British Invasion bands like the Dave Clark Five and the
Kinks seem like child’s play. These innovators played solos faster, cleaner, and
with more verve than their peers. By 1970, the leading players included Eric
Clapton, Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page, and the American innovator Jimi Hendrix.
Then there were the rising stars: Paul Kossoff of Free, Leslie West of Mountain,
and Alvin Lee of Ten Years After.
Even though players like Clapton, Beck, and Page would ultimately
overshadow Lee’s playing, when Lee unleashed a nine-plus minute version of
“I’m Going Home” at the Woodstock festival, it signaled that he’d arrived as a
player. In fact, Lee’s speedy, intense lead work, which would be featured in the
Woodstock feature film, built his reputation as the fastest guitarist in the world.
So when a skinny fifteen-year-old kid with a cigarette smoldering between
his lips shredded his way through the song’s nearly ten minutes of leads,
Pasadena teenagers were in disbelief. It was simply astounding to see a local
player — with a band that didn’t miss a beat backing him — perform at this
level. It would have been no different if a gangly teenager had turned out for a
pickup football game at a Pasadena park and started unleashing Joe Namath–
esque passes all over the gridiron — frozen ropes fired across the field, tight
spirals that arced like rainbows before landing in the hands of sprinting receivers
fifty yards away, play after play, game after game. Fifteen-year-olds didn’t play
like professionals. Except when they did, because Edward Van Halen had the
chops of a pro guitarist before he’d started shaving.
Guitarist Eric Hensel discovered Genesis around the same time as Lee
Gutenberg did. “When I first saw the Van Halen brothers, it was right around
the summer of 1971. A friend and I knew there was going to be a battle of the
bands at Hamilton Park. There were about five bands there. We didn’t know
who the hell was going to be playing so we just went.”
Because the bill was crowded, Genesis only performed a couple of songs.
Hensel says, “Ed was better than anyone I had ever seen in town by about a mile.
It wasn’t just that he could duplicate these songs note for note. He took them
and expanded upon what was already there.”
Hensel also emphasizes that even in 1971, the brothers had a musical
connection that was deep and powerful. “I don’t want to discount [Alex’s]
contribution, because when you saw them it was the combination of the two of
them. It was a two-man show. They had a synergy between them that was just
unbelievable. It was like they could read each other’s minds. It was never just
about Ed. It was the Ed and Al thing.”
 Alex and Edward Van Halen perform at a dance at the all-girls Alverno High School in Sierra Madre,
California, early 1973. LYNN L. KERSHNER

When Genesis finished, Hensel and his friends turned to each other, asking
the names of these musicians. “That was before I had any idea who these guys
were. I didn’t find out until a couple of weeks later. It wasn’t like there was a
whole bunch of guys standing around in the audience, nodding and going: Yep,
oh yeah, these guys are great. We’re all standing there with our jaws open,
wondering, Who in the hell are these kids?”
As teenagers are wont to do, they gossiped about how these guys got so
good. Gutenberg recollects, “There were all sorts of rumors that they used to
shoot up heroin underneath their tongues so that no one would know. This was
just high school innuendo and rumor. It was also because people were jealous of
them. Alex was a great drummer and Eddie was a great guitarist. It was really
amazing. Eddie had not developed his own style, but he could emulate anyone.
Carlos Santana. Alvin Lee. He emulated their styles note for note.”
But Hensel, who’d started catching every Genesis performance he could,
ascertained that Edward was more than a gifted mimic. “Up to that point,” he
says, “I’d seen almost everybody who was anybody already. Page, Clapton, Beck,
I’d seen them all. I’m going, Man I paid money to see guys who weren’t as good as
this kid. He had that great-sounding Marshall stack on ten, and he’d plug
straight in with that Les Paul. The combination of the two was just stunning.
He was either singing and playing or just playing. He’d just barely move. He just
stood there and played better than ninety percent of the people I’d already paid
to see. I felt so lucky to be able to stand ten feet away from somebody who was
that unbelievably good.”
Musicians who saw Genesis evangelized about the band. Guitarist Rodney
Davey, who played in a local cover band called Uncle Sam, explains, “There was
a park in Sierra Madre where bands used to play. That was the first time I saw
Genesis. They played the second side of the first Black Sabbath album perfectly
— every note.”
When Davey went to his band’s rehearsal space, he cornered bassist
Jonathan Laidig. “Rodney came into a practice ranting and raving. He said,
‘Wow, man, you’ve got to see these guys. He’s got a Marshall stack. They played
Black Sabbath!’ Then he kind of stopped and lowered his voice. ‘And they
played “I’m Going Home”!’”
Laidig then caught them at a Pasadena house party. He recollects, “The first
time I saw them was in somebody’s living room. The living room wasn’t even
twenty-by-twenty; it was this tiny room. Eddie’s got this big old Marshall stack.
Eddie was fifteen or sixteen, so they’re just a bunch of kids, and that’s why it was
mind-blowing.”
Guitarist Gary Putman and his friends also saw them at a Pasadena party.
“When I first saw them I was enraptured,” he explains. “I saw Ed in a room, in
an old Pasadena house with hardwood floors, do ‘I’m Going Home.’ We saw
that and thought, That’s unbelievable. That’s tighter and more intense than the
original. He’d take these little avenues and add a little lick here and there, and I’d
think, I don’t even know if Alvin Lee could do that lick. It was almost superhuman
[compared to] what had come before. Now I think there are better sweep pickers
today and stuff like that, but the shift — the paradigm shift with him — it’s hard
to equate it with anything. All the stories you hear? They’re absolutely true.”
Still, there was little fortune for the band members during those days. Cheri
Whitaker, who was dating Edward at the time, says, “Genesis played around at
really little parties. They’d make, literally, thirty or forty dollars to play these
gigs.” At this point, no one in Genesis was getting rich from playing music.
Regardless, they rehearsed for hours. According to Stone, during their years
together as a trio they had a repertoire that included songs from the Who’s Live
at Leeds and Tommy such as “My Generation,” and “See Me, Feel Me, Touch
Me.” They played Cream’s “Spoonful,” “Politician,” “Sitting on Top of the
World,” “Tales of Brave Ulysses,” “White Room,” and “Crossroads.” And they
also performed Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid,” “Iron Man,” and “Fairies Wear
Boots.”[ 95 ]
When Edward and Alex’s parents tired of amps in their living room,
Genesis practiced at the home of Edward and Alex’s friends Ross and Bill
Velasco. Ross says, “They were always short on practice space. They’d move
from house to house to practice and occasionally they ended up at our house.”
Bill adds, “They played at our house three or four times. My parents were cool
enough to let them practice in the living room, and then we’d have parties at
night. They played in the living room. We’d charge three dollars at the door.
This was before Dave. They had a harmonica player, Brian Box, who sat in with
them sometimes.”
Ross and Bill’s then ten-year-old sister Jan remembers that her parents were
particularly accommodating when it came to Genesis. She explains, “I remember
watching them practice in our living room before a gig or before they played a
party at our house. They’d come by that afternoon and they’d practice. I can
picture Edward singing [Alice Cooper’s] ‘I’m Eighteen.’ I wasn’t allowed to go
to the parties, so my father would take me down to the local bowling alley and
shoot pool with me until we were allowed to come back. Then I’d walk around
the perimeter of the house and look in all the windows if the party was still going
on. It was all very decadent to a ten year old!”

Around late 1971, Edward and Alex received an unwelcome surprise at a local
record store. Edward pulled an LP called Nursery Cryme out of a bin. The band’s
name? Genesis. Edward turned to his brother and said with a chuckle, “Hey,
we’ve got a record out, Alex.”[ 96 ]
Whitaker recalls the brainstorming sessions that followed. “I remember
Edward saying, ‘Oh, there’s another band called Genesis. We’ve got to change
our name.’ Of course, this was before any of us had ever heard of Genesis. I
remember them thinking of names, and they thought through all kinds of things
before they came up with Mammoth.”
This change didn’t dampen their popularity. When parents left town, PHS
kids planned parties and hired Mammoth. Dana MacDuff says, “These backyard
and house parties were what we did on weekends. These parties would all
happen by word of mouth. You’d be at school and someone would say, ‘Hey
there’s a party tonight at so-and-so’s house. Mammoth’s playing.’ In fact, it
seemed like literally every party we went to, Mammoth was playing. We saw
them all the time. They were the party soundtrack, and we always knew it would
be a good party if Mammoth was playing. You’d pay a buck or two to get in to
pay for beer. There would be a hundred, two hundred, or three hundred people
there.”

Mammoth, a power trio comprised of the Van Halen brothers and bassist Mark Stone, work their way
through their set in Sierra Madre, California, early 1973. LYNN L. KERSHNER

Over time, these parties grew larger. Debbie Hannaford Lorenz remembers
that when the Van Halen brothers first hit the scene, there’d be “room in the
backyards” when they performed at modest suburban homes in neighboring
Altadena. “You could walk in and walk around,” she says. “But within a short
time those parties became so widespread. They were putting those flyers out at
so many schools. It was just amazing how many people would be inside these
small houses up in Altadena. Those houses weren’t big, and their backyards were
small. And the whole backyard right up to where they were playing was solid
people. Sometimes there was no way to get into the house or to get into the
backyard. And the whole front yard would be full. Then there’d be people
walking up and down the street, because they could hear the music since it was
so loud.”
Despite the band’s reputation, Edward refused to rest on his laurels. The
introverted teen practiced incessantly and passed up almost all social
opportunities in order to do so. Taylor Freeland says, “Edward was a really nice,
very mellow guy. He was not a partier. Now this was the age of drug
experimentation, so people would leave school and dash over to somebody’s
house to party. We’d have plans, so we’d go, ‘Hey Edward, come with us.’ He’d
say, ‘Nah. I gotta go home and practice, man.’ I can hear him saying it to this day.
Those were his famous words, and that’s all he’d do. He’s the classic tale of the
guy who liked to do one thing. They had a mission.” George Courville, who in
later years repaired Edward’s amps, agrees and adds, “Ed never liked pot, because
he would forget the licks and words to songs. He drank a few beers but not the
whole six-pack. Ed would stay at home and not leave his room. A lot of
people think it came natural for Ed to play. No, he practiced his ass off. We
would leave him sitting on the end of his bed. We’d come back four or five hours
later and he would be in the same spot still playing.” Whitaker remembers that
Edward even brought his guitar with him when he came to her home: “He’d
always practice at my parents’ house. Every day he’d have his guitar there. He’d
leave it there during school. He’d always play me ‘Can’t Find My Way Home’ by
Blind Faith, because I loved it so much.”
Along with practicing, Edward was always learning new songs. In an age
before guitar tablature books and YouTube guitar tutorials, Edward’s amazing
ear gave him the ability to listen to a song once and then start playing along.
Michael McCarthy, who grew up in Pasadena, says, “I’d seen Eddie play at
Hamilton Park, but I didn’t know him. A friend of mine later told me he knew
Eddie. This is when Eddie’s about sixteen. But he said I had to be a better
guitarist before he’d bring me to meet Eddie. So I practiced for eight hours a day
for a spell, and then my friend said, ‘Okay, we can go.’ We went over there, and
Eddie and Alex were sharing this tiny room. The whole room smelled like an
amp, because there was a Marshall cabinet and head that took up like half the
room. There was a picture of Ginger Baker on one wall and Eric Clapton on the
other. Eddie put on Yes’s Fragile on this little cheap Silvertone turntable. The
motor was exposed, so it looked like Eddie had taken it apart to fix it or
something. He started playing along to ‘Roundabout’ note for note, and then
played along with the whole album, note for note. That really blew me out of the
water, because that stuff was not easy to play. He had an incredible ear.”
For a further challenge, Mammoth soon made performing whole album
sides — rather than individual songs from different albums — its trademark.
Freeland observes, “When I listen to something like Black Sabbath’s Master of
Reality that gives me chills because it reminds me of Edward and Alex. I didn’t
even know it was Black Sabbath at the time. They’d do medleys of Black
Sabbath, same with Cactus, and the same with Captain Beyond.”
Still, Mammoth’s commitment to playing songs exactly like they’d been
performed on vinyl occasionally produced problems. Brent Pettit recalls with a
laugh, “I went to a party and Mammoth was playing. They started playing a
Captain Beyond song called ‘Dancing Madly Backwards.’ I used to jam to that
album and that song all the time with headphones. So I’m watching and all of a
sudden there was this jarring moment during the long riff in the middle of the
song. I thought, Wait a minute — that’s not right! … Later I asked Mark what
the hell went wrong there and he told me the record they owned and learned the
song from had a skip so they had to do the wrong part to fill in what they
couldn’t hear.”
Skips aside, by 1972, Mammoth was the best backyard party-band in
Pasadena. But there was solid competition in the form of Uncle Sam, a three-
guitar band that featured the three Pettit brothers and a great Robert Plant–
sounding singer, Chris Legg. Edward’s old friend Rafael Marti remembers,
“Uncle Sam were Mammoth’s rivals. The Pettits hated the Van Halens. They’d
always cut them down and make little comments before and after they
performed. Like Mammoth, Uncle Sam did really pristine cover versions; they
played songs exactly like the records. They’d play Alice Cooper, Led Zeppelin,
and Rolling Stones stuff like, ‘Can’t You Hear Me Knocking’ from Sticky
Fingers. Chris, the lead singer, played sax on that one.”
Around June 1972, the two bands faced off at a battle of the bands. In the
weeks leading up to the gig, Uncle Sam’s drummer, Brent Pettit, mentioned to
his drum teacher, Roger Liston, that Uncle Sam would be competing against
Mammoth. Pettit, who knew that Liston didn’t like Mammoth either, had an
idea. Would Liston be willing to sit in for a song? Pettit’s teacher, who was a
seasoned professional musician, quickly agreed.
That night, Mammoth performed first and received a rousing ovation.
Uncle Sam followed, and just as they’d planned, halfway through the set Pettit
handed his sticks to Liston. Laidig recalls, “So Liston had learned the song, and
it had this drum solo that Brent normally played. When we did it at the battle of
the bands he just did this one killer drum solo. I’m not saying he was a better
drummer than Alex, but man, he kicked ass on that drum solo.” Pettit says, “He
brought the house down. He was a standout drummer.”
After Uncle Sam finished, the judges announced the winner: Uncle Sam.
The room exploded with Mammoth fans jumping out of their seats, booing and
yelling. Laidig chuckles, “Of course all the Mammoth fans and even other kids
in the room were angry. They said, ‘That’s cheating! How could you do that?
That’s not fair!’” Pettit, for his part, concedes, “That was mean to do to the guys
in Mammoth, but they were our rivals and Roger did not like them.”
Despite the setback, Mammoth sought more competition. Sometime in
1972, Mammoth signed up for another battle of the bands at Altadena Country
Club, a venue that they’d competed at previously as Trojan Rubber Company.
Perhaps recalling that they’d used a singer named Gary Booth when they’d
gigged there back in 1969, Alex and Edward called on Booth again. But, in a
harbinger of things to come, this time Alex wanted Booth to sing because he felt
that his brother, who was shy and of limited vocal talent, “was not cutting it as
our frontman.” Booth, who initially agreed to do the gig, backed out at the last
minute. So “Ed sang,” Alex told Steven Rosen. “It was cool, but we didn’t
win.”[ 97 ]

In the fall of 1972, Edward and Alex got a call from a Pasadena City College
(PCC) student named Paul Fry. Fry, who sometimes rented his PA system to
the band, had a proposition. As the school’s student events director, Fry had
organized a concert that Manna, a brand-new folk-rock band that was signed to
Columbia Records, would headline.[ 98 ] The show would be held on October
28 at the college’s Sexson Auditorium, which featured a capacity of nearly two
thousand people. Would Mammoth be willing to open the show? Fry’s thinking
was that Mammoth’s local popularity would help sell tickets, since Manna, a
largely unknown band, would not be a heavy draw. Edward and Alex said yes.
Fry then prevailed upon Mammoth to make some upgrades to their stage
show. Fry says that he thought the band’s “lack of image” would hurt them
within the spacious confines of Sexson.
While the band played through great gear, the trio put little emphasis on
their stage garb and show. Jeff Burkhardt, a local guitarist who hauled gear for
Van Halen before the band became famous, recalls, “They wore Pendleton shirts
— flannels — and jeans. They wore Levi’s jackets and boots, like they got off
work at the gas station and came to play. Stone would, literally, look like he was
a lumberjack.” Guitarist John Driscoll, who gigged alongside Genesis, adds that
the band didn’t interact with their audiences and offered onlookers almost
nothing in terms of showmanship.[ 99 ] When you saw Genesis, there was no
flashy clothing, wild choreography, or impressive stage show. Their musicianship
was the show.
The band agreed to make some changes. Fry encouraged Edward to wear a
T-shirt, suspenders, and a blazer rather than a Pendleton. He also told him that
a little showmanship was in order, in light of the fact that the venue had a large
stage and an elaborate lighting system, complete with spotlights.

Edward Van Halen strikes a chord on his Les Paul, late 1972. JULIAN POLLACK

The night of the concert, Edward stood in the darkness next to his
Marshall. As he played the first notes of Johnny Winter’s “Rock and Roll,
Hoochie Koo,” the spotlight illuminated him. Moving forward with purpose,
Edward strutted to the front of the stage and stood behind his microphone, a
sequence that Fry says made the crowd go wild, since they’d never seen Edward
move in that manner. But right before that first song’s solo, disaster appeared to
strike when Edward broke his D string. Fry watched, amazed, as Edward played
right through. He remembers, “Eddie was so friggin’ good that no one even
realized he had broken it!”[ 100 ]

Edward Van Halen lost in the music, late 1972. JULIAN POLLACK

Meanwhile, audience members were mightily impressed. Box says, “That

was a great concert. I remember it was the first time I’d seen Edward dressed like
that. He had on this blue suit jacket that was just really professional looking.
We’d kept trying to talk him into moving, because he’d never move on the stage.
He used to have this Clapton ‘I’m just going to stand here and rip’ approach.
Finally at this show he started moving around. He appeared like he was enjoying
the music because he finally started moving. ”
Rudy Leiren, in later years, would remember that Mammoth won over the
audience that night. “Manna was very professional. They had very good sound
effects with the rain and the lightning and all that. But I’ll tell you what. The
crowd didn’t want anything to do with them, and they ended up walking off the
stage.”[ 101 ]

Despite Mammoth’s triumph at PCC, the truth was that nothing had really
changed for the band, at least in the minds of their fans. Nancy Stout, who was a
fixture on the Pasadena party scene, remembers, “Nobody in Pasadena was
looking at Mammoth as making it. We knew they were good, but it was just fun
for us. They were playing cover tunes, like James Gang stuff, so it was just
entertainment at parties. Some of the parties they played at were free, and some
we paid fifty cents to get in and we could drink all the beer we wanted.” Of
course in the months that followed, the band’s ambitions and purpose would
change, but that would come after the addition of a new member with a different
kind of vision for the band’s future prospects.
 CHAPTER THREE: THE ADVENTURES OF RED BALL JET
On Las Lunas, the din never seemed to cease. Bill Matsumoto, a Van Halen
neighbor, remembers, “I used to get on my Schwinn Sting-Ray bike and ride to
[Rob] Broderick’s house and pedal right by the Van Halen home. I’d hear this
noise blaring out of the house. I used to hear them practicing every single day.”
With the crack of his snare ringing in his ears, Alex initially didn’t hear the
doorbell one day in the spring of 1971. But when he yanked it open, this guy
named Dave was standing on the stoop. He’d recently chatted them up after a
party, telling them that he thought their band was bad. He said he was a singer
— a great one, in fact. Alex thought he at least looked the part. His light brown
hair hung to his shoulders and his clothes were more outlandish than anything
that anyone in Genesis’s circle would ever don.
Roth immediately got to the point. He told the trio that he “wanted to sing”
for Genesis, and in fact, he was the singer they needed.[ 102 ] The brothers
looked at each other, reading each other’s minds. To Edward, singing was a
chore. Maybe this guy can sing, he thought. After a bit of back and forth, Alex
said that Roth could audition.
Edward explained to Rolling Stone in 1995 what happened next. “I’ll never
forget, we asked him to learn a few songs like ‘Crossroads,’ by Cream, and
something by Grand Funk Railroad, then come back and see us the next week.
And he came back the next week, and it was terrible. He couldn’t sing. So, of
course, I put my guitar down and said, ‘Al, I’ll be right back.’”[ 103 ] Alex
recalled, “I was completely and thoroughly appalled. Ed and Mark left the room,
and I had to tell Dave this was no good. I gave him another shot; I gave him
songs to work on” and told him to “come back in a week.”[ 104 ]
 Edward and Alex Van Halen confer backstage, late 1972. JULIAN POLLACK

A week later Roth came back again. Genesis played and Roth sang,
dreadfully. “He came back, and it sounded like pure hell,” Alex said. “The
intonation was completely out of whack, the timing was completely off, and it
was an abysmal failure.”[ 105 ] After Alex told him that he’d failed again, Roth
begged for another chance. Dana Anderson later heard from the brothers that
Alex then gave Roth one final test. Alex sat at the family’s piano, and “hit a
note.” He then “told Dave to sing it and when he couldn’t, they immediately told
him no way.”[ 106 ] Roth, humiliated and angry, stormed out of the house in a
“huff and a puff,” Alex recalled, “and that was it.”[ 107 ]
For however long Roth had angled to join Genesis, his disastrous audition
made clear that he wasn’t going to sing for that band anytime soon. Since
Genesis didn’t want him, he’d start his own band, one that would emphasize
entertainment over musicianship.[ 108 ] His group would bring flashy costumes,
fancy dance moves, and infectious beats to the Pasadena backyard party scene.
When his band fired on all cylinders, they’d rev up audiences and get everyone
on their feet to dance and groove. At the center of this carnival would be Roth,
Pasadena’s homegrown version of a classic song-and-dance man.
And most importantly, he’d prove Edward and Alex dead wrong in their
estimation of him. His musical ambitions, he later explained in the pages of
Musician, were “primarily motivated by fear and revenge … My songs, my
interviews, the way I dress … every time we go out and play, yeah, I’m having a
great time, but I’m also dancing somebody else into the dirt.”[ 109 ] If Dave had
his way, the Van Halen brothers would be trampled underfoot.

Some weeks after Dave’s botched audition, the Van Halen brothers and Stone
arrived at Hamilton Park, equipment in tow, on a Thursday afternoon in June
1971. Genesis, along with a couple of other teenage bands, would play a short
set as part of the Pasadena parks and recreation department’s free summer
concert series.
As the sun descended, the three members of Genesis bullshitted, smoked,
and snuck gulps of warm beer with their friends. After the first group finished,
an unfamiliar band set up. Forty years later, no one seems to remember the name
of this quintet. But before they’d played a note, fifty to a hundred kids — most
of them Genesis fans — had assembled to hear them play.
Finally, the drummer bashed out a tom roll and clanked an insistent beat on
his cowbell. The guitars and bass entered, playing a familiar song. Kristopher
Doe, who was looking on, remembers that all of a sudden, he then “witnessed a
most ridiculous entry of one Dave Roth leaping from behind an amplifier to the
strains of [Santana’s] ‘Evil Ways’ and going down on his knees to sing the
opening lines.”[ 110 ] Edward, eyes bulging, looked on with the others and
thought, Holy shit. Roth has his own group!
As the first song proceeded, it was clear that Roth was cut from a different
cloth. While nearly every other musician who played that night would stand
nearly stock-still, Roth roamed the stage, mugging for the crowd, shaking his
hips, and pointing at girls.
Out in the crowd, disbelief reigned. Edward and Alex’s friend Peter Burke
remembers that Roth’s band didn’t play anything “super-aggressive. But Dave
was wearing his jeans and strutting around up there and doing his thing.” By the
time “Evil Ways” gave way to the Stones’ “Little Queenie,” audience members
guffawed and shook their heads. “The Stones were the biggest band in the world
in 1971,” Rafael Marti observes. “Roth thought he was Mick Jagger. They were
trying to be the Stones. Roth would pout his lips and strut like a rooster.” As
Edward told Circus in 1979, “I remember playing a gig with David’s band once
and I hate to say it, but we were the band everyone liked. They threw beer cans
and shit at Dave’s band. So he hated us and we hated him because he hated
us.”[ 111 ] By the time the last song, “Brown Sugar,” began, the heckling had
become unmerciful.
Still, at least one kid in the audience disagreed. Miles Komora, an aspiring
bassist, had just returned to Pasadena after spending time in northern California,
only to have his brother Mark tell him that he was playing guitar in a band with
this singer named Dave Roth. Miles says that while Roth’s “dancing around like
Mick Jagger” was off-putting, “the awkwardness was that not too many other
singers would do that. They might move around a little bit but not to the degree
that he did.” On balance, Miles thought that this singer was “kind of cool”
because “he was different from anybody else” he’d ever seen in a garage band.
After Genesis played, he resolved to talk to his brother about playing together.

Before the summer was out, Roth’s bassist quit and Miles entered the band,
which now included Roth, the Komora brothers, guitarist Gary Taylor, and
drummer David Hill.[ 112 ] Miles immediately suggested a new band name: PF
Higher and the Red Ball Jet, which combined the names of two popular sneaker
models with “Higher” serving as a teenage stoner pun on “Flyer.” After chopping
the moniker in half, Red Ball Jet came into being.[ 113 ]
Miles recalls that from the beginning, it was clear that the “brilliant” Roth
had a vision. He “knew what he wanted and he went for it, and he was going to
do it come hell or high water. He had this insight.” Band meetings involved
Roth telling them “I need to do this. I need to do that” when they performed.
Most importantly, Red Ball Jet needed to practice. Miles says that Roth’s desire
to rehearse showed that for all of his bluster, he knew he wasn’t ready for
Carnegie Hall. “There’s natural talent there, but David would be the first one to
admit ‘I don’t have very good range.’” Collectively, they’d go to work in a new
rehearsal space, the basement of Roth’s father’s ophthalmological office in tony
San Marino.
After Dr. Roth closed up shop for the day, Red Ball Jet would descend into
the basement. While Roth wanted to work up some Motown and James Brown
songs, they initially played tunes by Chuck Berry, Bill Haley, the Rolling Stones,
Ten Years After, B.B. King, the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and even
Jethro Tull. Taylor says, “Of all things, can you imagine Dave Roth singing
Sitting on a park bench? We thought we could play anything. We were all full of
ourselves.”
 After rehearsing four or five nights a week for a few weeks, Red Ball Jet
invited their friends to watch their practice. Vincent Carberry says, “Red Ball Jet
would rehearse whole sets and put on a show in the basement. That was a blast.”
Frivolity aside, it was clear that for at least one band member, these rehearsals
represented a serious pursuit. “Roth was driving the aesthetics of the band,”
Miles Komora’s friend, Ron Morgan, observes. “He had a lot of ambition even
then. Everyone else was there just to get together and jam.” After practice, Roth
bragged about his band’s greatness and announced Red Ball Jet’s upcoming
performances, including a Friday noontime assembly at Muir.
That Friday, freshman Paul Blomeyer sat in the Muir auditorium.
Surrounding him was a true rainbow coalition of a student body, including many
black students. With the weekend in sight and an assembly taking students out
of class, the mood in the room was boisterous.
Blomeyer, like many in the room, may not have heard of Red Ball Jet, but
he knew of Dave Roth. “Roth was a senior when I was a freshman,” Blomeyer
says. “We were all in awe. He looked exactly like he does now, only with more
hair. He was tall, he was thin, and he had long hair. The school system had just
gotten rid of the dress code as a reaction to the ’60s, so he’d walk around with a
vest with no shirt underneath. We’d always watch him go to the parking lot at
lunch, and it seemed like he always had at least two women with him. We were a
bunch of geeks and we’d just look at him and go, Wow, that’s amazing that
anyone can do that.”
At noon, a few hoots and cheers rang out. Finally, the curtain parted, and
the assembled students, including future Van Halen keyboardist Jim Pewsey and
Roth’s friends — Carberry, Perez, and David Swantek — watched as Red Ball
Jet played its first song. To get off to a fast start, Roth strutted to the edge of the
stage and drop-kicked a red ball into the audience. Red Ball Jet had arrived.
[ 114 ]
Audience members who knew Roth immediately took note of the
differences between Roth’s and his bandmates’ approach to the stage. Pewsey
recalls that in those days, “Roth would come out in his tights and with a sock
down in his crotch. I’m as serious as a heart attack about that.” The other four
musicians, however, didn’t join him in such rock excess. Perez remembers at this
time the other “guys would wear corduroys or jeans and flannel shirts, with the
long hair parted in the middle. They were more like Neil Young or Crosby,
Stills, and Nash. Even though they had long hair, it just didn’t match.”[ 115 ]
After the first song, Red Ball Jet’s singer addressed the audience. Blomeyer
says, “I remember him saying something to the effect of, ‘Oh you guys, it’s
Friday! You’re all looking at each other, and you’re all really horny!’ I remember
thinking, Wow, he said horny on campus? Excellent!”
This stage rap, however, represented the show’s apex. As the performance
continued, black students started jeering. David Swantek says, “I remember Red
Ball Jet playing in front of a largely black audience. They were laughing as they
played the Beatles, making fun of the band.”
Despite this debacle, Red Ball Jet soon had a chance for redemption, this
time at the City of Sierra Madre’s new recreation center. Unfortunately, it didn’t
happen. “I remember seeing David Lee Roth there for the first time,” says Mel
Serrano. “He put on a show with his band, Red Ball Jet. It was terrible. He
mostly just screamed a lot.” Also there was drummer Harry Conway. He says
that while it was clear that Roth “had ‘the gift,’” the band as a whole was “God
awful.” And once again, Roth’s effort to leave a lasting impression worked in all
the wrong ways. Indeed, Serrano says that this performance was “memorable
because [Roth] got up on one of the Ping-Pong tables, and it collapsed and he
fell on his ass! Hilarious!”[ 116 ]

Afterwards, Roth dusted himself off and went right back to work. He brought
his Vox Rio Grande acoustic guitar to school so he could practice more often.
[ 117 ] Roth informed Hit Parader, “I used to love to take my guitar to school and
just sit under a tree and play. I’d always forget what time it was, and I’d always
miss class, but I found out very quickly that you could meet a lot more girls
sitting under a tree with a guitar than you could in chemistry class.”[ 118 ]
Summing up Roth’s outlook on formal education, a Muir music teacher, Marvin
Neuman, told Circus in 1981 that “nothing else seemed to interest” Roth in
those days other than music.[ 119 ]
At lunch, he’d tell Carberry and Perez what his band needed to succeed,
including a more powerful PA system. Perez remembers, “He told me, ‘We need
to get a PA system.’ I remember him going on and on at lunchtime all the time,
‘We’ve got to get this. We’ve got to get that.’”
Slowly, Roth’s efforts gained traction. Roth convinced his father to front
him the money for a better PA system, an Acoustic 850 PA. Once deployed, it
paid immediate dividends according to Perez. “Sure enough, when he got the
[new] PA, it made a big difference,” particularly in allowing Roth’s vocals to be
heard over the rest of the band.
 Roth also worked to shift the band’s repertoire and identity. Initially, he had
waged a one-man war to bring some soul to Red Ball Jet, but when the band’s
drummer quit and Roth recruited his funkiest friend, Dan Hernandez, he gained
a welcome ally.
Hernandez says that he and Dave had simpatico musical tastes. “Dave and I
went to the same high school. I was playing jazz music with these guys at
somebody’s house, and I seem to recall Dave hanging out or something. I’m
pretty sure he would sing with us. We were doing jazz and blues.” When they
weren’t jamming, they’d listen to Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and the Beatles,
along with lots of Motown records and the Los Angeles jazz station, KBCA-
FM.
But more than music, Hernandez says, what connected them was a shared
desire to “get our soul on.” While PHS largely drew students from the side of
town “where all the rich white people lived,” Muir was more of “a mixed ethnic
bag.” This atmosphere helped produce a like-minded approach to culture and
identity in them. “Dave wanted to hang around with all the brothers, as did I,”
he explains. “We were basically white dudes who wanted to be black … I think
this was a big reason why Dave and I got along.”
When the rail-thin drummer first set up his battered drums in the
basement, the others doubted that Hernandez could fit the bill, but after just a
couple of practices, it was clear that he was the group’s missing ingredient.
Taylor remembers, “Danny made all the difference in the band.”
With Hernandez behind the kit, Red Ball Jet began to swing. The band’s
growing funkiness, Hernandez says, “came from me and Dave. We wanted to
funkify stuff. We wanted it to be greasy. We wanted to be like James Brown,
and Dave wanted to sing like James Brown, and I wanted to play like his
drummer. We wanted to be versatile. That’s what we were trying to do. We were
trying to show people that we had more than [Bill Haley’s] ‘Shake, Rattle, and
Roll.’”
Despite these changes, Red Ball Jet still had a tough time getting audiences
to see things their way. In late 1971, Taylor remembers, “We played a high
school or junior high school in Arcadia, and they threw cookies at us. They
didn’t like us.” While the temperamental guitarist remained angry about this
humiliating incident for days, Hernandez could only laugh when two weeks later
he shook out the pillow he used to muffle his bass drum and stale pieces of
cookie flew across the room.
School administrators also found reasons to dislike Red Ball Jet, sometimes
before the band had even played a note. “We were supposed to play at St.
Francis High School,” Hernandez remembers. “Dave was wearing — literally —
a little boy’s sweater, so it was really tight and small. The sleeves only went up to
his elbows and exposed half of his midriff, because it was so tiny. And the girl
[Elizabeth Wiley] who used to make clothes for Dave had sewed a bunch of
shiny sequins all over it.”

David Lee Roth and Red Ball Jet get their groove on outside a police station in downtown Los Angeles,
late 1972. From left to right: Gary “Hurricane” Taylor, David Lee Roth, Dan Hernandez, Miles Komora,
and Mark Komora. LORRAINE B. ANDERSON.

As Roth got ready, a stern nun told him that he needed to don a shirt more
suitable for an audience of Catholic schoolgirls — or else. “So he’s wearing that
when we go to play. She told us we couldn’t play unless he changed.” After a
tense exchange, Roth told his bandmates to pack up. “He wouldn’t change,”
Hernandez says, “so we didn’t play.”
Roth’s costumes and antics also caught the eye of some other religious-
minded folks in Los Angeles. Lorraine Anderson, who dated Hernandez, recalls
that a friend at school had told the band that a local church wanted to hire Red
Ball Jet, and so the band took the gig. The show, she says, “was in the basement
of a church on Wilshire Boulevard.” The band set up and started “doing their
whole thing” in front an audience comprised of church members.
After playing a few songs, the group took a break. While Dave held court,
one of the band members burst into the dressing room and announced that an
audience member just told him that the band had been hired to serve as an
“example” of the evils of the Devil’s work.
Anderson remembers that Roth and the others soon started grinning. “Dave
said, ‘Oh, I’ll show them an example!’ So they all took their shirts off. Dave
unzipped his pants. Now he left everything in there, just got them as low as
possible, but you could see some follicles.”
Once they started playing again, “Things got pretty blue in there,” Anderson
says. “They were playing the most suggestive songs. Dave was probably humping
the floor. It was a delight, but it was also terrifying, because a lot of the audience
members were real dyed-in-the-wool Christians who were sure they were seeing
the end of the world.”
After the last song, the musicians quickly broke down their gear. She recalls,
“We went back into the dressing room with the equipment and everything and
basically barricaded the door. I don’t know how that was accomplished, but it
was. They had a fairly big window in there and we left through the window.
Everybody.”

In early 1972, Red Ball Jet finally began to see some light at the end of their
tunnel. Perez explains that he hired Red Ball Jet to play a family party for his
cousin. Only after agreeing did it occur to anyone in the band to ask for the
address. The house, it turned out, stood in a gritty barrio near the Rose Bowl, a
part of town that white folks didn’t frequent.
That day, kids descended on the home. Perez says, “It was kind of funny
because the neighborhood was shocked to see all these white kids coming in
from all over the place into the barrio. Then you had the Mexican kids from
[Pasadena’s] Blair [High School] and John Muir there. It cracked me up,
because everybody was there.” This mixing of whites and Latinos outside of
school, he says, “didn’t occur very often.”
As the small backyard filled, Red Ball Jet swaggered through its set. “Dave
came out like a junior Mick Jagger,” Perez remembers. Once the band got
cooking, “these Mexican kids were sitting there and all these white kids were
there. They all kind of looked at each other and went, Oh. Okay!” As the party
raged, even the authority figures enjoyed themselves. “There are five adults there
and the party’s going on. My aunt’s there and my dad’s there. Kids are coming
up to the house, and we’ve got a keg.”
Eventually, though, neighbors called police. “The cops came,” Perez says,
and “they are like, in shock. They go, ‘This is the barrio. What are all these
white kids doing here?’ They’re looking around. They see all the food, the booze,
and the beer, and they can’t believe it. And then they take off. Days later, of
course, we realized that my aunt could have got in trouble for giving beer to kids,
but in those days, they let it slide.”
Afterwards, Perez, who is of Mexican descent, wasn’t surprised that Roth
had been able to facilitate this meeting of the tribes. “Lots of kids who tried to
make it in bands,” he explains, “didn’t have that background of [knowing about]
the ghetto or the barrio, which David had. David could even speak Spanish back
then.” According to Perez, Roth’s social circle at Muir, like his choice of friends,
reflected “an understanding of minority groups. He appreciated and saw the
value in what blacks and Mexicans brought” to the city’s broader culture. As a
result, Roth and Red Ball Jet brought together, at least for one night, some very
different groups of people.

As school let out for the summer, Roth was determined to outdo the Van Halen
brothers on the backyard party scene. Roth, in his autobiography, wrote that
“playing at those parties got competitive fast,” and as a result “conflict and rumor
mongering” set the tone for the rivalry.[ 120 ]
That summer, Roth and the rest of his band took a strategic approach to
this feud. Understanding that they’d never match Mammoth’s virtuosity, they
upped the ante when it came to staging. Roth declared in Crazy from the Heat
that Red Ball Jet made “the impossibly forward-thinking move of renting a little
stage from Abbey Rents. It was about nine inches tall, with little risers.”[ 121 ]
With a stage underfoot — and Roth’s Acoustic PA system to better project his
vocals — Red Ball Jet set out to dethrone Mammoth.
The battle took place all over Pasadena neighborhoods. Taylor points to
“the best gig we probably ever had.” The home itself was built at the base of a
gentle rise. Taylor remembers, “This backyard had a flat patio and it sloped at a
thirty degree angle up to a pool,” which made for a natural amphitheater for
partygoers.
After Red Ball Jet started playing that night, all eyes were on Roth. Perez
says Roth drew attention because he “dressed like an entertainer. He’d wear the
leather pants and the vests and so forth, and the long hair and everything. The
girls, man they would line up. They’d wet their panties going to look at this
guy.” In his autobiography, Roth recounted his techniques: “Halfway through
singing at a party, I’d take my suspenders down and let ’em hang around my
butt, and that really showed I was workin’.”[ 122 ] Perez notes, “That
showmanship was the show. That’s what people wanted to see. They didn’t go to
see Red Ball Jet; they went to see David. That was the game. Whether they
came to mock or to appreciate him, he would get a crowd.” Leiren felt the same
way, saying, “All the girls would go down and see Dave, and all the guys would
go down there and hate Dave!”[ 123 ]
At another party that summer, there were a couple of observers who took a
particular interest in Roth and his band. Paul Fry remembers, “I went with
Eddie and Alex one night to see Red Ball Jet play. They were checking out the
competition, so to speak.”
The fact that the Van Halen brothers went to see Red Ball Jet, a band they
hated, suggests that they may have seen the gap between the two bands
beginning to narrow. Hernandez remembers, “What I always used to say about
the two bands was that we were actually cross-town rivals; the Van Halens could
play, but we had Dave! They were the ‘musician’ band and we were the
‘entertainment’ band.” Despite their superior musicianship, the brothers seemed
to appreciate Fry yelling over the noise, “This is not competition to you guys!
Are you guys nuts?”
Even if Roth’s group wasn’t a serious musical threat, Edward would, albeit
contemptuously, credit Roth for achieving his goal, saying in 1979 that Red Ball
Jet were “totally into showmanship, except that they … couldn’t play a
note.”[ 124 ]

Sometime in July, Roth began bringing an older friend to the band’s practices, a
fast-talking karate instructor–cum–Hollywood stuntman named Sonny Hughes.
Perhaps a year earlier, Roth had shared his rock star dream with Hughes after
one of Roth’s training sessions at Pasadena’s storied Ed Parker Kenpo karate
studio. Hughes had experience in these matters, he informed Roth, because his
mother had sung background vocals on some Sinatra records and on Elvis’s 1968
comeback special. Roth urged him to watch Red Ball Jet practice, something
that Hughes quickly made a habit of doing.[ 125 ]
 After Roth and Hughes got to talking, they drew up plans for a show that
would set a new standard for a high school gig. With Hughes at his side, Roth
then presented the idea to the band. Rather than playing in a backyard, Red Ball
Jet would rent the football stadium at Eliot Junior High School. In fact, Hughes
and Roth had already reserved the venue through the Altadena parks and
recreation department and the board of education.[ 126 ]
To top it all off, Dr. Roth had offered to help the band in two ways. First,
he agreed to pay for radio advertisements. Second, he promised to rent a
helicopter to fly the band from a nearby helipad to the Eliot grounds, landing in
plain view of everyone, just like the Stones had done at Altamont. Once they
touched down, they’d duck their heads, run through the rotor wash, and head
into the stadium and onto the stage, while the delirious crowd looked on in
amazement. Roth and Hughes had no doubt it would be the most outrageous
local concert in Pasadena history.
Within days, Roth set out to design a gig flyer. He’d seen enough of them
around town to know that most didn’t warrant a second glance. That just wasn’t
going to cut it this time around.
Taylor recalls Roth’s suggestion: “David wanted us all naked and covering
up with guitars.” Miles Komora adds, “It was a thing of how to catch people’s
attention through publicity,” so “we said, ‘Let’s get naked and take a picture.’” In
Roth’s father’s backyard, the band posed for a photo in the midst of some high
grass and thick brush, giving the impression that they’d just emerged from some
primeval forest. The Komora brothers and Taylor squatted down in a semicircle
with their guitars strategically concealing their private parts. Hernandez used a
large cowbell for the same purpose as he kneeled amidst them. And in the
middle stood Roth, his body turned to the side, his bare left leg bent at the knee
and his hands covering his crotch, wearing some patterned socks and flashy
Cuban-heeled shoes. For a finishing touch, they all sported colorful ties, which
only served to reinforce the fact that the members of Red Ball Jet weren’t
wearing clothes.[ 127 ]
 The infamous Red Ball Jet “naked” flyer, summer 1972. MILES R. KOMORA

After a trip to the print shop, they discussed how to distribute the three
thousand copies of the racy flyer before the August 25 gig. Although Miles
questioned the wisdom of posting them all over the San Gabriel Valley, he was
outvoted. The others grabbed stacks of the flyers and hit the streets. Hernandez
says, “The flyers were tacked up all over the city, on telephone poles; these things
were plastered all over the place.”
The day before the show, the head of the Altadena parks and recreation
department returned to the office after a relaxing two-week vacation. His
assistant, with a short knock, burst into the office and handed him the flyer,
saying, “Look at this! These are all over town. They’re up and down Lake
Avenue and across Colorado Boulevard.” The director took one look at the
picture of the five hairy, nude young men and told his assistant to get the person
behind this upcoming event on the phone. Now.[ 128 ]
Soon after, Hughes took his call and explained that he’d spoken to someone
in the office about the concert. After a bit more back and forth, Hughes said,
“Well, once I fly them in by helicopter —”[ 129 ] With that, the director’s eyes
got wide. Taylor recalls that the city administrator “thought he had a naked rock
and roll band that was going to helicopter into this gig at Eliot Junior High
School” and then perform wearing nothing more than funny ties and their
guitars. He cut Hughes off, told him the show was canceled, and slammed down
the receiver. Soon after, however, he realized that he had another problem.
The next day, Hernandez picked up the Pasadena Star-News. Inside the
front page was an article with the headline, “Altadena Rock Fest Canceled.” It
informed the concerned citizens of the San Gabriel Valley that the scheduled
concert at Eliot had been the product of a “misunderstanding between parties.”
Hernandez thinks that Altadena officials called the newspaper “because of the
anticipation of how many people were going to show up. They knew it was likely
there were going to be a lot of people.”[ 130 ]
In the wake of this affair, Taylor remembers that even though the fallout
was significant, the whole caper had served a larger purpose. “People got all
pissed off. But looking back at it, it’s the old adage in show business. Any
publicity is good publicity.”

As the summer ended, Roth maximized the band’s backyard-party opportunities.

In September, Roth’s friend Bobby Hatch hired Red Ball Jet to play at his
parents’ home, which was situated right down Michigan Avenue from Roth’s
close friend Stanley Swantek’s house. “I met Dave Roth through Stanley,” Hatch
remembers. “He fit in with us because we had a boys club. We had thirteen or
fourteen [boys] growing up on our own block. We used to hang out in front of
my parents’ house. We used to call it ‘the wall.’ Basically if you didn’t have a date
that night you’d hang out at the wall and upset the neighbors with loud music,
just having fun.”[ 131 ]
During these days, one key component of the Michigan Avenue party scene
was an ice cream truck. As Roth often told audiences on Van Halen’s 2007 tour,
“We’d park the ice cream truck in the backyard and take all the ice cream out
and put beer in it for the party.”[ 132 ] Although Roth recalled Stanley Swantek
having driven it, Stanley’s brother David sets the record straight: “This guy
named Tommy Lake bought an ice cream truck and did it as a business at least
for one full summer. We used to party [at our house] and the Hatch’s house,
which is right down the street. Tommy used to bring his ice cream truck over
there, and sometimes we’d go out and sell ice cream with him and drink beer
because we had beer in the ice chest.” During one of these boozy summer rides
around the city, Lake told the Swantek brothers about an old John Brim record
he had with a song called “Ice Cream Man.” David Swantek says that his brother
then “borrowed the record and played it for Dave. Anyway that is where the
[Van Halen] song came from.”
With both the ice cream truck and Red Ball Jet situated at Hatch’s, the
party got underway and soon got out of control. Hernandez recollects playing in
the “absurdly crowded” backyard with the police helicopter hovering overhead,
shining a high-powered spotlight down on the band. Roth followed the light
around the stage, mugging for the revelers before the cops shut things down.

On another front, Roth’s and Hernandez’s efforts to bring some soul to Red Ball
Jet had paid off by the fall of 1972. The band started playing some James Brown,
like “Cold Sweat,” and more Motown, like Jr. Walker & the All Stars’
“Shotgun,” and some selections from Edgar Winter’s White Trash.
Along with these covers came a handful of originals, including one swinging
number that was inspired by the 1958 hit “Tequila.” On it, Roth played
saxophone and said the song’s title and sole lyric — “Lotion!” — during breaks
in the song’s instrumental sections. What tied all of these songs together, at least
in Roth’s mind, was crystal clear. “Dave kept saying, ‘It has to have danceabilty!
You have to be able to dance to it,’” Taylor recalls.
Roth had also talked others into donning funkier stage clothes. Miles and
the others drove into Hollywood and picked out some vibrant shirts, flared
pants, and gaudy shoes to add some flash to the Red Ball Jet show. Roth, too,
pushed his look in new directions. By this time he started taking cues from the
burgeoning glam-rock movement, which had hit nearby Hollywood in a big way.
Hernandez recalls that Roth had gotten turned on to David Bowie and glitter
rock, and as a result he “was wearing platform shoes in Red Ball Jet.” Elizabeth
Wiley, a close friend of Roth’s who worked with and supported him through his
stints with Red Ball Jet and Van Halen, remembers decorating an “amazing
leather jacket with studs and rhinestones” and sewing a lamé tuxedo for Roth,
just two of a number of outfits she and her sister, Linda, created for him. She
says, “Dave got these ideas, and it was our job to make them reality.”[ 133 ]

At the end of 1972, Roth pursued another avenue in his effort to transform the
band. Dr. Roth — with the encouragement of his son — decided to interject
himself into the affairs of Red Ball Jet. He and Dave had a number of ideas, not
the least of which involved auditioning at some Hollywood clubs, like the Sunset
Strip landmark Gazzarri’s. Dr. Roth argued, however, that before they took that
step they needed some professional guidance, so he hired a sixty-dollar-an-hour
consultant to help the band craft its show.[ 134 ]
This guidance would come from Carlton Johnson, a veteran tap dancer and
Hollywood choreographer. Before he walked into Red Ball Jet’s rehearsal space,
he had masterminded the dance routines for blockbuster movies like It’s a Mad,
Mad, Mad, Mad World and successful television shows such as The Danny Kaye
Show, The Sammy Davis Jr. Show, and The Carol Burnett Show.[ 135 ]
Over the next few weeks, Johnson would teach Red Ball Jet a dance routine.
Hernandez remembers that all of them except Dave “hated” the whole idea of
choreographing their show to this degree. Hernandez states, “I was a drummer
so I wasn’t involved in that, but Carlton was trying to teach them what they used
to refer to as Motown step. As you know, this was a rock and roll band.” Taylor
says it was futile to try to turn three awkward guys into Fred Astaire: “Teaching
a bunch of white boys to dance like that? Dave’s the only one who had any
chance, because he was into it and we were white boys listening to white rock
and blues.”
Observers had similar reactions. Ron Morgan says, “Miles was telling me
about this professional choreographer, and I was just chortling. ‘You’ve got to be
kidding. Some guy from Motown is going to come out and teach you white boys
how to dance?’” Morgan then headed to the basement and watched “Miles, who
had a football player type of physique, tiptoeing around while he’s trying to play
bass at the same time.” Kevin Gallagher says that this made Red Ball Jet “the
laughingstock of the band scene.” Morgan adds that all of this just reinforced his
sense that “Roth was kind of nutty, really off the wall, compared to the other
people I was hanging around who played music.”
But to Roth, none of this was nutty. Adding black-influenced choreography
to Red Ball Jet made perfect sense to a kid who’d grown up imitating the latest
dance steps on American Bandstand, aping the dance moves of Al Jolson and
James Brown, and singing along to Louis Armstrong records. Indeed, when
Roth later told interviewers that he’d taken more musical cues from the Ohio
Players than Deep Purple, he wasn’t kidding.[ 136 ] As Roth wrote in his
autobiography, he tried to soak in black culture “in all of [its] finery, whether
that’s the Afro, the bell-bottoms, the platforms. Their cars, their slang, their
ordinance.”[ 137 ]
Hernandez says that Roth consumed these components of black popular
culture in crafting his own sense of showmanship. “It’s just how he was,” he
explains. “It wasn’t calculated or manipulated personally. If anything was
calculated or manipulated, it was because of entertainment. It’s who he is. He’d
say, ‘I’m an entertainer.’” So one day when Roth told Hernandez over a mac-
and-cheese lunch that one of his “big dreams” was “to go to Vegas and stand on
the stage and tell killer jokes and dance like a fool” just like Sammy Davis Jr. had
at the Sands, Hernandez just nodded and went back to eating.
Roth’s Vegas fantasies aside, the band secured a Gazzarri’s audition. Joining
them that day were Carlton and Dr. Roth. But when Red Ball Jet stepped on the
stage, they realized that two of its features — a pole at its center and a spiral
staircase off to the side — would make their dance routine, to be done to B.B.
King’s “Rock Me Baby,” impossible to perform. Komora says that Johnson had
planned for Taylor, his brother Mark, and him to walk “around in circles or
behind David. You know how you get lower by bending your knees and then go
up? We were doing something like that.” After an impromptu meeting, the band
decided that the three instrumentalists wouldn’t dance.
Things went from bad to worse once they started playing. Taylor’s pants
were so tight that they split, producing chuckles from onlookers. And even
though Roth danced his ass off, the entire audition fell flat. Miles Komora
recollects that after he came offstage he “actually felt pretty badly, because
Carlton was there and watching. Carlton said, ‘Oh, you guys sounded good.’ I
thought, Oh yeah, right. This is the last time we’ll ever see him, and it was!”

Even though the band was sputtering after the Gazzarri’s disaster, the well-
connected Dr. Roth got the band some gigs. “He got us into a few places just by
mentioning the fact that he was Dr. Roth,” Miles Komora says. “I remember he
got us gigs at the police station in downtown L.A., a USO gig or two … and one
at a girls’ prison in L.A.” Taylor recalls, “He was talking to ABC Television,
trying to get us in a ‘nightclub scene’ in those made-for-TV movies back then.
The man was genuinely trying to put us in the right places to get noticed.
[Dave’s] dad was basically trying to represent us.”
Nathan Roth’s interest in the band, however, would ultimately hurt more
than it helped. One day, Dave and his father announced that Dr. Roth deserved
a band vote since he was paying the bills. The others weren’t having it and
proceeded to quit. In the end, Red Ball Jet went out with a whimper.
Hernandez thinks that Dave knew the writing was on the wall. “He was very
ambitious,” Hernandez observes. “So he’s in Red Ball Jet. I think he’s frustrated.
He knows what he wants to do and what he wants to be around. I think he
understands that the Van Halen brothers are much better players than we are.
He wants to be associated with that kind of quality, and so there was a struggle
for him as an artist.”
Still, Roth had to have known that at that moment, his chances of joining
Mammoth were only slightly better than his chances of joining the Rolling
Stones. “The Van Halen brothers didn’t like him,” Leiren explained. “They
thought he was a jerk.”[ 138 ] But that didn’t seem to bother Roth.

In 1984, Roth provided insight into why he was able to shake off episodes like
his failed auditions and his fractured band. “I’ve always been very self-
motivated,” he told the London Sunday Times. “It’s always irritated me that
people say, ‘Where’s the action? Oh wow, there’s no action here; let’s go
somewhere else.’ These people will never find the action. There’s [sic] three kinds
of folks on this planet. There’s people who make things happen; there’s people
who watch things happen; and there’s people who wonder, what
happened?”[ 139 ]
Roth gave Hernandez a taste of how seriously the singer took the power of
positive thinking in early 1973. The drummer had recently joined his first
professional group. “I remember a day when he came to my house, and I had just
started playing in this western swing band. This is after Red Ball Jet, but we
were still hanging out a little bit. This is before Van Halen.”
Hernandez, sitting with sheet music in front of him, expressed his anxieties
to Roth. “I was kind of freaked out as a nineteen-year-old drummer in rehearsal
sessions with these way big-time studio musicians. I had the charts at my house,
and I showed them to Dave. I remember telling him, ‘The charts kind of freak
me out.’ They were kind of challenging at my skill level.”
Roth cut Hernandez off, saying, “Don’t you have any confidence?”
Hernandez says, “I’ll never forget that. He was saying ‘Get your shit together …
and kick everybody’s ass, and it will all be good.’” To Roth, these weren’t empty
words. Within the next few months, he’d take his own advice.
 CHAPTER FOUR: DAVID LEE ROTH JOINS VAN HALEN
Red Ball Jet’s demise should have gutted Roth. His Sunset Strip dreams were
dashed after his band blew its Gazzarri’s audition. His father, who’d invested his
time and money in his son’s band, only to see it break up, no longer supported
his musical dreams. For his troubles, all that Dave was left with in early 1973
was the small PA system that his father had bought for him.
Despite these setbacks, Roth was undeterred. To be sure, finding himself
without a band was problematic. But for a young man of just eighteen who’d
resolved to be an entertainer long before he smoked or shaved, and later was so
determined to become a vocalist that it “never” occurred to him to assess whether
he was even a good singer, this was hardly a dealbreaker.[ 140 ] He would now
set out to join a local band.
While there were a few talented groups in town, including Uncle Sam,
Roth’s ideal landing spot was Mammoth. That band, now a quartet after the
addition of a keyboardist, had built its reputation by playing precise covers of
songs by the era’s leading hard rock groups.
Even though Edward, who remained Mammoth’s lead vocalist, didn’t like
to sing, the Van Halen brothers had no interest in Roth. Why would they? They
and their friends saw Roth as a spoiled rich kid from San Marino. Class envy
aside, Roth had shown no evidence that he was a competent singer during his
1971 audition.[ 141 ] Edward and Alex didn’t think he’d improved when they
saw him with Red Ball Jet, a band they hated. “Ed and I couldn’t stand the
motherfucker,” Alex declared to Steven Rosen. “We couldn’t stand the band. We
couldn’t stand the music.”[ 142 ]
Nonetheless, Roth was undeterred. Back in 1970, Roth had seen the Van
Halen brothers play at a Jewish temple, and sometime later, Roth watched them
play at a party. Roth told the New York Post, “I still remember the first time I saw
[Edward] playing in a backyard party in Pasadena in high school. He was
great.”[ 143 ]
This singular talent is what drew Roth to the Van Halen brothers. And
despite the disdain of Mammoth and its fans, Roth remained self-assured. He
had a plan. Somehow, some way, he would convince Edward and Alex to invite
him to join Mammoth.
Without a band, Roth sought other ways to pursue his musical dreams. Before
long, an unexpected opportunity materialized. “I knew Dave before he joined
Van Halen,” Debbie Imler McDermott remembers. “We worked together at this
store called London Britches in Pasadena that sold these super tight, low-low
cut, below your navel bell-bottoms.” At some point during his stint at the store,
Roth approached the store’s ownership with an idea he had for an advertising
campaign.
Roth’s pitch succeeded. Miles Komora recalls, “I remember the first time he
was on the radio was for London Britches. He actually wrote a little tune and
they played it on the radio.” David Roth, with his acoustic guitar and his
songwriting skills, had debuted on the airwaves.
After work, Roth spent time at the Swantek residence on Michigan Avenue.
As David Swantek recounts, “Roth was my brother Stanley’s closest friend in
high school. They used to go out chasing girls together.” Before a night on the
town, Roth would hang out with the brothers. David Swantek says, “David Roth
used to come over to my mom’s house all the time. We’d sit out on the front
porch and smoke a J, and Dave would tell us about his plans for the future.”
Roth’s short-term plans didn’t include waiting for a call from the Van Halen
brothers. With his radio jingle under his belt, Roth looked for troubadour work.
“After Red Ball Jet broke up and before he joined Van Halen,” David Swantek
says, “he decided, Well, I’m going to go play clubs.” Perhaps inspired by singer-
songwriters like Cat Stevens and Jackson Browne, Roth would practice guitar in
front of the others. “Since he partied there on the front porch, he’d say, ‘Hey let
me play a couple of songs for you guys, and you can tell me what you think.’ He
had ‘Ice Cream Man’ and he had a song called ‘Honolulu Baby.’”
Roth, it turns out, had worked hard on his playing. Hernandez observes,
“Dave didn’t do acoustic stuff in Red Ball Jet, but he loved to play. He and I
would play acoustic guitars and jam. We’d play blues together and make up
words. I remember one day going to his house in San Marino, and he was
playing [the Eagles’] ‘Peaceful Easy Feeling,’ and it was beautiful. He played and
sang well.”
After winning plaudits from his friends, Dave auditioned at the Ice House
in Pasadena. When he tried out, though, Roth got an earful. As he explained to
a reporter in 1994, “Sunday night was the audition night for the club, and if you
veered towards cliché the owner would interrupt with a mocking voice that
boomed over the PA system.” This high-pressure atmosphere, Roth remarked,
“built character.”[ 144 ] Edward later affirmed the value of these experiences for
Roth when he told Steven Rosen that Dave did “solo stuff before. That’s where
‘Ice Cream Man’ came from; he used to play that acoustic at the Ice House all
the time.”[ 145 ] More recently, however, Roth conceded that he’d never actually
made the club’s roster of performers: “Audition night was as far as I ever
got.”[ 146 ]
David Lee Roth strums his Vox acoustic at his father’s home in San Marino, California, circa November
1972. ELIZABETH WILEY

Meanwhile, Mammoth had two problems. First, Edward, a self-conscious

teenager who had never felt comfortable singing, began to dislike his dual role as
guitarist and lead singer. With his hair hanging in his face and a lit cigarette
stuck in his Les Paul’s headstock, he’d scream over Mammoth’s wall of sound
until his throat was raw. “I never technically learned how to sing,” he observed in
1996. “So, I would kind of do a Kurt Cobain — after five songs and three beers
my voice would be gone. You know, I would just scream it out and kind of waste
my voice.”[ 147 ] This double duty also detracted from his playing. As he told
Guitar Player, “I couldn’t stand that shit! I’d rather just play.”[ 148 ]
Second, the band didn’t own a PA. From 1971 onward, Edward and Alex
rented PA equipment from various people. They rented one from Paul Fry,
who’d gotten them the gig at PCC, and later, they rented a system from Greg
Pettit, who played in Uncle Sam, Mammoth’s main rival.
During one of their visits to pick up Pettit’s PA, they had an unexpected
encounter. Guitarist Nicky Panicci, who as young teen watched Uncle Sam
practice, says that one afternoon in early 1973, Edward and Alex bumped into
Roth at Uncle Sam’s rehearsal space. Roth wasted no time in lobbying the Van
Halen brothers to let him join Mammoth. Panicci recollects that Alex and
Edward turned him down flat as they left with Pettit’s PA.[ 149 ]
By the early summer of 1973, Edward and Alex had run out of patience and
money. One day Alex showed up to rent Pettit’s equipment only to hear that the
fee had increased. Alex, who had a notoriously short fuse, accused Pettit of
trying to overcharge Mammoth and left after telling him “to fuck off.”[ 150 ]
A few days later, Miles Komora answered a knock at the door and found the
brothers on the doorstep. “They came over to my house and said, ‘Hey do you
have Dave’s phone number? We want to rent his PA.’ So I said, ‘Yeah, sure.’”
Alex then contacted Roth, who agreed to rent it to them.[ 151 ]
Alex Van Halen at a Mammoth band practice at the Pewsey Dance Studio in Altadena, California, early
1973. ELIZABETH WILEY

As the David Lee Roth Joins Van Halen story has been told, after a “few
months” of renting Roth’s system, Alex sat his brother down and observed,
“Look, you’re not really capable of being the frontman and singing … Why not
just get [Roth] in the band, and [then] we won’t have to pay him.”[ 152 ]
Edward later explained why this made a lot of sense: “We were renting his PA
every weekend for thirty-five dollars and getting fifty dollars for the gigs. So it
was cheaper to get him in the band.”[ 153 ] Soon after, Mammoth became a
quintet.
In the weeks between Roth agreeing to rent his equipment and the brothers
inviting him to join are the details of one of the great rock and roll power plays
of all time. With his Acoustic 850 PA as leverage and his persistence as means of
entry, David Lee Roth would persuade the Van Halen brothers to reconsider
their refusal to let him join Mammoth.

In early 1973, Jim Pewsey was Mammoth’s newest member. He explains, “There
were so many keyboards on all of the Top 40 then that they needed a
keyboardist.” Rodney Davey of Uncle Sam adds that Edward’s love for one of
the great hard rock groups of the ’70s also made a keyboard player seem like a
necessity: “Ed got on a Deep Purple kick. Jim was really the guy for them to go
to. He could do all that Purple stuff with a lot of flair.” Mammoth, with Pewsey
on Farfisa organ and Wurlitzer electric piano, played Purple’s “Bloodsucker,”
“Into the Fire,” “Smoke on the Water,” and “Highway Star.”[ 154 ] Pewsey says,
“We played a lot of Deep Purple, especially before Dave got in the band.”
Deep Purple aside, the band broadened its horizons now that it had a
keyboard player. Along with their heavy rock standbys, Mammoth played the
Allman Brothers’ “Ramblin’ Man,” Sugarloaf’s “Green-Eyed Lady,” the
Zombies’ “Time of the Season,” and Santana’s “Hope You’re Feeling
Better”[ 155 ] and “Soul Sacrifice.”[ 156 ] In fact, Edward would later say that
out of all the keyboard material the band did during this era, this last Santana
track was his favorite because “on that song the keyboard cooked.”[ 157 ]
Bassist Mark Stone and keyboardist Jim Pewsey of Mammoth perform in the San Gabriel Valley, August
1973. ELIZABETH WILEY

Pewsey says that after the brothers rented Roth’s system for the first time,
Roth started hanging around Mammoth, irritating at least half of the band.
Wearing hip huggers, platforms, and flashy shirts, Roth looked out of place
when set against Mammoth’s torn blue jeans, white T-shirts, and faded flannels.
“You know, I was a lot more conservative than Dave,” Pewsey says. “He was a
punk. His daddy had money. At first we didn’t want anything to do with him.”
Mark Stone, for his part, says he “didn’t like Dave,” because he “found his
personality difficult and weird.”[ 158 ]
So how did a guy who rubbed the members of Mammoth the wrong way
become a part of the band? Pewsey contends that the Van Halen brothers didn’t
just decide one day to let him join. Instead, Roth “literally snuck his way in” to
Mammoth. “I don’t know how else to put it,” he declares. While it’s true that
“he would rent us his old Acoustic PA,” this was merely Roth’s opening gambit
as he worked to ingratiate himself with the Van Halen brothers.
Some weeks after Roth and Mammoth started doing business, Roth
changed the rules of the game. Pewsey says that on the day of a gig, Roth said to
the band, “If you let me in to the party for free, you can use my PA.” In this way,
he got to hang out with the brothers and spend time with them in between sets,
drinking beers and smoking cigarettes.
As the Pasadena backyard party season got into full swing, Roth played his
trump card. Pewsey remembers that just hours before a big gig, Roth declared
that Mammoth wasn’t “going to be able to use [his PA] anymore unless he could
start singing a couple of songs with us.” Roth had put Mammoth in an
impossible situation. Even as Alex’s temper flared, the brothers knew they had
nowhere else to turn. Pewsey says they had no choice, and “so we let him do
that.” By the time that night was over, David Roth had sung for Mammoth.
Pewsey recalls that Roth soon found another way to close ranks with
Mammoth. At the time, the band rehearsed at the keyboardist’s family’s dance
studio in Altadena. On early summer evenings when they’d be working, he’d
“just show up at the dance studio with” his PA, a gesture that allowed him to
hang out with the band some more.
 David Lee Roth, the new lead singer of Mammoth, August 1973. ELIZABETH WILEY

During these visits and everywhere else he encountered them, Roth made
his case to the brothers about what he could bring to Mammoth, other than a
working PA. With Camels crammed between their lips and beers in their hands,
Edward and Alex stood nonplussed in front of an animated Roth as he
diagnosed Mammoth’s weaknesses and laid out his vision for the band’s future.
First, the brothers needed to think and dream about bigger things than local keg
parties and high school dances. There were bars and nightclubs all over the
sprawling City of Angels, hundreds of them in fact, where working bands could
ply their trade on any given night of the week.
When the brothers replied that they’d had little luck with nightclub
bookings, Roth asserted that people went to nightspots to get down, not relive
Woodstock. “It’s because you play all twenty minutes of ‘I’m So Glad’ by Cream,
complete with drum solo, live, note for note, and it’s very impressive, but you
can’t dance to it.”[ 159 ] Mammoth had the players and the chops. It was the
musical mindset, and most importantly the songs, that had to change. “I will
personally check every song for danceability,” Roth guaranteed. “And we’ll play
rock tunes, but ones that you can dance to.” The more Roth talked, the more the
brothers nodded.[ 160 ]
In the summer of 1973, with Edward sick of singing and the band tired of
seeing its profits disappear into Roth’s pocket, the Van Halen brothers debated
whether to invite him to join their band. As Alex revealed to Steven Rosen, the
brothers concluded that Roth’s swagger and charisma outweighed his
shortcomings as a vocalist. “He couldn’t sing for shit, but he was a very cocky
guy. He had long blond hair, and he walked around with a certain confidence.
He compensated for his lousy voice by being the outspoken loudmouth who
looked different. We just figured his singing would improve with
time.”[ 161 ]And with that calculus, the brothers decided to invite Roth to
become a member of Mammoth.
Surprisingly, this time around there was no tryout for Roth. Stone recalls,
“One day Al and Ed said, ‘Dave’s officially in the band now.’”[ 162 ]
In light of the hazing Roth had endured from Mammoth and their fans
during his Red Ball Jet days, this was undoubtedly a sweet moment for him. The
Van Halen brothers had let him join their band.
Still, there was at least one other singer whom Edward and Alex had
considered. About two weeks before Roth joined Mammoth, Edward sought out
Rafael Marti. He recalls, “Eddie came to my house. He said, ‘We’ve got to get a
singer. Can you get me that guy’s number? … Legg, the singer from Uncle Sam,
can you get me his phone number?’”
Marti says, “I could see what Eddie was trying to do. They needed a
frontman. Legg was a very good singer. He sounded like Robert Plant, actually.
He could hit those high notes. So I said yes, and I started asking around and
tried to get Legg’s number, but before I got back to Eddie I had heard that Roth
had joined [the band].”[ 163 ] It’s unlikely Roth knew about Edward’s last-ditch
effort to find someone else to sing, but regardless, he was now in Mammoth.
[ 164 ]

Not surprisingly, this lineup change generated strong reactions. Jonathan Laidig
observes, “Everybody who heard that Eddie had hired Roth was like, ‘You did
what?’” Marti remembers that when Roth joined, all of Mammoth’s followers
“seriously thought [the Van Halen brothers] had ruined Mammoth,” telling
Edward, “‘Wow. I can’t believe you did this. This guy sucks.’ Eddie was
apologetic, but he’d say to us, ‘Be nice to him. He’s okay.’”[ 165 ]
Despite the negativity, Edward never wavered in his support for his new
singer. A few weeks after Roth joined, Marti pulled Edward aside in between
sets at a beach party in Corona Del Mar, asking — with Roth within earshot —
“How long are you going to keep this guy?” Edward stood up for Roth, telling
Marti, “We need this guy.”[ 166 ]
While Roth’s limited vocal ability certainly fed these reactions, it wasn’t as if
Roth’s vocals were worse than Edward’s. To be clear, no one paid money to hear
Edward sing. Marti highlights this by saying, “They’d do a whole side of Live at
Leeds, note for note. The playing was so amazing no one cared about vocals.”
While Edward had soldiered through in his dual role, he wasn’t a better singer
than Roth. Clearly, vocal talent wasn’t driving the opposition to Roth.
In fact, it was Roth’s cultural style and musical taste, rather than his singing,
that rubbed everyone the wrong way. In Red Ball Jet, Roth had worn outrageous
stage costumes.[ 167 ] In addition, Roth’s musical stew took most of its flavor
from genres like R&B and glam rock rather than hard rock.[ 168 ]
Mammoth’s musical sensibility could not have been more different.
Mammoth’s sets emphasized the darker and doomier sounds of the early ’70s:
boogie-rock merchants Cactus, heavy metal pioneers Black Sabbath, and blues-
rock stalwarts Grand Funk Railroad. Even Santana, with its Latin-influenced
sound, ranged outside of Mammoth’s comfort zone. “The brothers and Mark
really liked a lot harder rock than I did,” Pewsey observes. “I always wanted to do
more Santana, but they didn’t want to.” Edward, in Rolling Stone, explained that
at that time he had no interest in the kind of music that Roth preferred, saying
that if “Cream and Led Zeppelin are white, then, yeah, I was very white.”[ 169 ]
Edward’s outlook, in one sense, reflected his band’s fan base. PHS, which
had birthed Mammoth, remained predominantly white in the early 1970s,
despite the court ordered integration of the city’s public schools.[ 170 ] In the
PHS parking lot, Mammoth fans smoked grass in Chevelles and custom vans as
their 8-track players blasted Black Sabbath’s Vol. 4, Alice Cooper’s School’s Out,
and Deep Purple’s Machine Head. This was Dazed and Confused, Pasadena-style.
David Swantek, who attended PHS while his brothers were bussed to John Muir
High School, summarizes: “A lot of my friends were blacks as well as whites. All
of the guys at PHS couldn’t handle that. PHS was a lily-white school … the
football-jock-types and cheerleaders thought Mammoth was the only way to
fly.”
Roth, of course, had developed a different musical and cultural identity,
which made for a rough transition for him once he joined Mammoth. Edward
said that Dave “probably got a lot more flack, because he used to be into David
Bowie, wear platform shoes, and [have] funny haircuts.”[ 171 ] David Swantek
explains, “Mammoth’s fans already didn’t like David, because he was the enemy.
He had always been the enemy in the past, so it was pretty ballsy to take David
on, to be honest with you.” Roth, to his credit, dismissed his detractors and took
his lumps like a man.

With Roth at the helm, Mammoth moved forward. Pasadena native Jose
Hurtado recalls that one of the first parties, if not the first party, the five-piece
Mammoth played was at a local tract home. “My friend knew Steve Whitaker.
Steve’s sister dated Eddie, so that’s how we hired Mammoth.”
With five kegs on ice and no parents in sight, the party got off to a great
start. “They had a small space to play in,” Hurtado remembers. “It was not a big
backyard. They did [Beck, Bogert & Appice’s] ‘Superstition’ and stuff like that.
Roth was pretty standoffish. He’d say hi or whatever, but his father had money.
He was a doctor, right? So Roth acted like a superstar. The police busted it
around ten o’clock, so it lasted awhile. I know a lot of people liked the old
Mammoth or Genesis and didn’t like it with the singer and the keyboards; they
didn’t like it as much as before, but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.”[ 172 ]
Roth’s recollection of his first gig is less upbeat. He conceded in his
autobiography that “the first time” he performed “with the band in a backyard
party the audience hated it!”[ 173 ] One problem Roth faced was that he had no
experience singing the tunes that Mammoth had made its bones performing.
“When I first joined the band,” Roth recalled, I “tried to sing some of the songs
— there was Grand Funk Railroad, as well as Black Sabbath. The music was
pretty alien to me. I didn’t even own those records. I had to go to the Thrifty
Drugstore to buy them. Did my best, which was awful.”[ 174 ]
The next day, Edward, Alex, and Roth all reflected on their performance.
Roth remembered that when the Van Halen brothers took stock, they “were
shocked and horrified” by Roth’s shortcomings. Roth, on the other hand, now
apprehended how seriously Mammoth’s fans took the band. “It was the first
time,” Roth observed, “I really became aware of how possessive an audience
could really be about a given artist or a given band. Way beyond ‘this is great
music,’ it was almost as if it were football-team time. ‘Hey, this is our band, they
represent us.’ I came from another side of town, so to speak.”[ 175 ]
As the band’s newest member, Roth had little luck convincing the Van
Halen brothers to alter their musical approach. Unsurprisingly, he suggested that
Mammoth play more pop songs. “Dave was more entertainer than musician,”
Edward said in 1980. “As a result, he had a better eye for the commercial thing.
He was into short-format stuff because people’s attention spans are only so
long.”[ 176 ]
Roth eventually made headway. Pewsey says, “Dave brought ‘The Jean
Genie’ by Bowie. He liked that glitter stuff.” Bowie’s song, along with Edgar
Winter’s “Free Ride,” “Hangin’ Around,” and the instrumental “Frankenstein”
soon became staples for the band.[ 177 ] Pewsey remembers, “We did
‘Frankenstein,’ but since I didn’t have a Moog, we cut that part out. Instead
Dave imitated the Moog by humming.” Pewsey summarizes, “The truth is that
Dave musically changed the Van Halens and the Van Halens changed Dave.”
Roth also pressed the band to take on more of a soul, funk, and blues feel.
With Pewsey’s support, he proposed Billy Preston’s 1973 hit, “Will It Go Round
in Circles.” The others agreed to play it. Brent Pettit says that even though it
was different from Mammoth’s usual fare, “they did that song great. They put
their own spin on it.” Roth had less luck when it came to the Godfather of Soul.
Pewsey recalls, “Dave liked James Brown. He pushed for us to do ‘Cold Sweat.’
Tell you the truth, I didn’t know what to think when he suggested that.” The
brothers, however, did know what they thought about it. They told Roth no.
In the midst of these musical changes, they took on more gigs: backyard parties,
high school dances, and youth club events. As the summer progressed, Roth
remained a target for the ire of disgruntled Mammoth fans. Patti Smith Sutlick
recalls, “When David Lee Roth was new in the band, I remember going to a
party up in Altadena … There were all of these car [club] guys that we knew.
They were just so disgusted that David Lee Roth was in the band. David Lee
Roth was wearing platform shoes and they were throwing their beer cans at him,
yelling, ‘Go home Hollywood! Go Home! Hollywood go home!’” Debbie Imler
McDermott felt much the same way: “When he first joined the band, I didn’t
like him as their lead singer. I didn’t know that he had any musical talent. It
took me a while to warm up to him. Here’s this guy strutting around the stage
like a rooster. He was very cocky onstage.”
Paying no attention to his critics, Roth wore increasingly outlandish outfits,
even though the others in the band didn’t share his fashion sense. Pewsey
reveals, “When he first got into Van Halen, he dressed in a more low-key
fashion. He knew the brothers didn’t like the way he dressed. Dave started out
wearing jeans when he joined the band, but then his pants started to get tighter
and tighter, and the clothes got brighter and brighter. He eventually got more
and more extravagant.”
This shift from denim to lamé offered visual evidence that Pasadena’s
favorite hard rock cover band was evolving into something new. Patti Smith
Sutlick explains, “This was really a change for the people who were seeing Van
Halen at the time when David Lee Roth first came onboard. Mammoth and
Genesis, they were more of a dark band, focused on guitar, on the other
instruments. They all looked like these long-haired, dark-haired people. David
Lee Roth just kind of brought a new kind of spirit to the group, as an
entertainer, a frontman. I think it turned off a lot of people at the beginning, but
then through the months they changed their tune.”
But for those not emotionally invested in the old Mammoth, these changes
had an undeniable appeal. Gary Putman remembers, “I thought it was great
when Roth joined. I think I liked it better. All of a sudden you heard that he was
in the band. Although we were all obsessed with electric guitar, we’d talk about
Roth and all the unique aspects he added to Van Halen, beyond the music. We
loved it. We got a kick out of it, Roth’s fucking around with the girls and all that
stuff.”
Putman’s comment highlights the fact that Roth did help expand the band’s
female fan base. Patti Smith Sutlick explains that even as her male friends flung
beer cans at Roth, she embraced the new lineup. “I loved him from the
beginning,” she remembers. Debbie Imler McDermott explains, “As they got
more popular in Pasadena, my girlfriends would coo, ‘Oooh, you — you know
him?’ Girls would be pressuring me to introduce them to Dave. They were so
excited to meet him. It got to the point where you almost had to surgically
remove girls from his body. They’d just hang all over him.”
Edward and Alex Van Halen lock in during an instrumental break while David Lee Roth performs for the
crowd, August 1973. ELIZABETH WILEY

In the meantime, Roth eventually got the band to bend to his will when it
came to “Cold Sweat.” Pewsey recalls, “We rocked it out. Dave used it as our
song to introduce the band members and say everyone’s name. He’d say, ‘Master
James Pewsey on the keyboards!’” The addition of this song, however, had a
larger symbolic importance. “Once we started to do ‘Cold Sweat’ live,” Pewsey
contends, it showed that Roth “had been accepted into the band.” After weeks of
lobbying, Roth had succeeded in bringing soul and funk to Mammoth.[ 178 ]

On balance, Roth’s addition and the band’s changing sound didn’t slow the
growth of Mammoth’s popularity. Tom Broderick, who later did live sound for
the band, says that a Mammoth party was “the place to be … you had to find out
where it was.”[ 179 ] But many of these parties didn’t last long. Leiren recalled
that once the band started playing, “the cops were going to be there in ten
minutes and bust the party. I think it was very rare that a party went to ten
o’clock let alone past ten o’clock.”[ 180 ]
Art Agajanian, whose family lived in a sprawling home with a big backyard,
decided to hire Mammoth and throw a spectacular party that he hoped would
last late into the night. Roth, in Crazy from the Heat, credited Agajanian for
taking the backyard party scene to the next level. He wrote, “Backyard parties
developed into an art form. J.C. Agajanian, the famous auto-racing promoter,
had a nephew who lived in a house with five bedrooms and a big pool and lots of
space. So when his folks would split, two, three times a year, there’d be a massive
party.”[ 181 ]
By sundown, the gathering at the Agajanian home was in full swing, with
something like eight hundred people filling the backyard. The members of
Mammoth, who’d rented their own spotlight, had set up by the pool.
Agajanian’s neighbor Jeff Touchie recalls, “At that party a lot of people went
swimming. They had an outbuilding back there, almost like a barn. They’d have
spotlights up there in the window shining on the band.” Agajanian says he knew
he’d thrown a great party when he saw that “there were girls everywhere.”
Pewsey says, “We’d play by the pool, and there’d be girls skinny-dipping right in
front of us!”
As the band sweated through their first set, many in the crowd expected the
police to arrive. But the celebration proceeded without interruption, and the
band sounded better than ever. In a reflection of Roth’s efforts to give the band a
more pop-friendly sound, Mammoth had improved their vocals. Marti observes,
“Their harmonies got much better. They had no harmonies before Roth joined. I
remember going to the Agajanians’ and they did ‘Wildfire’ by Spooky Tooth.
That was the first time that Mammoth ever did harmonies.”
 By the time the second set began, the party had reached a fever pitch.
Agajanian remembers, “There were people dancing on top of the pool house,
partying on the roof of the house, standing on top of the slide, they were
jumping off the balcony of the house into the pool. Things went well and
nobody got hurt.” Nor did the police ever arrive. In the end, “It was a damn
good time. Mammoth got to play two complete sets, maybe more, so they were
happy, because they got to perform a lot of songs.”

Despite Mammoth’s dominance on the backyard party circuit, Roth knew that
they needed to aspire to bigger things. The first step in that process would be to
find Mammoth a steady nightclub gig. To be sure, the three-piece Mammoth
had played a handful of gigs at tiny clubs like Glendale’s Under the Ice House
and Pasadena’s Gas Company, but these shows had involved the band slamming
through its usual set of hard rock cover songs in front of its teenage fans.
What Roth had in mind was something wholly different: a Top 40 gig,
which would mean playing radio-friendly material to a more mature crowd. To
find a suitable place to play, Mammoth struck a deal with a teenage San Gabriel
Valley promoter named Angelo Roman, Jr. Roman recalls that he “was trying to
book them into rock/top-40 clubs as well as local gigs, such as concerts in local
parks, which was a popular activity in the early- to mid-’70s. I also tried to
promote them for high school and college dances.” He also “got them benefit
gigs, little parks and rec gigs, and local homecoming concerts that paid
something like $125 for a four-hour gig.”[ 182 ]
Because the band wanted to play nightclubs, they needed to make a demo
tape that could be shared with club owners. On July 30, Mammoth entered a
small studio in La Puente with Roman and made what was perhaps the band’s
first demo recording. The resulting five-song tape opened with Spooky Tooth’s
“Wildfire.” Next came Preston’s “Will It Go Round in Circles” followed by
Beck, Bogert & Appice’s “Superstition.” Rounding out the recording was B.B.
King’s “Three O’Clock Blues” (a song that Roth had done with Red Ball Jet)
and a final song, perhaps a James Gang cover, that Roman listed on the tape box
as “Woman.”[ 183 ]
After working the phones, Roman finally found them a gig at a Covina club
called Posh. This booking, however, presented a stiff challenge. The contract
called for five sets of music, which translated into something like forty songs.
Edward explained, “At the gig you had to play five 45-minute sets, but most pop
songs are three or four minutes long, so that’s a lot of tunes to learn!”[ 184 ]
Roman underscores this by noting, “When I worked with them, they were a
pseudo Top 40 band” made up of musicians who much preferred to crank up
their amps and play heavy rock than play pop songs. This limited ability with
Top 40 material was, in Roman’s view, “the reason why club owners … didn’t
want to hire them.”[ 185 ]
When the band rehearsed, Edward and Alex told Roth they were almost
certainly going to have trouble fulfilling their contract. As Edward recalled, “It
was real hard for us to get into the clubs … you’d have to play five sets of Top 40
stuff, and we’d only have one set.”[ 186 ] Of course, to the relentlessly optimistic
Roth, this was no problem. Edward remembers that the band then came up with
a plan: “We figured we could play our own stuff and no one would care as long
as the beat was there.”[ 187 ]
They put that theory to the test. Pewsey recollects that Posh “was a tiny
place. Alex’s set took up half the stage. Mark kind of stood behind him. I was off
to the side of the stage. Dave and Eddie were out front.” The first set, and even
the second set, went tolerably well, but by eleven the band had run out of
suitable material.

Van Halen, formerly Mammoth, makes an early attempt to make it as a nightclub act, October 1973.
 ELIZABETH WILEY

Now Mammoth started performing hard rock hits like “Smoke on the
Water.” Since it was too early to start repeating songs, Roth called for the band’s
few original songs, which once completed, segued into an intense Black Sabbath,
James Gang, and Captain Beyond blitzkrieg, all played at an insane volume.
Pewsey explains, “Eddie used to keep his full stack onstage for a club show but
only plug in the top cabinet so he could get his feedback.” Still, “he turned
everything up to eleven. It was hard for me to be heard a lot of the time, even
when we miked me through the PA. That’s how loud Eddie’s amp was.”
Between the volume and the songs, Posh’s owner had had enough. Edward
told Guitar World what happened next: “The owner of the club walks up to us
while we were playing a song and goes, ‘Stop! I hired you to play Top 40. What
is this shit?’”[ 188 ]
The band, however, refused to quit. Pewsey explains, “I remember the
owner cut the power because he was so mad. All of sudden we were all cut off,
but then Alex just played a solo, because the drums weren’t miked! The owner
couldn’t have been too mad because the people were going crazy for us and
buying drinks.”
When Alex finally relented, Posh’s proprietor unloaded. “He told us to get
the fuck out of there, and he wouldn’t let us take our equipment,” Edward said.
“We had to come back the next week and pick up our equipment. It was always
that way. It was either ‘the guitarist is too loud’ or ‘plays too psychedelic.’ They
always complained about me.”[ 189 ] Pewsey adds, “We got fired after one
night,” but “we didn’t give a shit, because we knew we would keep getting gigs.”
Those gigs, however, would have to come from promoters other than Roman,
who parted ways with the band after a few months’ time.

Sometime in the late summer or fall of 1973, the band received some unwelcome
news in the form of a cease-and-desist notice from another band that demanded
that Edward and the others stop using their band name.[ 190 ] Michael Kelley,
who haunted the Strip during these years, explains, “The ‘other’ Mammoth was
from the San Fernando Valley; they had a great Cozy Powellesque drummer
named Rick Poindexter, and I saw them once at the Starwood.”[ 191 ]
The band held a meeting to hash out a new moniker. The brothers, still
thinking of their band as a cover act, wanted to use the name Rat Salad, after the
Black Sabbath song.[ 192 ] Roth countered with Van Halen, which “had power
to it” and reminded him of “the name Santana.”[ 193 ] Alex later told Steven
Rosen that he and Edward initially objected “because we didn’t want to appear
conceited.”[ 194 ] Pewsey remembers that once the brothers came around to the
idea of using their surname, they asserted, “It’s our name. No one can steal that.”
Mammoth now had a new name, which, to Edward, sounded “huge, like an
atomic bomb.”[ 195 ]

With Roman out of the picture, Roth took the lead in trying to get club gigs. As
he created his wish list of venues, one logistical challenge involved hauling their
equipment, which wouldn’t all fit into their cars. Thus, Roth enlisted the help of
his friend Bobby Hatch. According to Roth, he’d call Hatch, who owned a
pickup truck, “whenever we would borrow extra guitar amps” for important gigs.
[ 196 ]
Hatch remembers that they convoyed to nightspots all over the city,
including a Glendale club called the Sopwith Camel, which by October 1973
was featuring a local band called Steely Dan. He describes how he’d “be one of
the one or two people in the audience” when Van Halen auditioned. “They
sounded great,” but they didn’t get these gigs.
Roth was undeterred. Hatch explains that Roth “was the go-getter. He got
everybody amped up. He was relentless. He did not stop.” Regardless of the
pitfalls, he always seemed like he had a plan. “He had mucho huevos,” Hatch
asserts. “Nothing scared him.”
Roth and the rest of the band decamped to his father’s home in the fall of
1973 to record some original material. “We did do a demo at Dave’s house,”
Pewsey remembers. At least two solid hard rock songs ended up on tape, one
called “Gentleman of Leisure,” which featured a Johnny Winter–influenced riff
that played cat-and-mouse with Alex’s cowbells. The other, “Glitter,” paid lyrical
tribute to the era’s hottest rock trend and was propelled by an angular proto-
metal riff that would have been at home on any early Iron Maiden record.
With a new demo tape in the can, Roth steered Van Halen towards
Gazzarri’s, the club that Red Ball Jet had auditioned at back in mid-1972. For
the Sunday night audition, Roth dressed for success. Pewsey relates, “I
remember he wore platform shoes at Gazzarri’s. He was towering with those
shoes on … all of us except Dave were in jeans.” Fashion aside, Edward later
explained that at this initial audition, Van Halen played “a couple of our own
tunes” and some “rock and roll.”[ 197 ]
Along with not playing the Top 40 songs that the club’s management
desired, Edward played at an ear-piercing level, which drove a club employee to
interrupt Van Halen’s tryout by yelling, “You’re too loud, turn down!”[ 198 ]
Apart from the volume issues, Hatch says he was at a loss to explain their lack of
success. “I don’t know why” they didn’t get those gigs. “I heard them enough. I
started thinking, God, these guys are great. They had a nice beat and everybody
sounded good together.”
As the setbacks mounted, Roth reiterated to the others that one key thing
that was holding them back was their rejection of onstage fashion. Roth was,
according to Hatch, “a rock star before he was a rock star. I swear to God. You
knew he was going to be a rock star, honestly.” When they loaded in and out for
these gigs, Roth would tell the other four guys in the band, “You’ve got to play
the part.” Hatch says, “He’s the one that actually got Eddie and Alex to start
dressing right, because when I used to drive them to the Sopwith Camel and
other clubs they’d dress like old hippies still. It was kind of a joke. Dave Roth
was going, ‘Come on, guys, you’ve got to do this. You’ve got to act like this.’”
Edward and Alex had come to a crossroads. They could blend in with their
friends, or they could follow Roth’s lead by building a band image that would set
them apart. Bill Maxwell says, “We were all wearing Levi’s and white shirts and
desert boots. You didn’t get caught wearing anything else. But Dave did.”
 Still, the idea of donning gaudy stage clothes was galling for the brothers.
Debbie Imler McDermott explains, “After Dave joined, their image began to
change. That was all Dave with the image stuff. He was the flashier one. When
they started wearing lamé and platforms, it must have been hard for Edward and
Alex to put those clothes on. When they were younger, all they would wear were
Levi’s, T-shirts, and tennis shoes, because that’s all they could afford.”
In effect, Roth wanted them to dress like rock stars, but Edward never
aspired to that kind of stardom. He confessed to Esquire in 2012 that as a young
person “I certainly never would have wanted to be in the business that I’m in,
meaning the fame and the glory, the glitter, the rock star, the famous
part.”[ 199 ] He’d touched on this same issue years earlier, saying, “I had an
English class where I had to do an essay on what my future plans were — what I
wanted to do in life. I said I wanted to be a professional rock guitarist — not a
rock star.”[ 200 ]
Regardless, Roth tried to instill confidence in his shy guitarist. David
Swantek remembers, “One night Dave comes up in his little Opal wagon that
his dad bought him. He says, ‘Hey, Eddie’s coming up. Compliment him on his
hair. I got him to get his hair done professionally instead of cutting it in front of
the bedroom mirror. He got it done by a hair stylist.’ This was a huge event. He
says, ‘Tell him his hair looks good.’”
Hatch was there as well and remembers that when the guitarist arrived, he
could tell that “Eddie felt so bad, like, This isn’t me, I look like a woman or
something.” Still, Hatch and the others chimed in with, “Oh man, Ed! That looks
great!” Swantek explains, “This kind of tells you how Dave worked. He comes up
and preps the whole thing, then Eddie comes up and we say, ‘Yeah, looks good
man! Come on, let’s smoke one!’”
Along with a new haircut for his guitar player, Roth pressed for more stage
presence from the band members. Swantek says, “I do remember him working
on the idea that the band had to move around. One of the things he did early on
is that he introduced each member of the band and had them do a solo, trying to
build identity for each member of the band.” Still, Roth had to move cautiously
as he “leaned on them a bit” to shift their approach: “He had to be careful about
it, because these guys were really set in their ways.”
By October 1973, these changes began to take hold, and guitarist David
Perry was there to witness them at an Arcadia High School dance. He recalls, “I
was in my sophomore year. I didn’t know this band. There was lots of
excitement as they set their amps and drums up. Before they went on, it was
dark onstage. Out of the darkness, Eddie started doing this little pull-off riff. It
absolutely scorched the place. I was like, Wow, listen to that! The light came on
as they started the song. They had a ‘Vanhalen’ banner with their old-school
logo. Dave was in a drab trench coat, and he suddenly ripped it off as he started
moving around. He had these striped black-and-white pants on. Eddie wore a
blue crushed velvet suit and played a Les Paul. They played some originals. I
remember they also played [ZZ Top’s] ‘La Grange.’”
Carl Haasis, an Arcadia guitar player, also saw this gig. He remembers that
despite Roth’s best efforts to get his guitarist in motion, Edward’s stage presence
remained limited. “The first time I ever heard of Van Halen, they played a high
school dance at Arcadia High School. They played [Elton John’s] ‘Saturday
Night’s Alright for Fighting.’ They played ‘Free Ride’ by Edgar Winter. I
thought they sounded great, but I remember Ed just kind of stood there. He just
kind of looked down and played. He didn’t really move around a lot.”
Even if Roth hadn’t gotten Edward moving, he had his own ideas about
how to create a spectacle onstage. Back in May 1973, Vincent Carberry, his
girlfriend Patti, and Roth had taken a road trip to Sin City. Right before they
returned home, Roth did some shopping. Carberry explains, “You know those
plastic glasses with a rubber nose attached? He bought one. It had plastic glasses,
but instead of having a rubber nose it had a dick! He got it in a novelty place and
he was wearing it in the car.” As they drove out of Vegas, Roth looked “out the
back window at other cars going by with kids and old ladies and stuff, getting
people all shocked and pissed off and everything.”

David Lee Roth, wearing a pair of gag glasses, poses outside Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, 1973. PATTI FUJII
CARBERRY
 Months later, Van Halen played a Halloween party at Glendale High
School. The first set transpired without incident, but then Roth put Edward up
to doing a sight gag to start the second set. “After a break,” Pewsey says, “Eddie
came out with a Groucho Marx hat and glasses with a penis for a nose.” While
the assembled students laughed and pointed, Roth set out to further shock the
audience. Perhaps inspired by the way that David Bowie had simulated fellatio
on Mick Ronson’s guitar during the Spiders from Mars tour, Roth, to Pewsey’s
disgust, “fondled the nose with his mouth while Eddie was wearing it.”
However long it took the audience to recover, it had an immediate effect on
Van Halen itself. Pewsey says he took serious offense at Roth’s actions and, after
months of barely tolerating Roth’s antics and personality, he exited the band.
For Edward, losing his keyboardist was a relief. “We used to have a
keyboard player,” he told Guitar Player in 1978. “I hated it because I had to play
everything exactly the same with him. I couldn’t noodle in between the vocal
lines, because he was doing something to fill it up.”[ 201 ] Other moments of
tension followed: “My guitar kept going out of tune and he got so pissed,”
Edward remembered. Pewsey, who has perfect pitch, would shout to Edward,
“Tune, Goddamn!” The guitarist would yell back, “Fuck you! Tune to
me!’”[ 202 ] Ultimately, “I was writing songs then and the keyboards just didn’t
fit,” Edward explained. Thus, once Van Halen became a quartet, they would
remain so for the duration of the band’s thirty-year career.[ 203 ]

Apart from the fact that the band now could split its earnings four ways instead
of five, it probably mattered little to Roth whether or not Van Halen featured a
keyboard player. Roth knew that the essential members of the band were Alex
and Edward, and to the amazement of nearly every observer in Pasadena, Roth
had built a musical partnership with them. In the months that followed, this
union would provide the foundation for Van Halen’s growth outside of greater
Pasadena, but not before they made the case that they were the city’s most
disruptive and talented rock band.
 CHAPTER FIVE: BREAKTHROUGH
Mark Algorri and Mario Miranda had a problem with Van Halen. The two
young music entrepreneurs had just heard the results of Pasadena City College’s
December 1973 battle of the bands, and Van Halen had eliminated the two
bands they managed. Gary Putman, who played guitar in one of them, recalls
that Van Halen won by playing a killer version of the glam rock hit “All the Way
from Memphis” by Mott the Hoople. Putman observes that even though it’s a
piano-based song, “Eddie would go, I’ll figure out a way to fuckin’ do that riff —
Dah Da Da Da Dah Da Da Da! — on guitar.”[ 204 ] Thanks to Roth’s song
selection and Edward’s creativity, they’d come out on top.
As Van Halen broke down its equipment, Miranda walked onto the stage.
Roth immediately stopped him.
“Hey man! What do you need? What are you doing?”
Miranda introduced himself. “Hey, you guys are really, really good. We’ve
got some connections.” As Miranda talked to Roth about how he and his partner
could help Van Halen with club bookings, Edward and Alex stood off to the
side, paying little attention to the conversation.
Roth listened impatiently. “No, I do everything. We don’t need anybody. I
take care of business. Thank you. We’ll take your card and let you know if we
need any help.”
Miranda handed Roth a business card and said goodbye.

It’s hard to believe that Roth and the others felt confident about their nightclub
gig prospects; after weeks of effort, the band still hadn’t landed steady work. In
fact, Roth later revealed that during his first months in the band, Van Halen had
been rejected by nineteen clubs.[ 205 ] But the next few months proved to be
momentous for Van Halen as they worked to become more than just the biggest
backyard party band in Pasadena.

When the Swantek brothers heard from a neighbor that he planned to have a
late December party, they knew just who to call. David Swantek explains, “Rod
Heublein lived down from us on Mountain Street in a really big house. His dad
was a judge and his parents were out of town. Well, he’d never done a party
before. But he knew us, Dave Roth, and the Van Halen brothers.”
That’s all it took. Scores of teenagers arrived at the Heublein residence
before Van Halen even began playing. And once the group’s songs started
reverberating through the neighborhood, kids in cars could roll down their
windows and hear Van Halen from blocks away. Soon the house and backyard
were overrun with buzzed young people.
For Heublein, the size of the party would turn out to be the least of his
problems. After Charles Levor got into a late night argument with another
teenager, the teen left the party swearing that he’d be back to settle the score. As
the Star-News reported, he’d kept his word. He returned with fifteen to twenty
of his friends, who came armed with “two knives, a shotgun, possibly another
gun, and a blunt instrument, possibly a bottle or pipe.” Within moments, shots
rang out. Levor was wounded with “50 buckshot wounds on his backside,” and
two other men were injured, one with a serious stab wound and the other with a
contusion from a blunt object.[ 206 ]
The chaos of the evening left a lasting impression. Tom Hensley, a friend of
Edward’s, says, “I was in the driveway and saw the two shots. Levor ran and
stumbled and fell right at my feet. I don’t care whether you’re at war or in Los
Angeles, when someone pulls out a gun like that, it is a scary deal. Maybe it was
the first drive-by shooting, back forty years ago.”

Some weeks later, Van Halen set their sights on another gig. In an effort to get
teenagers to take part in the celebration of Pasadena’s centennial, city leaders
encouraged a committee of civic-minded teens to organize a free concert by local
bands, which would be held on the steps of Pasadena’s city hall. While the
groups wouldn’t be paid, the January 1974 concert would allow them to perform
in front of a crowd of thousands.[ 207 ]
The quartet soon heard that they were one of four bands to make the cut.
Each act would play for one hour. At 8:00 p.m., the show would open with
Scottie and the Hankies, a 1950s rock and roll revival act, followed by Kismet, a
jazz band. After Van Halen played, Headwinds, a progressive rock group, would
close out the night. With the pieces in place, committee chairman Michael
Jensen told the Star-News that he foresaw few pitfalls, other than rain or too
large of a crowd.[ 208 ]
That Friday evening, about two thousand young people had gathered in
front of the stage as the Hankies got things underway. Steve Bruen, the group’s
guitarist, remembers that he and his bandmates “were wearing wigs and did kind
of a Sha Na Na ’50s revival show. It was a blast.” After Kismet came and went,
the audience had swelled to nearly five thousand, far more than the organizers
had expected.
With the smell of pot hanging heavy in the air, Van Halen appeared. As
Roth led the band through its set, the crowd got unruly. Spectators loaded on
booze and pills started fighting. Teens with hooded eyes and wobbly legs leaned
and pushed backwards in all directions to get clear of the scrums. Within these
openings, drunks pounded each other into submission. Dana Anderson says, “I
remember that gig. It was really violent. A guy named Taylor was there with me.
He was the kind of guy who played football and worked out all the time, and he
had a horrible temper. We were getting ready to leave and somebody bumped
him and spilled his beer. He hit this guy so hard that the first thing to hit the
ground was his head. And I think the cops came right after that. I’m sure he was
badly hurt.”
The Pasadena police had seen enough. Backstage, two agitated officers
cornered committee members, telling them that between the brawls and bottles
that had smashed into police cars, the show had gotten out of control. If things
didn’t calm down, they’d pull the plug on Van Halen.[ 209 ]
After an intense conversation, a compromise was brokered. Roth made a
halfhearted statement asking everyone to “cool [out with] the drinking.” In
response, the crowd booed and jeered. During the remainder of Van Halen’s
performance, cops pressed their way through the crowd and began confiscating
alcohol, pouring out, according to the Star-News, enough “booze to fill a liquor
store.”[ 210 ]
The city hall gig is a lost landmark in Van Halen history. That night, Van
Halen played in front of their largest audience to date, one comprised largely of
their fans. “The city hall gig was a Van Halen crowd,” says Karen Imler, who
attended the concert. Scott Finnell of the Hankies adds, “All the people who
showed up didn’t know us from Adam, but they knew Van Halen. It was all the
kids who went to their parties.” All of this meant, as guitarist Terry Kilgore
observes, that this show was one “that made them more popular” across the city.
After years of gigging around Pasadena, Van Halen was now capable of drawing
thousands.
A month later, another opportunity materialized. Jack Van Furche', the teenage
son of a successful doctor, had just applied to become a member of a custom van
club. “I was trying to get into the club at the time,” he remembers. “And they
always gave everyone an initiation of some sort. And mine was, ‘Jack, you’ve got
to throw a party for the club.’ They thought, Heh, his folks ain’t never gonna to let
him throw a party at their place. I came to the next meeting a week later with my
stepdad, and he said, ‘All right, let’s go! How many kegs are we ordering?’ …
Two days later I was voted into the club.”
It’s no surprise that the club wanted Van Furche' to host a party. His
parents’ residence was an English Tudor mansion nestled in the heart of San
Marino, one of the most elite zip codes in the Golden State. “Jack’s house was
huge. It was like a castle,” explains Debbie Hannaford Lorenz, who was dating
Jack at the time. The backyard covered two-and-a-half acres, landscaped with
terraces that sloped downward from the back of the house and bordered by
mature trees. The lowest terrace levels featured tennis courts and a pool. In sum,
it was a property tailor-made for a gigantic backyard party.
The next day, the phone rang at 1881 Las Lunas. Van Furche' says, “I called
Eddie and said, ‘This gig’s for my van club. I’ve got to have a real good band.
Can you be there?’” The two teens then met and came to an agreement. “We did
everything on the back of a little business card that he signed and wrote
everything down for me, and he goes, ‘Here it is. We’ll see you there!’” Years
later, Edward explained to Rolling Stone, “We used to play backyard parties
down in San Marino, the real rich part of Pasadena, where Roth lived. The
parents were away for the weekend, the kids would have a party and hire us.
We’d get a little Abbey Rents stage, cheap lights, and charge a buck.”[ 211 ]
 Mammoth lead guitarist Edward Van Halen’s business card, 1973. CHERI WHITAKER

Meanwhile, Van Furche' and his club printed up hundreds of flyers and
spread them everywhere.[ 212 ] The handbill promised “Refreshments +
Dancing,” along with music by Van Halen, all for two dollars.
By the day before the party, it was clear that the promotional campaign had
worked well — perhaps too well. Van Furche' explains, “Back then there was
KMET-FM radio, and on Fridays and Saturdays if anything was happening in
town they’d always announce it over the radio. Somehow, one of my flyers had
gotten over there, and over the air they said, ‘Hey, Van Halen’s playing this
weekend on Arden and Oak Grove.’”
On the afternoon of March 9, preparations began at the Van Furche'
residence. Down on the tennis courts, Van Halen tested its lighting rig and
soundchecked on its rented stage. Back up at the house, a local liquor store
delivered a dozen kegs. Van Furche' and his friends also worked up a plan to
keep freeloaders from jumping the property’s walls. Reinforcements for this
effort would come from members of the Vagos, an outlaw motorcycle club, who,
after an invite from the van club, had added the party to their social calendar.
[ 213 ]
 Flyer for Van Halen’s epic March 1974 backyard party, which drew a crowd of thousands. FROM THE
COLLECTION OF TOM BONAWITZ

By dusk, it was clear that a significant percentage of the San Gabriel Valley’s
young people had decided to attend. Lorenz recalls that from early in the
evening “people were coming into the backyard saying how long it took them
just to walk to the house.” When they told her which streets they’d parked on,
she’d say, “That far away? You couldn’t even get any closer than that?” But once
she glanced back up at the house, she better understood what was transpiring.
Under the archway that led to the backyard, she remembers that people stood
shoulder to shoulder as they struggled to enter the yard.
When the big yard had nearly filled up, Van Halen started to play. Lorenz
recollects, “They were in the very back of the backyard. You could see them
through the tennis court fence, so from everywhere you could see, because the
backyard went higher and higher. They actually got to play for quite a long time.
It was amazing.” Down on the courts, kids boogied. Karen Imler says, “I
remember dancing at that party while Van Halen did the blues and some Led
Zeppelin.”
By 9:30 p.m., the party was raging. Scores of kids milled around inside the
home. The backyard was a sea of humanity. “I remember standing facing the
house,” Lorenz says. “It’s packed like sardines in this whole backyard. It was
solid people. There were thousands of people there. There were people into the
front yard.”
Just then, the rhythmic whump of helicopter blades sounded. As everyone
looked up, a three-and-half-million candlepower spotlight illuminated the yard.
[ 214 ] Chris Holmes, who later went on to platinum success with 1980s shock-
rockers W.A.S.P., remembers, “This was a huge party. It got outta hand so the
cops showed up and of course they brought the helicopter, which was shining a
light down that lit up all the kids in the yard.” After the spotlight did nothing to
scatter the crowd, the pilot began ordering people to disperse over the chopper’s
loudspeakers.
Van Halen and the partygoers were having none of it. Edward and Mark
turned their amps to ten while Roth cracked one-liners. “When the helicopter
came over, the band just thought it was funny,” Lorenz says. Van Furche' adds,
“The helicopter was flying overhead for about forty-five minutes with the
spotlight, and Dave was hamming it up. From the start, he saw that light and he
just used it by singing in it, because the light was right there on the stage —
right there on the guys. There were instant spotlights.”
Meanwhile, dozens of San Marino police officers fought their way onto the
property. Lorenz remembers that as the copter hovered, she and her friends
stood in the middle of the yard with their backs to the house, watching Van
Halen. “Then all of a sudden, a policeman taps me on the shoulder and I turn
around and everything behind me was completely empty of people. I never even
noticed that everyone behind me was gone! I didn’t have a clue.” Van Furche'
observes, “It took the police over an hour to get through the crowd back into the
tennis courts where the band was. They finally got stopped when a cop removed
Roth’s microphone from under the spotlight.”
Lorenz, who was living in the house at the time, made her way into the
residence and found some friends in Jack’s bedroom. With the lights off, Lorenz
and the others looked out the window at the chaos in the long circular driveway
and up on the street. “Everyone was pissed off at the police for ending such a
wonderful night,” she remembers. Out in the yard, partygoers hurled rocks and
bottles at the police.[ 215 ] Janice Pirre Francis, who later helped promoters put
on Van Halen shows, saw kids on nearby streets “turning over trash cans,
lighting them on fire, and destroying property.”
Closer to the house, a mob of kids had set upon a police cruiser. “You know
how you can rock a car back and forth to get it to flip over?” Lorenz says. “I
watched it happen. We were up in Jack’s room looking out the window and sure
enough they’d flipped over a police car in front of the house.”
In the days that followed, partygoers spun tales about the night in high
school hallways. An account of the event even hit the local paper. The San
Marino Tribune reported this “van gathering” had backed up traffic for miles and
“a disturbance,” punctuated by thrown projectiles, had broken out around eleven
o’clock.[ 216 ]
The Van Halen brothers still remembered this party twenty-five years later.
In an interview, Alex recalled that “four cop cars got turned over” that night.
Edward said, “I’ll never forget we played a backyard party once. It was written up
in the paper. Nineteen people got busted and stuff. I’ll never forget a group of
guys took one cop and they took his handcuffs and they handcuffed him around
a tree with his own handcuffs!”[ 217 ]
By the same token, San Gabriel Valley police forces weren’t going to forget
either. Along with the tumultuous city hall concert, the Van Furche' party made
clear that when it came to dealing with Van Halen and its fans, it was time to
take the gloves off. Francis observes that the Van Furche' party was the one most
responsible for giving “backyard parties and ‘keggers’ such a bad name” among
authority figures. Still, the members of Van Halen saw it as business as usual,
just on a larger scale. “Wild teenagers?” Edward remarked. “Yeah … that was
our audience.”[ 218 ]

A few days later, Roth called Miranda. He remembers that Roth said, “What
can you do for us?” Miranda likely mentioned that Algorri had a cousin who
worked with the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean. A more immediate incentive
was a chance to play Gazzarri’s. Roth said, “We’ve already auditioned. Bill
Gazzarri doesn’t like us.” Miranda explained that the self-proclaimed “godfather
of rock and roll” had recently hired Algorri and Miranda to audition bands for
him, freeing him from a task he despised. They’d make sure that Van Halen got
to play a couple of sets one night when the club was open for business, so the
owner could size them up. Thanks to Algorri and Miranda, Van Halen had
another Gazzarri’s audition.[ 219 ]
David Lee Roth and Edward Van Halen rehearse in a garage in Altadena, California, early 1974. ELIZABETH
WILEY
 The guitarist and lead singer of Van Halen confer at practice in Altadena, early 1974. ELIZABETH WILEY

The quartet was determined to succeed this time. They retreated to their
new practice location, a battered garage located at 1940 Maiden Lane in
Altadena, on a property owned by a friend of Roth’s, Elizabeth Wiley. Their
four-hour rehearsals, which transpired six days a week, took on an extra
intensity.[ 220 ] Taylor Freeland, who often watched them practice, remembers
the routine: “They’d go through their sets, and if they had a song they needed to
work on, it would be like this: Alex would count in with his sticks, One-two-
three-four! And it would sound just like the record. Then somewhere in the
middle, you’d get Edward yelling, ‘No no no!’ Alex would scream, ‘What the
FUCK?’ Then there’d be arguments. Then you’d have to go out and have a
smoke. Then they’d do it again. This went on for years.” Vincent Carberry says
that while Red Ball Jet practices had been all about fun, the one he saw in the
Maiden Lane garage was “very grim and serious. They were just all business.”

Alex Van Halen pounds out a beat at rehearsal, early 1974. ELIZABETH WILEY

Kilgore, who was close friends with Edward, points out that there was one
band member who made sure everyone stayed on task — or else. “No one
remembers,” he observes, “that Al ran that group and pretty much had last word
due to several reasons, the main [one] being that he could easily beat the shit
out” of anyone who didn’t agree. When Alex would power through several cans
of Schlitz Malt Liquor — the band’s favorite — he’d take on all comers. “I recall
lots [of] sparring with Stan Swantek, me, Ed, Gregg Emerson, and whoever else
happened to be around.”[ 221 ]

On the day of their audition, Algorri and Miranda, along with Putman, helped
the four musicians load in their gear. “If you can envision it,” Miranda says,
“you’d walk into Gazzarri’s and it had this stage in the middle, and then to the
right and the left you’ve got two other smaller stages.” In the compact upstairs
area, there was another stage. As Van Halen set up on one of the downstairs side
stages, the band members looked around. The walls were papered with huge
black-and-white photos of some of the former winners of the club’s trademark
“Miss Gazzarri’s” dance contests, including sex kitten Barbi Benton. Fluorescent
posters, which would glow under black light when the club was open for
business, also hung on the wall. But with the house lights up, the club was a
dirty, dingy place.
Indeed, Gazzarri’s circa 1974 was a far cry from the club that had showcased
the Doors and Buffalo Springfield back in 1967. “Gazzarri’s was not doing well
at the time,” Algorri concedes. “It had a sleazy reputation. I hate to use that
word, but it really did. It had fallen from the pinnacle.” Dave Connor, a
musician who also played the club in 1974, agrees: “Gazzarri’s had a sense of
already having seen its day. The Whisky was more of a place you would want to
play that was higher up. Gazzarri’s was seedy. It was not a happening venue. You
had the sense that it had been at one time, but it really had that quality that its
day had passed it by.”
When nine o’clock rolled around, Van Halen started playing in front of a
sizable crowd. Roth had dressed for Hollywood success, wearing a skintight little
boy’s sweater, hip-hugging London Britches jeans, and platforms.[ 222 ] Even
Alex and Edward, who still thought that a T-shirt and dirty jeans made for a
good stage outfit, had dressed up for the occasion. “So around the time we
auditioned to play Gazzarri’s on the Sunset Strip,” Edward told Rolling Stone, “I
got some platforms and nearly broke my ankles.”[ 223 ] The shy Stone,
meanwhile, had refused to glam it up, leaving the band’s vocalist and guitarist, as
Edward remembered, looking like two “long-haired, platformed, goofy lookin’
fools!”[ 224 ]
While Roth had long pushed for this image change, the truth is that
ambitious young rock musicians in Hollywood dressed this way, thanks to the
influence of glam rock. At Rodney Bingenheimer’s English Disco, glam rock
stars like David Bowie hung out amidst scores of wildly dressed teens. According
to Newsweek, “The dance floor is a dizzy kaleidoscope of lamé hotpants,
sequined halters, rhinestone-studded cheeks, thrift-store anythings, and see-
through everythings. During the breaks, fourteen-year-old girls on six-inch
platforms teeter into the back bathrooms to grope with their partners of the
moment.”[ 225 ] This outrageous atmosphere made the English Disco, and
Hollywood by extension, what the New Musical Express described as the “the
mecca for the sub-teen groovers of Southern California and horny British Rock
musicians.”[ 226 ]

Edward Van Halen solos at Lanterman Auditorium in La Cañada, California, November 22, 1975. MARY
GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

That night at Gazzarri’s, however, it was clear that Van Halen had changed
more than their dress. They also dispensed with the abrasive hard rock that club
owner Bill Gazzarri hated, instead offering up a set of radio-friendly material.
“We learned ‘Mr. Skin’ by Spirit,” Edward told Steven Rosen, so “we actually
attempted to do stuff that wasn’t us, just to get a gig.”[ 227 ] Algorri remembers,
“They did a pretty commercial set. They definitely had some good ZZ Top
songs that they played. Their set was very punchy and very good.”
After the show, Algorri and Miranda tracked the band down. The four
musicians sat on a wall behind the club, smoking and drinking as they talked
about the gig. When the two promoters walked up, Roth asked what Bill
Gazzarri thought about Van Halen.
Algorri said, “He didn’t like you guys at first.”
Having tried out at the club three times now, Roth saw red.
Miranda quickly said, “Wait a minute. No, that was at first, man. Algorri
talked to Bill. He chilled out.”
Algorri went on to explain that they’d lined up a regular booking. “We’re
going to work on getting you guys in here, if you want to play.”
Within a few days, the parties had signed a contract. Van Halen would
perform from April 4 to 7 and from April 11 to 14, with a cut of their payment
going to Algorri and Miranda. As soon as the last pen left the paper, Roth had
achieved a goal he’d long pursued. He’d front a band that would do a weekend
engagement on the Sunset Strip.[ 228 ]

But before Van Halen played their first full weekend at Gazzarri’s, they had
another show to perform. It was in San Marino on March 29, but this time at
the city’s high school, where Van Halen would open for Honk, a successful surf
rock band.[ 229 ]
On the night of the concert, something like a thousand people were in the
auditorium, including a freshman named Robyn McDonald.[ 230 ] She watched
as Van Halen performed some covers and originals. Then Roth, perhaps inspired
by Jim Morrison’s exploits in Miami back in 1969, tried a wardrobe trick.
McDonald remembers, “David started unzipping his pants and started to pull
them down mid-song.” The school’s principal immediately made a beeline for
Roth. “Principal Jack Rankin,” McDonald explains, “walked onstage and made
David pull them up.”[ 231 ] After the show, Rankin, like so many other residents
of San Marino, had seen enough of Van Halen. Mark Stone remembers, “We
were told afterwards that we couldn’t play there again … We were banned from
the school because Dave was so lewd.”[ 232 ]
Before they left the campus, Algorri met two young ladies, one of whom
had a particular interest in Van Halen’s singer. Algorri recalls, “After the thing,
two girls had come to the stage door. One was very beautiful, a very dramatic-
looking gal. They had been in a black Cadillac limousine outside. It turned out
that the beautiful girl’s mother was an actress. I don’t remember the name, but
she was a well-known actress from years before. She had gotten wind of David
Roth and had this unbelievable crush on him.”
This beauty, it turned out, had a proposition for Van Halen. “She said, ‘I
want to help pay for a demo tape.’” Because Algorri and Miranda didn’t have the
money to bankroll a recording session, this sounded promising. Algorri found
Roth and filled him in. Roth replied, “Yeah man, this sounds great.” After
introductions, the girls drank beer with the band in the parking lot, made plans
to book some studio time over the next few weeks, and got more acquainted with
Roth.[ 233 ]

On the night of April 4, Miranda poked his head out of the Gazzarri’s entrance.
The line was long and the club was buzzing. Van Halen played three sets that
evening, which Miranda says featured a “lot of Top 40” plus the occasional
original. “They had originals but not a lot of originals to play every set.” Over the
course of the weekend and the one that followed, Algorri recalls that they
“started bringing in a huge number of people, because the band obviously had
this huge following. It was these Pasadena kids who all started going on a regular
basis. They became a sensation.”

Even though the band felt elated about their Gazzarri’s breakthrough, Alex and
Edward felt increasingly dissatisfied with their bass player’s performance. Stone
could sometimes be “unprofessional,” which became a problem as the band
played bigger and bigger gigs. “Stone used to piss them off back in the backyard
party days,” Eric Hensel recalls. “They’d take a break between sets and Alex
would have a hell of a time finding him to get the next set going. I remember Ed
calling for him on the PA a couple times, and then Ed would grin, but you could
tell he wasn’t happy about it. Stone was usually the last one back from breaks,
because he’d be off smoking dope with somebody.”
This interest in partying, of course, was something shared by all the
members of Van Halen. Bill Maxwell notes, “Mark liked to drink, but so did
they.” But for however many intoxicants the rest of the band took, Stone seemed
to be taking more. “I guess Edward had a problem with Mark’s memory,” Burke
says. “He couldn’t remember songs.”
Years later, Edward offered details about Stone’s decline. “We started
playing clubs like Gazzarri’s,” he explained, “and the old bass player we had used
to smoke too much pot and hash. We had a repertoire … that you had to
remember, and he’d be so high, he’d be playing a different song.”[ 234 ] In 1995,
Edward offered more details to Rolling Stone: “We had this bass player who was
really creative but smoked too much hash. He was going to school to be a
pharmacist — swear to God. He spent more time at home building LSD
molecules. We were playing parties with a repertoire of a hundred songs, and he
wouldn’t remember stuff.”[ 235 ] These mistakes, which jeopardized the band’s
progress, particularly irked Alex, says Maxwell. “Stone and Alex did not see eye-
to-eye. When the drummer and the bass player don’t see eye-to-eye, you’ve got
problems.”

While the problems with Stone festered, Van Halen continued to gig. In early
1974, the band hooked up with a Los Angeles entertainment impresario named
Ray Engel. Engel, however, was not a rock promoter. Engel hosted sex-themed
parties.
Engel hired Van Halen to perform at the Proud Bird nightclub on April 26.
In the advertising material, Engel proclaimed, “If you want to go to something
really far-out & different, then join us” for “Glamour, Glitter, Insanity … Circus
Acts, Costumes, Body Painting, Celebrities,” and, courtesy of a quartet from
Pasadena, “Rock ’n’ Roll.”[ 236 ]
Elizabeth Wiley, who accompanied Van Halen to this “Freak Ball,” recalls
that she and Dave took in the sights. Walking around together, they marveled at
the “strange things” they’d “seen for sale in the booths,” including “nail-studded
beds, cat-o’-nine-tails, thigh-high boots with pointed metal-tipped toes and …
auditions for porn films.”[ 237 ]
After Van Halen finished, Roth “met a gal,” as he wrote in Crazy from the
Heat. He “wound up back at her place, went into her room.” When he opened
his bloodshot eyes in the morning, he saw that “every square inch of her walls
and her ceilings and the facings of the bureau were covered with pictures of rock
and roll singers.” Roth, future frontman extraordinaire, had bedded his first
professional groupie.[ 238 ]

The following Friday, Van Halen headlined a concert at PHS Auditorium, with
two other bands in support. Brown Eyes, a six-piece funk-jazz band, opened the
show, followed by Snake, an Arcadia-based power trio, fronted by Michael
Anthony Sobolewski. Anthony, a barrel-chested, easygoing young man, not only
played bass in the band, he also served as lead singer, de facto manager, and van
driver.[ 239 ]
Anthony, it turns out, had grown up woodshedding and working on his bass
chops just a few miles away from where Roth and the Van Halen brothers had
grown up. Like his future bandmates, Anthony, his siblings, and his parents had
moved to the San Gabriel Valley during the 1960s. Anthony, who had played
trumpet as a child, took up the bass in the late 1960s. His first group, Poverty’s
Children, was a family affair, with his brother Steven playing drums and a
friend, Mike Hershey, playing guitar.[ 240 ]
Like the Van Halen brothers, Anthony had parents who supported his
musical endeavors. With him and his brothers all bitten by the rock-music bug,
their parents allowed them to take over their Arcadia garage. Joe Ramsey, who
grew up near Anthony, recalled, “Mike was great when we were younger. He
was two years older than me. I met him through his younger brother; we were in
a band together. We used to rehearse at his parents’ house. They had a rehearsal
room, which was a soundproofed garage, that you could practice in … You could
be loud and no one cared.”
Anthony practiced in the garage with his different bands. One was a short-
lived power trio called Balls. Werner Schuchner, the band’s guitarist, says, “We
did Led Zeppelin and Humble Pie. We had a good drummer, and Mike sang
really well.”
Another of Anthony’s bands was called Black Opel, which once again
featured Mike on vocals and bass. Ramsey recalls, “They played a lot of Blue
Cheer and, as my then-thirteen-year-old brain allows me to remember, a
remarkably faithful version of ‘Fire’ by Jimi Hendrix with Brad Becnel burning
on the lead guitar. Brad was an absolute prodigy. He was probably about sixteen
years old and playing wailing fast guitar solos. Great!”[ 241 ]
 Future Van Halen bassist Michael Anthony Sobolewski with one of his early groups, circa 1969. JEFF
HERSHEY

For Anthony, this gig with Van Halen wasn’t his first encounter with
Edward, Alex, and Mark. As he told an interviewer in 1998, “The first time I
ever saw those guys play … there was a carnival that [Arcadia] High School
would have every year on the football field, and their band happened to be
playing, and they were called Mammoth. It was Eddie, Alex, and their bass
player then, his name was Mark Stone. Eddie was doing the lead singing.”[ 242 ]
Two years later, Anthony, like Roth and the Van Halen brothers, was
attending PCC. Even though they hadn’t actually met, their paths had crossed.
Anthony, who majored in music, explained, “I’d be going to a jazz improv class,
and I’d pass Alex in the driveway, just leaving his. We’d kind of look at each
other but act real cool, because it was the rival band thing. You never really said
hi or anything, you just barely waved. But everybody knew who everybody
was.”[ 243 ]

On the afternoon of the gig, Van Halen faced a crisis. Anthony recalled that
Snake “had a PA system that I used to borrow from one of the teachers at
Arcadia High School … It just so happened that [Van Halen’s] PA blew up
during soundcheck. So I remember Eddie coming up to me and asking if they
could borrow our PA.” The affable Anthony replied, “Yeah, sure. Fine.”[ 244 ]
A few hours later the show began. After Brown Eyes played, Snake, with
Anthony on lead vocals and bass, Tony “Codgen” Caggiano on guitar, and Steve
Hapner on drums, took the stage. The trio went for the throat by opening with
KISS’s “Nothin’ to Lose.”
From the side of the stage, the Van Halen brothers watched Anthony.
Ironically, in Snake, Anthony found himself in the same position that Edward
had been in before Roth joined Van Halen. Anthony explained to Guitar World
in 1991, “I was the lead singer in my band, and I didn’t really feel comfortable in
that role. I just wanted to concentrate on my bass playing.”[ 245 ]
Nonetheless, he did both well, which started the wheels turning in the
brothers’ heads. As Edward told Guitar Player in 1978, “We were all tripped out
because he was lead singing for his band and fronting his own band.”[ 246 ]
Undoubtedly, they also took note of the fact that Snake performed songs like the
James Gang’s “Walk Away,” Beck, Bogert & Appice’s “Superstition,” and
Johnny Winter’s “Still Alive and Well,” which were part of Van Halen’s
repertoire.
About fifteen minutes later, the headliner came onstage.[ 247 ] Roth
strolled to the mike as the applause subsided. After taking a breath, he
announced, “Welcome everybody. We’re Van Halen and our business is
whalin’!”
With that, Van Halen thundered. After opening with a lumbering, sludgy
Stone-penned song called “I’m With the Wind,” they played covers like Captain
Beyond’s “Raging River of Fear,” Grand Funk Railroad’s “I Come Tumblin’,”
and ZZ Top’s “Waitin’ for the Bus.”
They also performed more of their own songs. These included “I Can
Hardly Wait,” which featured a riff that Edward would eventually rework into
“D.O.A.” on Van Halen II; “Glitter,” which had appeared on the band’s fall 1973
demo; and an embryonic version of “Outta Love Again,” a tune with an
ascending middle riff that showed the influence that Captain Beyond’s “Dancing
Madly Backwards” had on Edward’s early songwriting. “In a Simple Rhyme,”
one of the band’s most polished original songs, also made the set that night,
along with another from 1980’s Women and Children First, the boogie-blues
rocker “Take Your Whiskey Home.”
As Van Halen jammed, Anthony watched Edward and Alex. Anthony
vividly remembers “standing on the side of the stage, watching them play, and
I’m saying to myself, These two guys are great. They have some incredible chops!”
Roth, with a stage-prop cane in hand, then sauntered over to him. “All of a
sudden Roth comes struttin’ over to me, he had some little vest on and his hair
was skunked: it was dyed black with a white skunk stripe down the center. He
says, ‘Hey, How do you like my boys?’”[ 248 ] After one look at Roth, Anthony
said to himself, Jesus Christ, get this guy away from me![ 249 ]
In the middle of the set, Alex and Edward both took long solos. Edward’s
was a crowd-pleaser, even if the brothers had borrowed part of its sequence from
Cactus. “If you listen to ‘Eruption,’” Cactus’s Carmine Appice said in 2006, “it’s
the same thing as the beginning of our song ‘Let Me Swim.’ I never realized it,
but if you listen to both, there’s a chord, then there’s a guitar thing, then it goes
‘Bim, Bam, Bowmmm,’ it changes the key, then there’s more guitar. That’s the
same intro we had for ‘Let Me Swim.’ Exactly.”[ 250 ]
Their second to last song of the night was “Believe Me.” This song, which
disappeared from the Van Halen canon before they recorded their debut album,
highlighted the progressive side of Van Halen, with its odd time signatures,
stop-start breaks, and some absolutely killer riffs.
The set closer, “Show Your Love” — later renamed “I’m the One” for Van
Halen’s 1978 debut — then screamed from the speakers. With its speedy shuffle
beat, it sounded like a turbocharged version of “I’m Going Home.” After a final
flourish, Van Halen waved goodbye and left the stage.
When Edward and Alex saw Algorri backstage, they pulled him aside and
whispered, “We’re getting rid of Mark. We want to approach this guy.”[ 251 ]
Soon after, they caught up with Anthony. After shooting the shit about life at
PCC, they prepared to go their separate ways.[ 252 ] Before they parted,
however, Anthony said to Edward, “Maybe we could jam some time.”[ 253 ]
In the days that followed, Edward didn’t forget about Anthony. The guitarist
was taking a scoring and arranging class over at PCC with Jonathan Laidig,
Roth, and a friend of Anthony’s, Mike Franceschini.[ 254 ] Edward let
Franceschini know that Stone was on his way out of the band. Franceschini then
gave Anthony’s number to Edward.[ 255 ] Within two weeks, the phone rang at
the Sobolewski residence in Arcadia. Anthony remembers, “I got a call from
Eddie and Alex one night, and they asked me to come over and jam with
them.”[ 256 ]
Anthony concedes that Edward’s and Alex’s musical talents intimidated
him. “I was playing backyard parties,” he told Steven Rosen, “and these guys
were playing Gazzarri’s in Hollywood.”[ 257 ] He asked one of his brothers to
take the ride over to Altadena with him for “moral support.”
When he got to the Maiden Lane garage, he noticed that Roth was nowhere
to be found.[ 258 ] Regardless, they tuned up and started playing some highly
technical material. “Those guys were musically so advanced and far ahead of
what we had been doing in Snake,” he says. “We’d been doing mostly four on
the floor, straight ahead rock and roll. They were doing this 5/4 stuff. I was just
trying to keep up with them.” Anthony added, “I guess I surprised them, because
I hung right in,” which Anthony credits to the facts that he was “into playing
jazz on the bass” and that he’d taken a jazz improvisation course at PCC.[ 259 ]
In the midst of this three-hour jam session, Anthony felt a “magic” vibe in
the room. As he told Steven Rosen, “You get together and you jam with people
and you can play blues in all twelve keys and it’s like, ‘Yeah, nice.’ Or else you
start playing one thing and we’d just go off … Al had a case of Schlitz Malt
there and we had a few beers and kept playing and playing.” Finally, when they’d
finished, the brothers conferred and then asked, “Hey, do you want to join the
band?” Anthony briefly huddled with his own brother, who “was really blown
away,” before looking back at Edward and Alex and saying, “Well, yeah!”[ 260 ]

But before the band could cut Stone loose, the opportunity to do the demo
materialized. The studio time needed to be used immediately, so Stone, without
yet knowing his fate, would play on the session. After an early morning beer run,
the quartet spent the day at Cherokee studio in the San Fernando Valley. The
resulting tape contained recordings of “Take Your Whiskey Home,” “In a
Simple Rhyme,” “Believe Me,” and “Angel Eyes.” The latter song, a gentle
ballad that Roth performed alone on a twelve-string acoustic, showed the impact
of soft-rock performers like James Taylor and the Eagles on Roth’s early
songwriting. The tune, which the band considered for inclusion on Van Halen II,
remains officially unreleased to this day.
With the session wrapped up, everyone drove to Hollywood to meet with
Algorri’s cousin. “My cousin is Rick Donovan,” Algorri explains. “He set up the
Cherokee Studios demo. He was a protégé of Roger Christian, who co-wrote a
lot of early Beach Boys songs.” Donovan was then a producer and vice-president
for a label called Custom Fidelity, which did Top 40 compilation albums.
Algorri gave Donovan the tape. In the end, though, Donovan “wasn’t very
impressed, so that didn’t go anywhere. My cousin didn’t think it was a
commercial product.” This episode damaged Algorri and Miranda’s credibility
with Van Halen, and their business relationship ended a few weeks later.

As rumors spread about Stone’s future with Van Halen, musicians expressed
surprise that change was looming. Peter Burke says, “Mark Stone was a good
player. He had really good meter and his sound was wonderful.” Brent Pettit
agrees and adds, “I had a lot of respect for Mark Stone. He’s an intelligent
person. He would listen to us play, and then he would ask you, ‘Hey man, how
did you do that? Can you show me?’” Bill Maxwell notes that along with being a
talented musician, Stone “wrote a lot of stuff” that Van Halen played during this
period of time.
But even if there weren’t other issues with Stone, the fact that he didn’t like
to sing made him a poor fit for a band that now emphasized harmony vocals.
When Paul Fry bumped into Edward, he said that firing Stone wasn’t going to
be an easy thing to do. “Paul,” Edward replied, “I just don’t want to sing by
myself anymore.” Indeed, vocals were the major sticking point. “Stone was an
exceptional musician,” Algorri says, “but there was a rub there, because he would
not sing and they wanted harmonies. That was the problem. That was the reason
he got booted out.”
From Stone’s perspective, his divided loyalties between his schoolwork and
the band, more than anything else, had taken a toll on his playing. “I was split
between these two things,” he explained. Ultimately, “I just couldn’t keep up
with them,” and so “we met one day, and they actually asked me to leave.”[ 261 ]
As Alex diplomatically put it to Steven Rosen, “The reason we had to let Mark
go was that it seemed his interests were elsewhere than music.”[ 262 ]
 At the same time, however, Anthony’s talent and focus made this move
possible. Burke says that many of Edward and Alex’s friends who’d seen Snake
perform at PHS thought that “Mike sang better than Dave.” Moreover,
Anthony’s commitment to music matched that of the other three members of
Van Halen. Werner Schuchner says, “One thing I always thought was that Mike
was important to Van Halen being so together, because he was very serious. I
remember he got his dad to take us to a place where we got new Acoustic amps.
I don’t remember who paid for them, but I remember him being real serious like
that.” As Leiren explained, “You really got to have that little extra. It’s the only
thing you’ve got to want. Stone didn’t quite have that. He enjoyed the music. He
enjoyed playing, but he also liked to party. He didn’t have that same dedication
where you eat, live, breathe, and sleep music.”[ 263 ]
 Bassist Mark Stone practices with Van Halen in Altadena, California, early 1974. ELIZABETH WILEY

For Stone, all of this was hard to accept. “For a long time,” he conceded, “it
really hurt. It was tough. It was tough leaving that band, because I knew they
were destined for greatness. It’s just like they say, ‘Don’t leave before the miracle
happens,’ and I did.”[ 264 ]

The classic Van Halen lineup goofs around at David Lee Roth’s father’s home in San Marino, California,
summer 1974. ELIZABETH WILEY

Ultimately, this lineup change highlights that Alex, Edward, and Dave
recognized that they’d laid the groundwork for something special. Their time
together had produced a mutual understanding that their particular mix of
talents and personalities, despite all of their artistic differences, engendered a
musical synergy that gave Van Halen its musical power and popular appeal. All
through the summer of 1973, the brothers had gritted their teeth as Roth
warbled through one pitchy version of “Cold Sweat” after another, grinning and
strutting his way around the stage. Roth, in turn, had been frustrated with the
brothers’ determination to play technically sophisticated heavy metal music
rather than more accessible pop material. But in the months that followed, the
three core members of Van Halen had found a way to meld their musical visions
so that the instrumental brilliance of the Van Halen brothers could flourish
alongside Roth’s entertainment-first notions. Anthony, with his strong backup
vocals and great chops, just seemed like the missing piece of the puzzle.
 CHAPTER SIX: THE BATTLE OF PASADENA
The Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputies, dozens strong in riot gear, trotted
down Pasadena’s Madre Street. Ear-splitting music — courtesy of
“VANHALEN,” according to the flyers strewn on the ground — blared out of
the well-lit backyard at the end of the long block. As they moved towards the
massive party, deputies pushed past scores of wasted teenagers laughing and
stumbling down the suburban road, which was lined with cars. Overhead, a
police helicopter circled in the cool November air, its spotlight shining down on
the property. The pilot, his voice booming through the chopper’s loudspeaker,
announced, “Attention! This is an unlawful assembly! Disperse! Failure to do so
will result in your immediate arrest!”
When the deputies arrived in front of the ranch home, their commander
evaluated the situation from the curb. The house was set back about seventy-five
yards from the street. Drunken and stoned kids filled the front and back yards
and streamed in and out of the house. He estimated that as many as fifteen
hundred people were on the property. Goddamn kids. Where are their fucking
parents?
He looked at his deputies’ faces. They were spoiling for a fight. Like him,
they’d grown tired of spending their weekend shifts breaking up big Van Halen
backyard parties in unincorporated areas around the San Gabriel Valley. But this
was the biggest one he’d ever seen, and it was happening in one of Pasadena’s
nicest neighborhoods. It was also utterly out of control. Earlier in the evening,
deputies who’d responded to noise complaints faced a barrage of rocks and
bottles from the property. Probably thrown by the same fucking kids who flipped
over those San Marino police cruisers at that giant Van Halen party back in March. It
was time to send a message.
The commander faced his men and ordered them into assault position. They
formed a phalanx, their green and gold helmets gleaming under the streetlamps.
They lowered their visors, raised their riot shields, and elevated their batons to
the ready position. The Battle of Pasadena was about to begin.

A few months earlier, Don and Mary Ann Imler had informed their son, Denis,
then twenty-two, and their teenage daughters, Debbie and Karen, that they’d be
taking a month-long trip in June 1974 to their vacation home in Mexico,
without them. “They loved to travel,” Karen, the youngest of the three, recalls.
“My father was older and had just retired from the L.A. County Sheriff’s
Department. He was a deputy inspector. He was about as high up in the
department as you could get. His area was juveniles and narcotics.”
Debbie explains that her mother always believed that her children would act
appropriately while their parents traveled. “My parents were gone all the time, so
there wasn’t a lot of supervision,” she says. “My mother would say, ‘You behave
yourselves! I trust you!’” Debbie nodded earnestly, thinking, Yeah, right!
Almost immediately after their parents’ car pulled out of the driveway,
Denis hatched his plan to host the Imlers’ first backyard party. Their house was
well suited for such an event. It sat on a full acre, and there was another half-acre
of undeveloped land behind the rear property line, making for a deep backyard.
[ 265 ] Its location, which was literally right across the street from Art
Agajanian’s house, was ideal too. It sat on the corner of Madre Street and
Huntington Drive, a busy six-lane road that was one of Pasadena’s main
thoroughfares, making the house easy to find. They’d supply cold keg beer and
hire a hot live band. When it came to picking the group, the decision was easy.
All three of them wanted Van Halen to play.
“I went to school with Alex and Edward,” Denis explains. “Alex was in my
grade. We all hung out together. I was close with them, and after the band got
started, we partied together.” Debbie, who’d worked with Roth at London
Britches, also knew the Van Halen brothers well, even if some of her friends
didn’t approve of her friendship with Edward and Alex. “They were from the
other side of the tracks. My family, and my friends who lived in our
neighborhood, Chapman Woods, had a privileged upbringing. They’d ask, ‘Why
do you want to hang out with those guys?’ That came from the fact that they
were working-class kids. I’d take them to parties and my friends would say, ‘Um,
why are you friends with them?’ But I liked them as people, not just because of
their music.”
Even though Karen didn’t know the band members as well as her siblings,
she loved Van Halen’s music. “Well, when I was about fourteen or fifteen, I went
to a backyard party that wasn’t very big. We sat down in the grass, and I watched
Eddie play. I remember being just awestruck by his talent. I was just totally into
rock, and I knew the music. I had gone to a lot of concerts at a very young age.
And in hearing him and in comparing him to the actual artists who did those
songs, I remember thinking, This guy is going to be famous. I went up to him
afterwards and said, ‘You sound better than the musicians that actually play that
music. You play it better than they do.’”
Denis wasted no time. He called Alex and asked if he could hire the band to
play on a Saturday night in June. Denis says, “The party was an opportunity to
play in front of a huge crowd, and it would be inexpensive for everyone since I
only charged a dollar.” For their services, Denis would pay them a flat fee of
three hundred dollars.
From the band’s perspective, taking this gig was a no-brainer. They’d make
more money in a few hours than they could make playing a weekend booking on
the Strip. They’d also have the chance to further expand their fan base by playing
in front of hundreds of kids. As Roth declared in later years, “We figured that at
first we should just grab any gig we could, whether it was in some grubby high
school gym or at a garage sale, because we knew that would be the quickest way
for us to build a following.”[ 266 ]

In the days before the party, the Imlers told their friends that Van Halen would
be playing at their home. Denis, in a rare moment of caution, decided not to
distribute flyers, figuring that word of mouth would be enough to guarantee a
big turnout. The sprawling Chapman Woods neighborhood was home to dozens
of teenagers; some families had seven or eight kids, and everyone knew everyone
else.[ 267 ] Even if more people than he expected showed up, the large property
could handle the crowd. He ordered ten kegs, a small stage, and some lights.

When that Saturday arrived, Michael Anthony felt butterflies in his stomach. As
the newest member of Van Halen, this gig was his first backyard party with the
band. He’d played many yard parties with Snake, but those were jam-with-your-
pals, jeans-and-T-shirt affairs. He knew that Van Halen backyard parties were
cut from a different cloth; they were bigger and rowdier.
 Bassist Michael Anthony, sporting some gold lamé, holds down the bottom end at Lanterman
Auditorium in La Cañada, California, November 22, 1975. MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

But there was another reason for Anthony’s unease. Even though the
quartet glammed it up in Hollywood, Anthony expected that he’d dress in his
usual backyard party garb. But before the gig, word came down from Roth:
they’d be wearing their Gazzarri’s stage clothes in the Imler backyard. Anthony
explains, “Those guys had been down in Hollywood at Gazzarri’s and they knew
what would set them apart, and this definitely made us different from the other
bands in the area. But that was Dave’s influence. If it had been up to Ed, Al, and
me, we would have been wearing jeans and T-shirts.”
By early evening, the party was rocking. There were a few hundred kids in
the backyard. Some mingled in front of the stage, which faced the kidney-
shaped pool. Others splashed and swam in the pool. But the biggest crowd was
around the kegs.
Before long, the members of Van Halen emerged from the house, one by
one. Roth, of course, was bare chested and wearing impossibly tight pants, and
even Edward donned a black cape and silver lamé pants.[ 268 ] The last one out
of the house was Michael Anthony, a sheepish look on his face as he stared at an
audience that included his close friends and his girlfriend, Sue. He recalled, “The
first backyard gig I ever did with them was at a party on Huntington Drive. My
[future] wife had made a gold lamé outfit for me. I could barely bring myself to
walk though the crowd wearing it.”[ 269 ]
Near the stage, a thirteen-year-old aspiring guitarist named Dave Shelton
looked on in awe. Despite Edward’s virtuosity and Roth’s charisma, the first
thing about the bash that comes to his mind today is Anthony’s garb. “I
remember Michael Anthony was wearing a little tiny gold sparkly vest,” he says
with a chuckle. “It made him look like an organ grinder’s monkey. All he needed
was a little pill hat and he was all set!”
Van Halen got the party off to a rousing start by playing some ZZ Top. As
the kids grooved and cheered, Roth strutted like a gamecock with the band
thundering behind him. As the crowd’s excitement grew, people pressed up
against the small stage. Shelton says, “I remember standing next to Eddie. They
just had this column PA system and people were leaning on it and they were all
yelling, ‘Get off the PA! You’ll knock it over!’”
With the beer flowing and spirits running high, Michael and Edward
stepped off the stage to take a break as Dave and Alex prepared for the band’s
drum solo. With Alex behind the kit, Roth kneeled in front of the drums
Carl Haasis saw this bit of stagecraft. “Roth would do his pose where he
rocks back, like on the back of Van Halen. He had a plastic tube in his mouth
and the tube is going to the small airhole of the tom drum. So Alex would be
beating on it, and Roth would be exhaling so it would go do do do dooo. It would
be raising the pitch, because he’s blowing air into the drum.” Shelton’s sense is
that this part of the act didn’t come off quite as well as the rest of the show. “Ah,
it was kind of lame,” he says with a smile. “He was down on his knees sucking on
the thing.”
Inside the house, Denis was having a grand time when a buddy clapped him
on his back. “Cops are here!” his friend yelled in his ear. Denis took a final gulp
of beer and headed out the front door.
His eyes set upon a group of Pasadena police officers standing in his yard.
Some kids retreated from the officers and from the line of black-and-whites
parked along the curb, their colored lights spiraling in the darkness. Others
stood their ground, too stoned to care.
After Denis identified himself as the homeowner, the officers explained that
they’d received noise complaints. If Denis wanted the party to continue, he’d
have to get the kids out of the street and make sure the band turned it down.
Denis nodded and apologized, assuring the officers that he’d quiet things down
and keep people on the property. With that, the officers turned and headed back
to their cars. The party would go on.[ 270 ]
While it might seem surprising that police would allow a massive teenage
party to continue, Eric Hensel explains that up until the summer of 1974, the
Pasadena police were largely “friendly” towards teens and had “kind of a don’t
see, don’t tell thing” when it came to parties. He says, “If your party got too loud,
and you did get complaints, they’d send a couple of cars over.” Many times, the
officers’ “kids were at those parties too” so they’d be loath to arrest anyone. He
continues, “You’d see the cops pull up in front of the house. We’d be standing
there smoking a joint or something. People would be all over the place: on the
front lawn, in the backyard. Here would come these few cops and they’d walk up
and find the owner and tell him they’d had noise reports. ‘We will let the party
go on if you turn it down and move everybody into the backyard. You’ve got to
get everybody off the street and into the backyard.’ They’d let the thing run to
midnight or until one. Van Halen would play a couple or three sets before
somebody shut it down.” Roger Renick, a singer who performed at many
backyard parties, adds that even when the cops broke things up, there was little
drama. He remembers, “For a long time Pasadena parties seemed to have a
formula that worked, and for the most part everyone knew the routine. Flyers,
admission price, kegs of beer, lots of people, big backyards, band played, police
came, party ended, and everyone was pissed but left peacefully.”
Ultimately, the first Imler party ended without incident. Debbie says, “At
the first party, Van Halen played all night. We didn’t really get bothered by the
police other than stopping by to say, ‘Get the people out of the street.’ It was a
really fun night.” When things wound down, the Imlers and their friends worked
into wee hours of the morning to pick up trash and to help the band break down
their equipment.
After Denis paid the band, he and his siblings counted the fistfuls of money
he’d collected at the door. Even after paying his expenses, he’d ended up a few
hundred dollars richer. As Denis smiled, Debbie observed that another positive
development had come out of the evening. It turned out that “their neighbors
seemed okay” with backyard parties, since the police had never returned.
Ultimately, this premise would be tested in just a few short months.

When Don and Mary Ann Imler returned home, they seemed only mildly
annoyed after hearing about the party. The house looked in good shape, and
surely their neighbors’ accounts of huge crowds and lines of cars were
exaggerated. Regardless, the children were old enough to take care of themselves,
and so they planned to return to Mexico in November, this time with some of
Don’s friends from the sheriff’s department and their wives. Flush with success,
the Imler siblings looked forward to doing it all again.
In early November, Denis, Debbie, and Karen set out to make their next
bash the best backyard party in Pasadena history. Of course, they hired Van
Halen, once again for three hundred dollars. But for this second party, they
doubled the keg order and employed better staging and lighting. Denis says,
“We set up lights from Hortie Van Lighting in Pasadena so we could illuminate
the bigger stage, which was on this concrete slab in the yard by the pool. We had
a pool house. We mounted spotlights on the roof of the pool building so we
could put lights on the band.” According to Roth, all of these components are
“what made Van Halen’s backyard parties different from anybody else’s backyard
parties.”[ 271 ]
These preparations aside, Denis had a couple of other tricks up his sleeve.
To stop people from sneaking onto the property without paying and to keep
rowdy partygoers out of the house, Denis and his friends erected a hundred yards
of temporary chain-link fence, complete with a gate, along the Huntington
Drive side of the property. Some of his friends, acting as security, would prevent
revelers from coming onto the front side of the property from Madre Street and
direct everyone to enter — and pay — at the gate. Guests would then flow
straight into the backyard.[ 272 ] At the time, Denis says, he believed this would
allow him to “control the crowd” of partygoers.

To increase the turnout — and profits — Denis printed flyers for the band, his
friends, and his siblings to distribute. The week before the party, “We took
thousands of flyers and we just went everywhere, high schools, and all the way
out to Van Nuys and gave them to everybody. We were just party animals,”
Karen says with a laugh. The flyer promised a night of “Beer & Music” featuring
“VANHALEN,” all for a “$1.00 a head donation.”
 Flyer for Van Halen’s November 1974 backyard party that sparked a riot in a sedate Pasadena
subdivision. FROM THE COLLECTION OF TOM BONAWITZ

At high schools all over Los Angeles, kids passed them around. Lori
Cifarelli, who attended Mayfield Senior School, an all-girls Catholic school,
remembers, “You’d bring flyers to school. They’d be all over: A buck! Open party!
Everybody and anybody would go; you’d pay a dollar to get in, there were kegs of
beer, and of course there was always pot around. Usually it was Van Halen that
was playing. Wherever the flyers took us, we went.”
 The week of the party, Van Halen took the Imlers up on their offer to let
the band stay and practice at the house. Debbie says Van Halen “left their
equipment in the house. On Thursday and Friday, they practiced in our living
room. That was cool.” Karen underscores the incongruity between party-hearty
Van Halen and the room’s morally upright décor. “When the band practiced in
our living room,” she says, all of her father’s sheriff’s department “plaques and his
commemorative police ashtrays were right there.”
Along with a practice space, the Imler home had another added attraction
for the band. The house was always filled with girls, including Debbie, Karen,
and Edward’s girlfriend Kim Miller, who were all gorgeous. Karen remembers,
“One time when I ran into Dave, he said, ‘You know what I think of when I
think of your place?’”
“No. What?” she answered.
“I think of the song ‘La Grange,’” Roth replied with a smile, referencing ZZ
Top’s ode to the Chicken Ranch, later immortalized in The Best Little
Whorehouse in Texas.
Karen took it all in stride. She laughs, “I’d joke around and answer the
phone at the house, ‘Mustang Ranch!’ There were always girls there, so a lot of
guys would come around. What can I say? It was kind of like that. It was a house
with a lot of young girls and no parents.”

On Saturday, Van Halen moved their equipment outside and ran through their
set. Jeff Touchie, who’d spent much of the week at the house, remembers, “We
just hung out in the back and they played. Even though I had seen them a
million times, it was always good. Back then, you never got tired of Van Halen,
because Edward was amazing; he’d just sit down and do some riffs. And Alex
could just go on the drums. They’d play a song, take a break, and joke around.
They’d get ready to start something and say, ‘What do you think about this?’
And they’d do a little jam. It was always entertaining. We’d just drink beers and
shoot the shit. It was laid back and kicked back.”
Meanwhile, all across Los Angeles, hundreds of young people got ready.
They checked their stashes and chilled their beer. They called friends, passed the
word, and made plans to caravan over to Pasadena. They’d be coming from San
Gabriel Valley communities like Duarte, Flintridge, La Cañada, and West
Covina. Even San Fernando Valley teens from Glendale and Calabasas would be
making the long trip to the corner of Huntington and Madre. Leiren explained
that for kids looking to get loose, a Van Halen gig would be the place to be that
night. “Anytime you wanted to find anybody, you’d go to the Van Halen
backyard parties.”[ 273 ]
While it seemed that nearly every young person in Pasadena knew of the
party, even those who’d not gotten the word knew how to find out about the
evening’s action. Marcia Maxwell says, “There was a certain liquor store, Allen
Villa Beverage, on Allen Street and Villa. That’s not too far away from where the
Van Halens lived. People would tell the owner, Larry, ‘I’m having a party. Here’s
my address,’ so everyone knew to go there to give and get information. We’d go
there faithfully every weekend. All the gals would get all dressed up, we’d drive
over there, and we’d come in and say, ‘Where’s the party?’ And off we’d go!
There was usually a party every weekend. If it wasn’t Van Halen it was some
other band. There was a lot of partying going on.”
Around seven, Van Halen hopped onstage and tuned up. Roth joked with
his bandmates as he looked out upon the big backyard, which was already
swarming with hundreds of kids. From the gate at the back corner of the
property, young people stampeded into the yard and jockeyed for position in
front of the stage. Despite Denis’s efforts to make everyone pay, some Chapman
Woods locals, who knew their way through the brushy terrain behind the house,
snuck into the backyard. Others attempted to vault Denis’s Huntington Drive
fence or slip in through the front yard, only to be turned back by the host’s
friends who guarded the property’s perimeter.
Onstage, Roth looked back at Alex one last time before grinning broadly at
the crowd. He raised his arm, put the microphone to his lips, and screamed. Just
then, Roth fired off the band’s pyrotechnic flash pots, sending black clouds
ascending skyward. He noted in his autobiography, “Put a little gunpowder in
the tins, and then when you hit the foot switch, it sparks it off and you get a
great big colorful ‘fooomm!’ — a smoke bomb.”[ 274 ] All the while, Edward
played a blazing solo as an introduction to the band’s high-powered set opener.
[ 275 ] Van Halen’s senses-shattering assault had begun.
Around the stage, kids gathered and jammed to the music, but right up
front, clutches of girls had their eyes glued to Roth. Debbie recalls, “Roth would
wear low-cut tight bell-bottoms. He had this nice hairy chest. He liked flashy
stuff. A lot of times he’d just wear no shirt and some flowing scarf. He had this
gorgeous flowing long blond hair.” Roth’s appearance and persona had a
particularly strong effect on her sister, Karen, who had a massive crush on Van
Halen’s frontman. “He wore these hip hugger pants,” she recalls. “He was very
sexy.”
Out in the streets, cars jockeyed for parking spaces and kids on foot moved
with purpose towards the Imlers’ house, knowing that once Van Halen began
playing, there was no saying how long the party would last. Debbie Hannaford
Lorenz says that when she hears a Van Halen song today, she is transported back
to those moments right after arriving at a backyard party. “I have that memory of
walking down the street with all the cars and the music just echoing everywhere,
and you know it’s a Van Halen party. It was such an exciting, electrical feeling.
You were so excited to get to go. I loved it. I loved that sensation that you’d get
through your whole body.”
Neighborhood residents felt sensations too — their windows rattled and cars
cruised by their houses, honking their horns and burning rubber.[ 276 ] Karen
Imler says, “It was crazy. Huntington Drive turned into and sounded like a drag
strip.”
By 7:30, frustrated residents began calling the police. Touchie explains that
the Imlers “lived right on the border between Temple City and Pasadena.
Chapman Woods was unincorporated, so sometimes the Pasadena police would
show up and sometimes the sheriffs would show up.” For whatever reason, on
this night the law enforcement response would come from the sheriff’s
department station in Temple City.
In the meantime, the party was raging. Van Halen played everything from
funky numbers by James Brown and the Rolling Stones to skull-crushers by
Humble Pie and Montrose, with a few originals to boot. Roth and Edward fed
off the crowd’s energy while standing under the spotlight, which shone down
from the pool house roof courtesy of Edward and Alex’s old friend Ross Velasco.
[ 277 ] As Roth wrote in Crazy from the Heat, “We had rented a Trooperette
spotlight … We’d put it on top of the work shed, which is on the other side of
the swimming pool, and shine it down on us. You’d open it up wide enough that
you’ve got the whole band until there was some singing or solo … then you
would make the spot smaller so you could bring some focus to the
proceedings.”[ 278 ]
Under the beam of light, the packed crowd surged, with the most wasted
kids held upright by the press of the crowd. Around the pool, partygoers pushed
each other into the water and ran around on the patio, laughing uproariously.
Wet T-shirts abounded, according to Touchie: “People were throwing each
other in. Girls were running around half naked and drunk and jumping in the
pool!”
Suddenly, people standing at stage right scattered as plate glass splintered.
Dana Anderson explains, “I vividly remember the party on Madre and
Huntington. I dropped PCP that night, so I was bouncing off the walls. I don’t
remember a whole lot except walking through a plate-glass door that was right
[alongside] where the band was playing in the backyard. I walked right through
it barefoot. And not a scratch on me! I didn’t even remember. People had to tell
me, ‘You broke the door, man!’”
Things were just as wild inside the house, which, despite Denis’s efforts, was
full of people. Marcia Maxwell says that at Van Halen backyard parties there’d
be “lots of drunkenness, a lot of fun, a lot of drugs in the house. There’d be lots
of quaaludes, mescaline, mushrooms, and peyote. Cocaine — people would be
wearing their spoons and their razor blades around their necks. It was so tacky.
People would wear a coke spoon around their neck as a status symbol.”
At the gate, Denis and his friends crammed currency into their pockets as a
huge crowd waited to get into the party. Denis would occasionally pause,
pointing and gesturing at his friends to grab kids trying to sneak into the
backyard. Also hanging around were kids who didn’t want to pay but couldn’t be
bothered to jump the fence. They just stood along the fence line and listened to
Van Halen.
Even though Denis was making money hand over fist, a serious problem
was developing. Debbie observes, “Huntington Drive is a huge, wide boulevard,
and the gate keepers couldn’t get the kids in the yard fast enough. The crowd
spilled onto Huntington, which has a speed limit of forty-five miles per hour.”
Before long, three lanes of traffic were blocked, and horns blared as drivers
attempted to snake their way through the groups of kids on the blacktop.
With traffic backing up, Denis yelled to his friends to stop collecting money.
“We just started shoving people into the yard without taking money just to get
them off Huntington,” Debbie says. “The kids were coming by the hundreds,
and we could not get them in fast enough.”
Sometime after 8:00, the Temple City sheriff’s deputies paid their first visit.
Denis Imler recalls, “The party had only lasted an hour before the L.A. County
Sheriff’s Department responded.” According to the Pasadena Star-News, the
deputies located Denis at the gate and warned him to “tone things down” or the
party would end. Denis promised that he’d do just that as he continued to herd
people into the yard. As the crowd thinned on Huntington Drive, the deputies
returned to their cars and drove off.[ 279 ]
But after their departure, urgent calls kept coming into the department’s
switchboard. There were so many cars in the neighborhood that for the first time
in history, there was L.A.-style bumper-to-bumper traffic right on Madre Street.
Kids wandered everywhere in Chapman Woods. They pissed in bushes. They
parked on people’s lawns. Broken glass and trash littered the street. And the
noise! It sounded like an air raid was underway. Unworldly screams and piercing
squeals echoed throughout the neighborhood, and the stadium-style cheering
hadn’t ceased. One resident even swore she’d heard explosions. Deputies’ radios
crackled to life with orders for all available units to converge on the corner of
Huntington and Madre.
Once again, deputies rolled up. One quick look at the scene made it clear to
the unit commander that Denis Imler had done little to “tone down” the party;
in fact, the number of people on the property had about doubled in the last hour.
Denis remembers, “They found me and said, ‘The neighbors won’t tolerate this.
We’re shutting this down.’ The party was so big it was stopping traffic on
Huntington Drive. They told me I was hosting an ‘unlawful assembly.’” As the
conversation continued between Denis and the ranking officer, other deputies
ordered everyone in earshot to go home. Now.
Denis, who was the son of a Los Angeles sheriff’s department commander,
knew that the deputies now meant business and that the party had to end. He
made his way through the crowd and went to the stage. This was a feat in and of
itself. “It was like Woodstock,” Touchie says. “You’d look over and just see this
mass of people in front of the stage. To maneuver through and get up there to
the stage was next to impossible. It was just a wall of people.”
After yelling and waving, Denis caught Roth’s eye. Van Halen played on as
Roth pranced over to the party’s host. Roth leaned down as Denis yelled,
“They’re going to shut it down! You guys need to stop playing!” Denis waited for
Roth to stop the song, but the Van Halen frontman just kept singing and
dancing. “He ignored me, and they kept playing. Roth had control of the whole
thing; he egged the crowd on.” A frustrated Denis decided to take matters into
his own hands. As he headed through the broken sliding glass door, he glanced
up at the sky. A police helicopter was approaching.
Denis found Debbie and told her the party was over. She recalls, “So Denis
came running in the house and disconnected the electricity to the stage.” Denis
then headed into the yard to assure the deputies that the party was ending.
 In through the back door bounded a sweaty, wide-eyed Alex Van Halen. He
yelled to Debbie and everyone within earshot, “Who keeps pulling the
electricity?”
“Denis did,” Debbie informed him.
“That’s bullshit!”
He plugged the band back in, returned to his kit, and Van Halen resumed
playing. Debbie says then “this happened again, back and forth between Denis
and Alex.”
Around this time, an instigator out on Huntington Drive killed any chance
for a peaceful end to the party. Denis says, “Eventually, when the police ordered
people to disperse, someone threw a beer bottle that hit a patrol car.” Debbie
adds, “There were bottles thrown at the police cars parked on Huntington Drive.
I can’t remember who did it, but I remember he was just a real troublemaker. He
broke windows and a windshield.”
The Star-News reported that this first flurry of projectiles triggered a
number of copycats. Deputies “were met with a barrage of rocks and bottles” as
they congregated around the property. Touchie saw kids hurling projectiles from
the backyard over the fence and onto Huntington Drive. “There were fifteen to
twenty cop cars on the Huntington Drive side of the property,” he says. These
rowdies “jacked up about six cop cars.” What had begun as a Van Halen
backyard party had now become a full-scale riot with a Van Halen soundtrack.
[ 280 ]
As deputies on the scene retreated, backup units saddled up in Temple City.
Tense calls came over the radio about the “unlawful assembly” in Chapman
Woods. Deputies gathered up their riot gear, angered that their comrades were
under attack. But perhaps all this was inevitable. Van Halen backyard parties had
been getting bigger and more disorderly over the past months; it was only a
matter of time before one of them turned into a riot. No matter. The officers
were well trained, and had a whole range of crowd control methods they could
employ. Truth be told, the whole department had run out of patience when it
came to Van Halen backyard parties.

Standing on the pool house roof, Ross Velasco could see the flashing lights of at
least two dozen patrol cars, all converging and congregating a quarter-mile down
on Madre. As the officers stepped onto the street, they grabbed riot shields and
donned their helmets.[ 281 ] Equally alarming, the department had brought a
paddy wagon, suggesting that mass arrests were imminent.[ 282 ]
Velasco looked down into the yard and hollered a warning to Peter Wilson
and his friends, who soon joined Velasco on top of the structure. Wilson says,
“We decided to go up on the roof so we wouldn’t be affected when the bust
came. We had a bird’s-eye view of everything. We could see the sheriff’s staging
area and the cars amassing down the street, so we knew it was coming down.”
He figured he’d sit tight and watch the proceedings, since he and his friends had
set themselves up nicely by “raiding the liquor cabinet” and “maybe the medicine
cabinet,” he concedes with a laugh.
As they played, the four members of Van Halen saw Velasco pointing and
knew their performance was about to end. The backyard couldn’t get any fuller.
The helicopter hovered above, its light shining down and its loudspeaker blaring
“Disperse!” This song would be the night’s last.
With the band thundering behind him, Roth knew exactly what do for a
grand finale. As Edward, Alex, and Michael concluded the song with a
crescendo of drums, bass, and guitar, Roth triggered the band’s bank of smoke
pots once again. As stunned onlookers recoiled, six mushroom clouds of smoke
rolled into the night air and sparks rained down from the sky. All the while,
Edward’s fingers flashed up and down his fretboard as Roth screamed his guts
out. Fellow backyard party musician Bill Hermes observes, “The flashpots were a
brilliant idea, because they tattooed a Van Halen memory onto your brain from
the shock of them going off!”
Word of the impending raid spread quickly. Tom Broderick hustled back to
his car with some of his friends. He told The Inside, “I remember sitting outside
when the cops all pulled up and parked up the street … They all came running
down the street in formation with their clubs and helmets in military style. We
were all just tripping.”[ 283 ] Hensel had just bugged out as well when lines of
deputies trotted past him. He says, “They showed up in Pasadena with fifty or
sixty cop cars and four guys in each one with full riot gear. My friend and I just
happened to be leaving when they showed up. We watched the cops going in; it
was an amazing thing to watch. I’d never seen anything like it in Pasadena.” In
Crazy from the Heat, David Lee Roth recounted what this very moment felt like:
“Cop cars show up parked in a line, all with the flashing lights and lots of flares.
It was all very exciting and kind of scary, and you might go to jail, and your
parents might have to come get you out, and even maybe pay for a friend or two.
It was great.”[ 284 ]

Sensible partygoers knew it was time to split. “The helicopter was always the first
warning,” Terry Vilsack says. “When it comes, everybody just flies — just
scatters. It’s like when you turn the light on and you watch the cockroaches go!”
But for those kids who were too stoned to run or too drunk to know what
was happening, the police assault came with little warning. After they’d gotten
into formation, deputies surged into the yard, batons swinging and Mace in
hand, with tear gas in the air. Wilson looked down from the roof in amazement
as “they formed a line right underneath us. They proceeded to push everyone out
of the yard with their batons. People were running and panicking. They were
dropping their stashes on the ground.” Roth termed this the “surround and
pound” strategy: “The cops would come bursting in, in a great big line, kind of
like football style.”[ 285 ]
With their backs to the pool house, the police charged, violently herding the
crowd out of the yard. Peter Burke remembers, “The sheriff’s department
showed up and started shoving people around really brutally. I mean girls. It was
pretty hairy.” Art Agajanian recalls, “The Temple City Sheriff’s Department was
very hard on kids. They used Mace and tear gas. They billy-clubbed kids.”
Law enforcement next sought to clear the roof. “I remember them grabbing
people,” Karen says, “like my sister’s boyfriend at the time, they pulled him off
the roof.” Ross Velasco, who’d been operating the lights all night long “tasted
Mace for the first time” that night.
Caught in the middle of the melee, Denis could only stand and watch as
panicked partygoers and enraged deputies trampled the landscaping and knocked
over all of the patio planters. Kids caught inside the pool fencing vaulted over it
in an effort to escape, with the deputies lunging for them, handcuffs in hand.
Then one hapless kid who tried to leap the fence caught his foot and fell
right on the pool’s water supply line, severing it. A geyser of water sprayed onto
the patio, forming a quickly growing pool. An alarmed Debbie Imler watched as
the water flowed closer to the stage. She remembers, “All this water started
gushing out and cascading down towards the stage and all of the band’s electrical
equipment.” In a fit of anger, she grabbed the young man who’d severed the pipe
and punched him square in the face.
Standing nearby was Peter Burke. He says, “I remember there was some sort
of flood that started flowing right into the equipment. I’m the one who stepped
up with a push broom and said, ‘Hey man, look out!’ Then Edward grabbed the
broom from me and shoved the water back while everybody else fixed it. That
was my contribution to the show!” With water pouring into the yard, Denis
sprinted to the water main and shut off the water to the house.[ 286 ] Later that
night, a shaken Edward would tell Debbie he “was very afraid he was going to
get electrocuted.”
Meanwhile, the police confronted the band. Roth explained that the group’s
strategy for busts was to shrug their shoulders and say to the police, “Man, we’re
with the band. This is our equipment. We don’t know nothing about this, man.
We were just hired to play what we thought was going to be a normal party.
There’s nothing fucking normal about this party at all. All we want is out. We’re
with you, man.”[ 287 ]
But Michael Anthony recalls that this line failed to work its magic at this
particular party: “The cops said they were going to arrest us. I thought we were
going to jail. That really scared us. Yeah, those backyard parties were something
incredible. There were like two thousand people in this backyard.”
Although the band members didn’t go to jail, twenty-one kids did get
hauled away in handcuffs for charges ranging from narcotics possession to
“suspicion of failure to disperse,” in the words of the Star-News.[ 288 ] Once in
the hands of the Temple City deputies, a young person’s troubles were just
beginning. Steve Bruen explains that the sheriff’s deputies “were much worse
than the Pasadena cops. Pasadena cops would smell pot in your car and say, ‘Just
put it out and go home.’ Temple City cops would drag you out, beat you, and
harass you all the way to a cell. They’d say, ‘Are you crying for your mommy yet?’
That kind of crap.”
After clearing the yard, the commander and his deputies barged into the
house and confronted the Imlers. Karen remembers, “The cops were just
storming through the house. They were yelling at us, and they had their riot gear
on with their helmets and their batons out, and they were telling us all to leave. I
remember they hit my brother in the head.” Karen Imler adds that seeing her
brother struck and one of her girlfriends in cuffs enraged Debbie. “My sister was
yelling, ‘You Nazis!’” Karen recalls. “It was kind of funny. But then they made us
all leave, even me! From my own house!”
With everyone in the front yard, negotiations began. The ranking officer
eventually agreed that a handful of people, including the Imlers, could remain in
the house. Karen’s close friend Patti Smith Sutlick explains, “I just remember
standing out in front with [Karen].” She selected “the people that are going to
stay at her house. Edward was one of them; I don’t know if Alex was.” With
that, the deputies left and the remaining guests headed inside.
After Denis iced his head and counted his money, he and Debbie headed
down to the jail to bail out their friends. They returned after a couple of hours,
realizing that even with all of the cash he’d made, he still didn’t have enough
money to bail anyone out. Sitting with his friends and family, he observed that
even though it had been a great party, he knew he’d “overdone it when people
were still driving up to the party after the police had broken it up.”

The following Monday in Rosarito Beach, a fat orange sun hung in the late
afternoon sky. As Don and Mary Ann Imler watched the spectacular sunset and
sipped margaritas, their friends arrived at the vacation home after driving down
from Pasadena. In their luggage was a copy of Monday’s Star-News.
Here accounts vary about how the Imlers received the news that a backyard
party riot, featuring Van Halen, had erupted at their home. Gary Baca, an Imler
cousin, swears Don and Mary Ann knew about the party while it was happening.
He says, “Denis’s parents were sitting at their vacation cottage at Rosarito Beach
in the Baja. Like everyone back then, they got TV from the States with an
antenna. Whatever they were watching got interrupted as the TV switched to a
live feed from a helicopter, showing their home surrounded by police. So they
saw it live, on TV. That’s how they found out about the party.”
But the Imler children tell a different tale. Debbie says that Don’s friend
pulled him aside and whispered that he had something to tell him. Out of their
wives’ earshot, he handed Don the Star-News. “My father opened the paper and
saw this article describing the party.” The piece, which appeared on the second
page of the first section, featured the headline “21 Arrested in Pasadena Party
Melee” and reported that “a rollicking crowd of 1,000” had laid siege to the
Imler property.[ 289 ]
After Don read the piece, the pair talked. He asked his friend, “Should I tell
Mary Ann and go home to L.A.?” His friend counseled him not to tell her and
to stay, because the party was long over.[ 290 ] However, leaving his wife in the
dark didn’t stop Don from wondering about the current condition of his home
and yard. “He wasn’t pleased,” Denis remembers.
Among San Gabriel Valley natives of a certain age, Van Halen’s performance at
the Imler residence is the stuff of legend. Karen Imler summarizes, “It was just
wild. Through the years, anyone that I run into has always brought it up, and
even the band.” Terry Kilgore asserts, “At the Agajanians’ and the Imlers’, they
were packing twelve to eighteen hundred people into those backyards.” The fun
and excitement that these celebrations generated only fueled the demand for
more. Dana Anderson says that the same question always popped up among his
friends: “We were always like, ‘Where’s the next Van Halen party?’”
David Lee Roth, perhaps better than anyone else, grasped the effect that the
Van Halens’ backyard party “campaign” had on building Van Halen’s
“following.”[ 291 ] In 1987, he asked a Penthouse interviewer, “Do you remember
those early Mickey Rooney–Judy Garland movies? In those films it was always
‘Hey, Mr. Ziegfeld is coming to town! I have a backyard. We can turn it into a
stage!’ I’ve spent the last ten years of my career taking a million-dollar stage and
attempting to turn it into a backyard.”[ 292 ] Roth knows. Backyard parties like
the Imlers’ made Los Angeles Van Halen Country.
 CHAPTER SEVEN: THE CONTEST
David Lee Roth swigged a beer and soaked up the surroundings as he listened to
the roar of the crowd on this June 1976 night. Young men with flushed faces
stood with their chests pressed up against the stage of the Rock Corporation
nightclub in Van Nuys. Hot, sweaty bodies packed every square inch of the
dance floor, forming a throng consisting of everyone from motorcycle gang
members and underage teenage boys to hard-drinking women and young Valley
girls. Outside the entrance, muscle cars rumbled down the street as the club’s
burly bouncers held back groups of denim and leather-clad men who just didn’t
want to hear that there literally was no more room inside “the Rock.” They, like
everyone else on the crowded street, didn’t want to miss the action that was just
about to take place.
Onstage, Roth reached for the microphone, and said in a deep, affected
baritone, “Ladies, it’s last call for contestants for the wet T-shirt contest! Last
call!” Soon after, club owner Jeff Simons, accompanied by a dozen or so young,
drunk women wearing sheer white tank tops made their way under the hot
lights. As the girls lined up next to a small wading pool, Roth introduced the
first girl as she stepped into it. Once Roth finished his sexually suggestive banter,
she shot a hand in the air and waved to the crowd as Simons poured a pitcher of
ice water down her chest, turning her tank translucent. On cue, Van Halen
kicked into Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way,” giving the drenched girl the chance
to shake and shimmy for the crowd. As this process was repeated, drunken men
leaned forward, screaming and slapping each other on the back in euphoria.
Onstage, Van Halen grooved their way through every riff. Roth and the rest of
Van Halen, Simons later said, were very much in their “element during the wet
T-shirt contests.”
As the last of the girls took her turn, she impulsively decided to try to
improve her odds of winning the contest’s significant cash prize. She brazenly
raised her soaked top, exposing her ample chest. A deafening roar came from the
crowd, which grew louder as some of the other girls quickly followed suit. With
the hot, wet, topless young ladies wiggling onstage and pandemonium sweeping
through the crowd, a knowing smile formed on Roth’s face. At this moment, his
band was right in the midst of the most brilliant promotion he’d ever seen staged
in a Los Angeles bar.
A couple of men lingering at the very back of the club, however, disagreed.
Standing on an elevated platform near the Rock’s jukebox, two undercover
members of the Los Angeles Police Department’s Vice Squad had now seen all
they needed to see. They hopped down from their perch and prepared to end
this now-illegal event.

The beginning of 1975 saw Van Halen seek broader horizons. While backyard
parties in Pasadena and gigs at Gazzarri’s remained the group’s stock-in-trade,
Van Halen began to look beyond both its San Gabriel Valley home and
Hollywood for new venues to play. “We had a big bulletin board with a map and
little stickpins,” Michael Anthony remembered in 1978. “There are hundreds of
clubs and other places to play in California — we played them all, five forty-five
minute sets a night, averaging about six nights a week.”[ 293 ]
Yet when Van Halen pored over this map and called these clubs, they
discovered that the places that seemed most interested in hiring them were dive
bars, such as Pomona’s Walter Mitty’s, that attracted a blue-collar, rough-and-
tumble clientele. “We went through a lot of rough times,” Alex said. “Years of
playing some of the shittiest biker bars that you’ll ever know. In the middle of
the second set, someone’s getting knifed outside, and half of the audience goes
out to watch it while we’re still playing. That discourages a lot of people.”[ 294 ]
Terry Kilgore, who played this same circuit, remembers that they were
“shitholes. Edward used to call all those places ‘the pits.’ They were all horrible.
They were all dirty dumpy hamburger bars with fat waitresses that served beer.”
The band logged long miles on L.A.’s freeways, driving west from Pasadena
to the San Fernando Valley, down south to the seaside at Redondo Beach, and
due east to Pomona. Reflecting back on this moment in the band’s history, Roth
explained in 1978 why, even as Van Halen remained a Tinseltown also-ran, the
four musicians didn’t get discouraged about their prospects outside of the San
Gabriel Valley: “Southern California is a huge, huge place. There’s [sic] a lot of
outlying areas. You have Orange County, which is a hundred miles away from
San Bernardino, which is 190 miles away from the beach. And as we played all
of those towns, we got away from Hollywood. Van Halen was never big in
Hollywood, but we were big in San Bernardino.”[ 295 ]
Ambition aside, this suburban strategy was hardly a recipe for financial
success. While sometimes the band might make over a hundred dollars for their
five or six hours of onstage work, Leiren remembered a few nights, after the
band chose to take a cut of the door rather than a flat fee for performing, “when
the band didn’t get a penny” after playing.[ 296 ] Still, even when the band
earned a tolerable wage it barely covered expenses. “We were making seventy-
five bucks a night,” Edward told the Record in 1982, “not even enough to pay for
gas and strings and drum heads.” (Because of this low pay, the Van Halen
brothers supplemented their income in other ways — mainly by posing as
Pasadena and San Marino city employees and charging homeowners to stencil
street numbers on their curbs.)[ 297 ]
Even though they left the four musicians poor, these gigs furthered the
band’s development in three important ways. First, these dive bars helped
transform Van Halen into a band that, by 1978, would be powerful, seasoned,
and skilled enough to thrill stadium crowds. Most immediately, this involved
playing, as Roth put it, “five [sets] a night of hard rock, no slow stuff,” to
audiences largely comprised of alcoholics, speed freaks, cycle enthusiasts, and
incipient felons from L.A.’s industrial hinterlands, all of whom wanted their rock
hard and their beer cold and, initially at least, had never heard of Van Halen.
[ 298 ] By winning over these rowdy audiences, Van Halen developed what
Roth would later term the “habits” and “attitudes” that separated the great bands
from all the rest.[ 299 ]
Second, these long nights of gigging also allowed the quartet to test drive
and tweak their original songs. Although bar owners like Simons expected an
up-and-coming unsigned band like Van Halen to play popular songs that their
customers would know, Van Halen took liberties with this policy as they worked
to craft a body of their own material. “We probably had the largest repertoire of
anyone around,” recalled Anthony. “It included everything from James Brown to
the Kinks. And we’d always try to stick in one of our own songs, but about one
per set was all we could get away with.”[ 300 ] According to Alex, the best way
for a band to “get away” with slipping in its originals was to get patrons “dancing
to a song they know” and then “just segue into one of your own songs and they’ll
keep going.”[ 301 ]
Most importantly, though, Van Halen committed to playing at bars like
Mitty’s because they believed that these places would help the band make a
monster truck–sized name for itself throughout Southern California. As Roth
told Steven Rosen, this component of the band’s vision was that “we’d play the
clubs and the bars and our following [would keep] growing, which was the whole
idea, to make the following grow. And if you heat people up enough, if you
excited people enough, they would talk and then eventually the record
companies would hear about it … [and] you’d get discovered and signed.”[ 302 ]
Even though getting signed seemed like a pipe dream in early 1975, the
band stood ready to do the work necessary to raise its profile, regardless of
whether or not it provided a quick payoff. “Even when we were working and we
made no money at all when we played,” Alex said to an interviewer in 1978, “we
felt in our heart that this was the music the people liked and what we liked. So it
didn’t matter moneywise, because if we had not made an album we’d still be
playing the same music … We loved playing and the people had a good
time.”[ 303 ] Thus the band resolved to grind it out on the dive bar circuit until
enough of the city’s rock fans had become Van Halen fans.

In the late spring of 1975, Van Halen got the word that they needed to add a
new pin to their nightclub map. A small club called the Rock Corporation had
opened its doors in Van Nuys. While the venue would feature nationally known
acts like Captain Beyond, Iron Butterfly, and Canned Heat, the Rock would also
give unsigned bands a chance to ply their trade. Most likely, the band had also
heard a piece of information about the club that they had deemed useful: its
owner, Jeff Simons, was a former roadie for Bachman–Turner Overdrive (BTO).
After Roth or Alex called the Rock and secured an audition slot, they all drove to
the Valley.[ 304 ]
When they arrived, the foursome met the Rock’s manager and pulled on
their grimy coveralls. As they unloaded, each of them took in their surroundings.
The club itself was located on a gritty commercial stretch of Oxnard Street, with
little to recommend it to those looking for the beautiful side of the City of
Angels. Indeed, the Los Angeles Free Press described the Rock’s location as an
“unpicturesque” example of the Valley’s “industrial underside” standing “all too
near the center” of life in Van Nuys.[ 305 ] Situated across the street from a
power station, it was an ideal spot for a business that featured loud live music.
The inside of the Rock likewise offered little in terms of ambiance. As they
stepped into the dimly lit club, the smell of stale beer and dirty ashtrays assaulted
their nostrils. A shallow puddle of spilled beer, stained brown by dirty boots and
discarded cigarettes, covered part of the dance floor. The club’s rough-hewn
wooden walls were haphazardly plastered with gig posters, photographs of
celebrity visitors, and a growing collection of autographed cymbals. Along with
pinball machines, pool tables, a jukebox, and an imposing wooden bar, the club
also featured a small stage situated in one corner of the room.
While the band set up onstage, owner Jeff Simons worked in the Rock’s
small, cluttered office. He typically left the amateur band auditions to the club’s
manager, so he didn’t bother to watch when this Pasadena quartet began to play.
He didn’t hear Alex count in by clicking his sticks, and the significance of Van
Halen’s audition song didn’t immediately register in his mind. But after a couple
of bars, Simons looked up from his desk. Van Halen had launched into BTO’s
massive 1974 hit, “Takin’ Care of Business.” To his ears, Van Halen’s version
sounded nothing like the original. It sounded thin, tinny, in fact.
Suddenly, a flash of anger surged through him. These fucking guys know I
worked for BTO. Unwilling to be manipulated, Simons strode out of his office
and climbed onto the club’s stage. He yanked Edward’s cord out of his amp,
bringing the song to a grinding halt. Turning to Edward, he yelled, “Hey, your
fucking band sucks! Pack your shit and get the fuck out! Try practicing too
before you audition again!” Upon hearing this, Roth went ballistic. Edward,
meanwhile, looked stunned as Simons said a few choice words to Roth before
walking off and slamming the door to his office.

Even in the face of another failed audition, Edward’s dedication to his craft
never wavered. Kim Miller, who probably spent more time with Edward than
anyone outside of the band, recalls that nothing interfered with her boyfriend’s
love affair with his instrument. “Edward sat on his bed to play his guitar. He
played for hours, which was not unusual at all for him. He only stopped for food
and sometimes just fell asleep. It’s what he loved to do most. By the time I came
into his life he really didn’t play along to records or even play songs [per se] — I
guess he did this at practice. He just played riffs and jammed freestyle. Edward
also did play guitar at my house a lot; he would bring it with him unless we
had plans to go out. I was so [accustomed] to him … playing his guitar.
I rarely paid a lot of attention; it wasn’t amped and sounded like ‘Eruption’ all
the time, but with less structure.”[ 306 ]
Edward also spent time with his friend Terry Kilgore, a burly, intense
guitarist whom he’d known since he was a little kid. As Edward told Guitar
World, “A really good friend of mine named Terry Kilgore and I were the so-
called gunslingers in Pasadena back in the mid-’70s.”
Their friendship grew out of mutual admiration. “We jammed together and
would trade licks and have a lot of fun,” Edward explained.[ 307 ] Jonathan
Laidig, Terry’s bass player at the time, recalls, “The two of them, they’d get
together, and if you can imagine it, the two of them played face to face. It was
kind of like they pushed to make each one get better. The guitar was Terry’s life,
and it showed. At that point you could put him and Eddie together in a blind
test and you couldn’t tell them apart.” Carl Haasis adds, “Terry Kilgore’s a great
guitar player. He and Ed were like neck and neck back then. At one point they
sounded kind of like each other.”
Their shared sense of respect led both young men to watch while the other
practiced with his band. Terry took in Van Halen practices. Edward, in turn,
watched Terry’s band rehearse, talking to his friend on breaks about guitar gear
and tone. In fact, Edward recounted to Guitar World that he first discovered
MXR, a guitar effects company he now endorses, at Kilgore’s place. “I went to
one of his band rehearsals once, and that was when I first saw a [MXR] Phase
90.”[ 308 ]
Around 1974, Kilgore started giving guitar lessons. One of his early pupils
was a fourteen-year-old Chris Holmes. Holmes, later of W.A.S.P., explains,
“When I was a young kid I took guitar lessons from Terry Kilgore. I could get
high school credit for taking these guitar lessons.”
To pay for his sessions, Holmes got a summer job. He says, “I was painting
houses in La Cañada and Flintridge. One day I looked in the window of this
house we were painting, and I noticed all these gold records lining the walls. I
knocked on the door. I asked the lady that answered about them and she told me
they were Harvey Mandel’s awards. I was like, Huh, I don’t know who that is.”
When Holmes showed up for his next lesson, he mentioned that he’d been
inside the home of a musician named Harvey Mandel. Holmes asked Kilgore,
“Who’s Harvey Mandel?”
“He’s a great guitarist, that’s who he is. Next time you’re there working get
his phone number for me.”
Holmes says, “I did, and Terry went up there and met Mandel.”
At that time, the twenty-nine-year-old Mandel had already had a career that
would be the envy of guitarists everywhere. He’d grown up a blues prodigy in
Chicago. Mandel then joined the ranks of boogie-rockers Canned Heat and
would perform with them at the Woodstock Festival. Not one to stand still,
Mandel then became a member of John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers, a band that
had incubated Edward’s guitar idol, Eric Clapton. He also recorded two solo
albums, Baby Batter (1971) and Snake (1972).
 When Kilgore showed up at Mandel’s home, he asked the famous guitarist
for lessons. Kilgore says, “I just wanted to take lessons from him, because I loved
the way he played.” He didn’t hide his enthusiasm after his first session and
arrived at practice raving about Mandel’s talents. “I was playing with Terry in
1974 and 1975 when he was taking those lessons,” Laidig says, “I know he was
really jazzed about taking them from him.”
Kilgore, who always kept tabs on the latest guitar techniques, was
particularly interested in learning Mandel’s unique two-handed tapping
technique. While playing lead runs, Mandel would use his pick-hand fingers to
sound, or “tap,” notes on the guitar neck in a stuttering and meandering fashion.
Mandel, it turns out, had learned the unorthodox method from a former
bandmate. In 1972, Mandel had joined a Los Angeles–based blues-rock band,
the Pure Food and Drug Act. Mandel shared guitar duties in that group with a
wildly creative player named Randy Resnick. During the band’s long live jams,
Resnick would often tap notes with his picking hand. Mandel took notice.
[ 309 ]
In the months that followed, Mandel woodshedded the technique. Mandel
told writer Abel Sharp: “Randy was the first guitarist I ever saw tap, and he had
his own little way of doing it … After I saw Randy Resnick doing it, I got on it.
I started doing it all over.”[ 310 ] On his 1973 solo album, Shangrenade, Mandel
showcased a style that featured the two-handed technique as the centerpiece of
his lead playing.
After learning it from Mandel, Kilgore started to experiment with the
method. Chris Holmes recollects, “The next time I took a lesson with Terry, he
was doing finger tapping.” Kilgore also showed his bandmates and his
soundman, Kevin Gallagher, the technique. Gallagher explains, “So Terry
started showing up with this [tapping] stuff that Mandel was teaching him. I
never really met Mandel. But they were pretty tight, and he shared a lot of this
stuff with Terry. My understanding is that Harvey started that style of playing
and showed it to Terry.”
It didn’t take long for Kilgore to share this novel method with Edward.
Gallagher says, “I can recall at least one time when I was doing sound in Jon
Laidig’s basement that Eddie was sitting on the basement stairs learning that
stuff from Terry.”
Before Kilgore gave Edward a tutorial on finger tapping, it’s quite likely that
Edward knew that a few forward-thinking guitarists occasionally used their pick
hands in this fashion. Edward, a player who could hear a song once and then
play right along, surely heard, for example, when Billy Gibbons offered up a
quick tap during his solo on ZZ Top’s 1973 barnburner “Beer Drinkers & Hell
Raisers” (a song Van Halen covered frequently in the early days).
But while Gibbons’s technique involved adding nothing more than a single-
pinged note to his solo, Mandel’s approach saw him construct entire lead lines
around the use of tapping. It was embedded deeply in his compositions, rather
than a bit of guitar flash used to spice up a solo, and it opened up Edward’s eyes.
Kilgore says, “That’s where, believe it or not, Edward picked up on the second
hand style. I said check this out [and tapped], and he went, Wow. He started
doing it. I had a lot of ideas that ended up in Edward’s hands. He had a few that
ended up in mine for sure.”
Even though Kilgore’s demonstration made an impression, there are only a
few observers who can recall Edward using his right hand on the neck onstage
before 1977. Guitarist Dennis Catron, who regularly caught Van Halen live
during these years, says he never saw Edward use his full-blown two-handed
technique “until about the time they got signed [in 1977]” but is adamant that
onstage he “did little ones, like one note,” à la Gibbons in “Beer Drinkers,” as far
back as 1975. Guitarist Donny Simmons recalls he heard Edward “experiment”
with tapping during a soundcheck at the Golden West Ballroom in the summer
of 1975: “I’ll never forget. We’d done our set and we were headed back to the bar
to get a beer. I turned around, and I was all like, ‘What in the fuck is he doing?’
Think about hearing that for the first time after you’re used to hearing Bad
Company. What’s all this [imitates tapping noise]? I was all, ‘What was that?’”
Edward’s occasional single finger taps aside, there’s no evidence that
between 1975 and 1976, Edward employed the flowing two-handed hammer-on
and pull-off style that would become his musical signature after the release of
Van Halen. During those years, Edward apparently toyed with what he’d learned
from Kilgore, hitting a few pick-hand notes here and there while onstage or in
practice, but wouldn’t unleash his game-changing take on the technique until the
early summer of 1977, just months before Van Halen would enter the studio to
record their debut.

While Edward expanded his guitar horizons, Van Halen regrouped and re-
auditioned, and within two weeks, Simons had hired them. He observes that he
booked Van Halen because they drew people to the club. The Rock
Corporation’s operation was ultimately “driven by the crowds. If you got the
crowd in you got booked.” As the weeks passed, Van Halen began to build its
Valley fan base.
One of those early fans was a wild eighteen-year-old brunette named Valerie
Evans Noel. During the summer of 1975, Evans remembers seeing Van Halen
on many a Saturday night at the Rock. She was immediately taken by Edward’s
playing. “Look, anyone can do the ‘Canned Heat Boogie,’” she points out, “but
there was no intensity like it when Eddie played. It was surreal, and he was so
young.” At the same time, she emphasizes that Roth played a big part in Van
Halen’s appeal. “Back in the day,” she says, “there was no one really like David.
His voice was amazing and he had a great body. He would wear a bandanna, no
shirt, hip huggers, and had a Black Oak Arkansas vibe.” His stage presence and
look, accordingly, drew many a female closer to the stage. “His following with
women was amazing,” Noel recalls.
In between sets, Noel would walk backstage to shoot the shit. She
remembers, “The dressing room was this little alcove with a curtain. It had a
bench with a cushion. Van Halen would be drinking and smoking.” Because the
club didn’t pay very well, Noel says the foursome took advantage of the club’s
free drink policy for working musicians: “I remember that Van Halen would
always be drinking to make their money” as they “got their buzz on before the
next set.”
At the Rock, getting your buzz on typically involved pills, which were
popular in the 1970s. Unlike trendy Sunset Strip nightclubs, where cocaine was
king, the Rock was ruled by pharmaceuticals. “Coke was too expensive” for the
Rock’s patrons, Evans observes. “You’d split an eight-ball and it cost a fortune
and you’d have a buzz for an hour.” Pills, in contrast, “were huge. We would look
on the floor and just pick up pills that people had dropped. The Rock had a big
downer crowd. ’Ludes, Tuinals, and Seconals were all the rage.” In fact, she
remembers one night when she played rock-paper-scissors with Edward for a
Tuinal.
Also in the club on Saturday nights was a beautiful teenager named Iris
Berry. Before she became a fixture on the Los Angeles punk scene, Berry was a
self-described “Valley girl with a good fake ID.” She remembers going to see
Van Halen at the Rock, where she took in the group’s sets of hard rock covers.
She says the band “drew well,” attracting a rough crowd composed of young
rockers and bikers. Berry declares that Van Halen packed the club largely
because of their “great frontman,” who knew exactly how to grab the attention of
onlookers. In Berry’s case, this would involve a seductive Roth whispering in her
ear between sets.
As the weeks went by, the four musicians began performing some of their
own songs at the Rock. In the middle of the evening, they’d follow up Stray
Dog’s rumbling “Chevrolet” with their bluesy “Take Your Whiskey Home.”
During the last set of the night, Trower’s propulsive “The Fool and Me” would
lead into the catchy original “She’s the Woman.” “Once we knew the people”
were “becoming big fans of the band,” Anthony explained, “we [would] start
popping off some of our own stuff.”[ 311 ] Oftentimes, patrons had no idea that
these tunes were Van Halen compositions. Tom Broderick observes that they
“slipped originals in and it was like nobody in the audience knew.”

While Van Halen had found its niche at the Rock, Edward continued to
struggle with a persistent problem: his amplifier volume level. Ever since
Mammoth’s ill-fated 1973 performance at the Posh nightclub, which had ended
with the owner cutting the band’s power, he had tried to find ways to get his
distinctive guitar sound (the tonal character produced by a guitar player’s hands,
instrument, effects, and amplifiers) from his favorite Marshall Super Lead amp
without deafening club patrons.
The most obvious solution — to use a less powerful amp — wasn’t
something that Edward liked to do. Haasis found this out in the summer of
1975. He arrived at the Rock for the first set of the night and was surprised to
see that while Edward had his typical setup of two Marshall speaker cabinets, his
amplifier was turned around on top of his cabinets, so the guts of the amp were
visible rather than its nameplate and knobs. Regardless, Haasis says, “I knew it
was a Sound City Fifty Plus, a little head.” After Van Halen moved through a
brisk opening set, Haasis approached him.
“Hey Eddie, what are you playing through tonight?”
Edward shook his head and frowned. “Eh, it’s a Sound City.”
Haasis paused as Edward took a drag off his cigarette. “Why do you have it
turned around?’
“I don’t want anyone to see it. I’m embarrassed.”
“Where’s your Marshall?”
“It’s in the shop,” he said with a disgusted look on his face.
“Well the Sound City sounds great.”
Edward shook his head again and muttered, “Whatever.”
 Haasis says that Edward just “didn’t want to hear” that this lesser amp
sounded good. Haasis remembers that in fact, “It sounded great, because if he
played through a home stereo he’d sound the same. It’s in his hands, like any
guitar player.”
Edward disagreed. He believed that his sound largely depended on that one
amplifier, and there was no good substitute for it. So he tried different ways to
cut the amp’s volume while still keeping it on ten. “I did everything,” Edward
told Steven Rosen, “from keeping the plastic cover on it to facing it against the
walls to putting Styrofoam padding in front of the speakers.”[ 312 ] None of
these solutions worked. “I need[ed] an amp I could play in clubs,” Edward
explained to Esquire. “We wouldn’t get hired, I would play so loud, you know,
I’m going, what can I do? What can I do?”
By the summer of 1975, Edward had found a solution. Looking to
supplement his primary Marshall, he bought a second Marshall amp. But when
he got it home, plugged in his guitar, and turned it on, he heard nothing. “I’m
going,” he recounted to Esquire, “fucking thing doesn’t work. I got ripped off.”
With the amp still on, he walked away in a huff. When he returned after about
an hour and played through it again, he found that “there’s sound coming out,
but it’s really quiet.” Edward then realized that the amp wasn’t a standard 110-
volt Marshall; instead it was a 220-volt model designed for use in Europe and
not the United States. He thought, Hey, wait a minute. It sounds exactly like it’s
supposed to all the way up, but it’s really quiet.
Ever the tinkerer, Edward had an idea. He grabbed a screwdriver and
removed a light dimmer from the wall. He wired his main amp into the house’s
electrical system, in the hopes that he could drop the amp’s voltage with the
dimmer. Instead, the house went dark as he blew a fuse.
Still thinking his idea could work, he headed over to Dow Radio, a
Pasadena electronics supply store. He walked in and asked, “Do you guys have
any kind of super duper light dimmer?” The clerk replied, “Yeah, it’s [a] Variac
variable transformer.” When the man brought one to him, Edward looked at the
cube-like metal box. He recalled, “[on the] dial you could crank it up to 140 volts
or down to zero. So I figured, if it’s on 220 and it’s that quiet, if I take the
voltage and lower it, I wonder how low I can go and it still work?”
Edward’s idea worked like a charm. He remembered, “It enabled me to turn
my amp all the way up, save the tubes, save the wear and tear on the tubes, and
play at clubs at half the volume. So, my Variac, my variable transformer, was my
volume knob. Too loud [makes knob turning sound], I’d lower it down to 50.”
While today attenuating a tube amp by starving it for voltage is a well-known
way to deal with intolerable volume levels, at that time Edward had hit upon
something both unique and useful. He resolved to keep this discovery to himself.
[ 313 ]

One late summer afternoon, Edward’s old friend and fellow guitarist Jim
Steinwedell drove to the Rock to say goodbye to Edward before going off to
college. Steinwedell had first met him back in 1972, when he had loaned him his
Marshall head after Edward’s had blown right in the middle of a Mammoth
backyard party in La Cañada.
Walking into the darkened club with one of his band’s roadies, Steinwedell
was struck by the number of huge, menacing bikers sitting at the bar double-
fisting drinks. “My roadie and I were by far the smallest guys in the place,” he
says. “I’m six-foot-two and was 235, and John’s six-foot-four and was 270.” Told
that Van Halen was in the “dressing room,” the two hulking men found them at
the rear of the club, sitting behind “an accordion plastic room divider that you
would pull away from the wall to create a space to dress in semi-privacy.”
After saying hello, the pair hung around during soundcheck. As Van Halen
played, Steinwedell was taken aback by both the “killer” sound flowing from
Edward’s setup and the fact that his Marshall amplifier sounded thick and full
even though its volume was relatively low. This reduced volume particularly
perplexed him, because decibel levels were a “perennial problem” for the era’s
working guitarists who used powerful tube amplifiers.[ 314 ]
Once the band took a break, he asked his friend what he had done to get
such an amazing tone at a reduced volume.
“Oh it’s this new DiMarzio pickup,” Edward said evasively.
“Bullshit,” Jim retorted. “What is it?”
“Ah, um, it’s these old tubes in my amplifier.”
Growing tired of his friend’s dissembling, Steinwedell gently but firmly
pressed his smaller friend against the wall and asked again, “No, really. How’d
you get that sound at that volume?” Finally, Edward admitted — after swearing
his friend to secrecy — that he’d started using the Variac. As he showed it to
him, they both agreed that along with volume reduction came another
unexpected benefit: it made his tone richer and warmer. In later years, Edward
credited this breakthrough for helping him attain the signature tone — his self-
described “brown sound” — that would achieve legendary status among guitar
players after the 1978 release of Van Halen.[ 315 ]

A few months earlier and fifty miles away from Van Nuys, guitarist Donny
Simmons and his band Stormer had ended their second set of the night at
Walter Mitty’s. As Simmons set down his Les Paul, he saw the club’s owner,
Larry Ward, headed to the stage with two familiar faces in tow: David Roth and
Edward Van Halen. Ward strolled to the microphone and announced, “Hey
everyone! I want to introduce you all to a dynamite new band called Van Halen!
These guys will be playing here very soon, so watch for them.”
Simmons, who liked Edward and Dave but also knew that Van Halen was a
great live act, felt deflated as he considered this new competition for bookings at
the club. A smiling Edward, oblivious to his friend’s mixed feelings, turned to
Simmons and earnestly said, “That was a nice blues, dude! I guess we’ll be
playing together off and on.” Simmons thought, Oh, just fuckin’ great.
When the members of Van Halen first showed up at Walter Mitty’s, they
barely blinked an eye at their surroundings, considering some of the other less-
than-savory places they had already played. Mitty’s stood in a tough industrial
neighborhood on the east side of Pomona. In his autobiography, Roth writes
that the small club “was out in the middle of nowhere.”[ 316 ] Across the street,
military contractor General Dynamics operated a huge manufacturing plant, its
property line surrounded by a formidable chain-link and barbed-wire fence.
[ 317 ] The rest of the street included frontage for two trailer parks, a liquor
store, a couple of bars and, incongruously, an adult bookstore and an evangelical
church, the Pomona Revival Center.[ 318 ] This was hardly a slice of California
suburban paradise.
 Walter Mitty’s Rock’n Grill Emporium, Pomona, California, as it looked in 1976. LESLIE WARD-SPEERS

When the club was open for business, Mitty’s customers ran roughshod over
the seedy neighborhood. Leslie Ward-Speers, Larry’s daughter, remembers that
most patrons parked in “a big dirt field at the end of the building. When it
rained it was just nasty and muddy.” They also parked on both sides of the street
and when bands played, “people would be waiting for spaces and fighting, and
cars would be moving in and out. It would just be total chaos.” Bikers, who were
the club’s best customers, lined their choppers up along the sidewalk. “The
bikers parked rows and rows of motorcycles,” Ward-Speers says. “You wouldn’t
believe how many — all the way down the front of the building.”
The interior of the club also lacked amenities. Speers says succinctly, “It was
a well-used place.” After passing through the entrance, customers came to the
bar area. “The bar was really long and people had carved things in it,” she recalls.
Pool tables filled part of that space, and tables were arranged around the walls. A
partition bisected the club and large cutouts in it allowed those sitting at the bar
to see the dance floor and the bands. Leiren described the stage, which was
against the back wall of the club, as “a postage stamp … with like two feet in
front of the drum kit, which was pushed up against the wall. Then there was
probably four feet or six feet on each side of the drum kit.”[ 319 ] Rounding all
of this out, Ward-Speers recalls, was a perpetually sticky floor along with “that
stale beer and cigarette smell. It was just nasty.”
After Van Halen got the gig, their San Gabriel Valley fans came to see them
in Pomona. Few of them, however, had ever been to this kind of neighborhood.
Charlie Gwyn, a then-twenty-one-year-old from Duarte, recollects that an older
friend took him to Mitty’s to see Van Halen. “I was scared at the time,” to enter
the club’s dark interior, “because the crowd looked older and tougher than I had
seen at local parties.”[ 320 ] Cary Irwin, a La Puente product, confirms that
Gwyn’s fears were not unfounded. “Walter Mitty’s became this real hip place for
all these bands to play at,” he explains. But “there were quite frequently severe
fights. I remember one night I went there some guy got thrown through a plate-
glass window and cut his neck really bad. It turned into a big deal.”
Van Halen would gain firsthand knowledge of Mitty’s violent clientele. In
the midst of their fifth set one night, they witnessed a murder on the club’s
dance floor after members of two rival motorcycle gangs got into a deadly fight.
“One time late in the evening,” Edward remembered, “we just saw a guy’s
intestines hanging out of his gut.” As the band watched in horror, the stricken
man reeled away from his knife-wielding attacker and then “fell to the ground;
there was blood everywhere.”[ 321 ] As Roth recounted in his autobiography, the
club’s lights suddenly came on and Van Halen quickly left the stage. “But the
next night,” he explains, rumors raged that certain aggrieved bikers were “coming
back to exact revenge.” Van Halen still performed, but just to be safe, they
“pulled the amplifiers a few more feet away from the walls than usual, in case we
had to jump behind the amps if there was a shoot-out.”[ 322 ]
Despite these dangers, people turned out in large numbers to catch the
band’s shows. Joe Carducci, a La Puente guitar player whose band played
Mitty’s, witnessed this in the early summer of 1975. “I remember standing way
in the back and the place was packed,” he says. Taking one look at Roth, a friend
of Carducci’s yelled in his ear, “Who’s this guy trying to be, Jim Dandy?”
Carducci replied, “Man, if they just had a guy who could sing!” He explains, “I
meant that in the sense of somebody who had a really, really good rock and roll
voice. That was what was in my head. Man, then these guys would be
unbelievable!”
Here Carducci hits upon two themes that would resurface once the band hit
Hollywood’s Starwood nightclub in May 1976. First, Roth, who’d abandoned
his glitter rock image, now offered up skintight leather pants and a bare torso
while performing. When paired with his swaggering stage presence and raspy
voice, he reminded observers of Jim “Dandy” Mangrum of Black Oak Arkansas,
a southern rock group that had fallen out of fashion over the last couple of years.
Second, Roth’s voice was, at best, a work in progress and was, in the opinion of
many observers, the only thing that detracted from Van Halen’s greatness.
Regardless of Roth’s shortcomings, Van Halen had found their Pomona
outpost from which to build an east L.A. fan base. This, of course, fit perfectly
with the band’s overarching objectives. Roth told BAM in 1977, “Like most new
bands that just start out, our short-range goal was to get exposure and soak up
experience by playing in front of anyone who would listen.”[ 323 ] Over time,
the band would “build our audience and people will talk and go, ‘Oh hey, you’ve
really got to see this band tomorrow night.’”[ 324 ]
And as much of a grind as performing at a dive bar like Mitty’s could be, the
four men found ways to embrace the experience as the crowds grew. “We went
out and played and played and played,” Alex told Modern Drummer. “Sure we
didn’t have any money and sure this broke down and sure there were lousy
people we had to work with, such as pseudo managers and club owners. But the
audiences were always there and it was a great time. Some people call it paying
your dues, but we just called it having fun. We had a good time. I wouldn’t have
wanted it any different.”[ 325 ] Roth likewise explained to the Los Angeles Times,
“We were happy playing all the clubs. We were working towards something. We
were hungry, we were accomplishing things.”[ 326 ]
In later years, this positive mindset translated into nostalgia. Alex remarked,
“To me [Mitty’s] was the epitome of a rock and roll club. And every night we
played there I had this vision that we were playing some sort of large
arena.”[ 327 ] The club, Anthony added, “held three hundred people, and we’d
have seven hundred, a thousand people inside. It was your ultimate sweaty small
stage.” Van Halen’s lineup “used to get a great sound in that place. When we
were grooving, the whole club would be happening.”[ 328 ] On those nights,
Van Halen mixed their originals and covers together with abandon, as patrons
danced and cheered.
This infectious energy, when coupled with the band’s singular appeal, led to
jam-packed houses. In fact, the Van Halen phenomenon at Mitty’s was so
remarkable that owner Larry Ward awoke one Saturday morning and said to his
sixteen-year-old daughter, Leslie, “You’ve got to come down and listen to this
group. You’ll really like them.” When she showed up in the early evening, she
saw that “people were lining up down the street and down around the building
to get inside.” After her father snuck his underage daughter inside, he told her,
“Keep your head down and don’t let anyone see you too much.” She followed his
instructions by lingering in a corner, where she watched the club come to life.
Van Halen, she says, “would just pack my dad’s bar. It was all you could do just
to get in the door. It would be standing-room only. Once you got inside all you
could do was stand up and just look. There was no sitting down in that place
that night.” After Van Halen began blasting through some Bad Company and
Led Zeppelin, she “was just mesmerized. To hear this sound that was so
different from everybody else and to hear it live like that — they were so good.”
In between sets, Ward-Speers stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. Staying
close to her father’s towering bouncer “Bear,” she drank in her surroundings,
taking note of “all these bikes parked up and down the sidewalk. These guys
would come out and they’d have chains coming out of their pockets. Big wide
leather straps around their wrists, wearing vests and jeans and big thick leather
boots, long hair, and long beards. They were pretty rough. They were
intimidating.”
Meanwhile, Ward and Bear worried that the local authorities would be
paying the club a visit that night. “The police and fire department used to come
a lot for being overcapacity and the noise,” she explains. “When David and
Eddie’s band was there, it was a given. You almost expected them to show up.”
Inside the club, Roth earned his money. He’d call for the crowd’s attention,
then step off the stage, microphone in hand, and barge into the tiny ladies room.
He’d speak to the outraged women crowded inside, asking them, tongue-in-
cheek, to show him their IDs in order to confirm that they were of age, as bikers
leered through the doorway and cheered. As the laughs reverberated, Roth
would return to the stage and continue the set, playing, as he wrote in his
autobiography, “everything from old Rod Stewart to [the] Ohio Players.”[ 329 ]
To paraphrase Roth, Van Halen might not have been big in Hollywood, but by
1975, his band was getting big in Pomona.

Several months later in Van Nuys, Jeff Simons felt sick as he looked over the
Rock’s books for the spring of 1976. His club’s finances were dire. Between
bartenders who robbed him blind and the Department of Alcoholic Beverage
Control’s fines for underage drinking, the Rock wasn’t making much money. To
make matters worse, he was losing money on Thursday nights, regardless of
which band was onstage.
 A few days later, Simons and a couple of friends sat down and brainstormed
ways to bring more cash into the Rock’s till. After tossing ideas around, they
resolved to introduce a promotion for Thursdays since the bar had done better
after Simons had put promotions in place for Tuesday (“Girls’ Night”) and
Wednesday (“Suds Night”). Eventually one of them suggested a “beauty
pageant” of sorts — albeit updated for the sexually frank 1970s — that he’d seen
successfully staged elsewhere: a wet T-shirt contest.
Simons now faced a decision. This type of event would likely pack his club,
but it would also test the tolerance of the Van Nuys city officials who already
kept a close eye on his establishment. Would they put up with girls getting
nearly topless onstage? The impulsive Simons thought, Fuck it. The bikers will
dig it. Let’s do it.
That first Thursday night, Simons’s lack of planning was evident. The club
owner just stepped onstage between sets, threw down a piece of Astroturf to
catch some of the water, and ran the contest. Renee Cummings, a Rock regular,
remembers, “Jeff winged it from day one. He just said, ‘Let’s get these girls up
onstage and let’s do it. We’ll make up the rules as we go.’ It wasn’t organized;
nothing was ever organized at the Rock. It was Jeff’s fly-by-night idea, and it
worked.” Despite its haphazard nature, the contest had attracted the attention of
law enforcement, as undercover officers were in house that night.
The next day, Simons considered ways to improve to the contest. For the
following week, he’d make it the evening’s centerpiece, complete with signup
sheets and a wading pool. He’d spread word of the event with flyers and, in an
age when truckers and many other drivers communicated via Citizens’ Band
radios (CBs), with announcements over the airwaves. He’d offer a more
substantial cash prize to encourage more girls to participate. He’d also have one
of his best bands, Van Halen, onstage. Simons felt energized as he set these
plans in motion.

The next Thursday afternoon, a buzz was in the air about the contest. More cars
and motorcycles cruised past the Rock than usual. The club was more crowded
than normal, and the office phone was ringing incessantly. High school kids
even hung around outside, hoping to see the big show. Fred Whittlesey and his
friends in Reseda had “learned there was this thing called ‘wet T-shirt night’ at
the Rock Corporation. For boys in their late teens, this sounded like a really
good idea. I’m sure we heard, ‘Hey guys, there’s wet T-shirt night and they don’t
check IDs!’ That’s all we needed to know.”
By the time darkness fell on this June night, the neighborhood around the
Rock was swarming with people. Evans says, “The line was literally all the way
from the club up to Van Nuys Boulevard, which was a quarter of a mile away.”
Inside the club, Noel’s friend Renee Cummings could barely believe the size
of the crowd. She explains, “There were so many people that at times you could
not walk from the front door to the bathroom. The regulars were there, but then
you had people who came in from all over.” This included Edward’s old friend,
Dana Anderson, and teenagers like Whittlesey.
Finally, around midnight, it was time for the main event. The Rock was
jammed and people stood three-deep around the bar trying to order drinks
before the contest began. Three hours earlier, Roth had announced, “Remember,
it’s two-for-one night next Thursday.”[ 330 ] He then said, his arm
outstretched, “Ladies, you can sign up at this side of the bar for the wet T-shirt
contest!” Noel recollects, “Sometimes twenty-five girls would sign up, sometimes
less.” Girls wrote their names on the list, including some who Simons describes
as “ringers” — particularly well-endowed ladies from places like Tujunga or
Chatsworth whom bikers had recruited for the contest.
After Roth announced that the contest was underway, a buzzed Simons
bounded onto the stage with the contestants, including Cummings and Noel,
and a deafening cheer arose from the crowd. In 1981, Roth told Oui what
happened next: “It was a great scene. I’d be the MC, with the band behind me.
I’d interview the contestants.
“‘And what do you do for a living?’
“‘Oh, I’m a donut waitress from Canoga Park.’
“I’d make a dumb joke, the place would crack up, and she’d jump into a
kiddie pool and get wet.
“‘And honey, what song would you like to hear?’
“‘Oh, I’d just loooooove [Edgar Winter’s] “Free Ride.”’
“‘Al, it seems this lady would like to take a free ride.’
“The audience,” Roth recounted, “went into hysterics.”
With that, “Jeff took pitchers of ice water and poured it down what we were
wearing, which was a string tank, like a belly shirt. Then you would dance,” Noel
says.
As each girl stood in the pool, Van Halen, Roth recollected, would “play.”
Then “she does her twitch and bump, and the rest of the girls bounce in.”[ 331 ]
Cummings explains, “We were wasted! There was nothing better to do in those
days than get wasted. You had to let your hair down! So we’re getting our tits
wet? Big fucking deal!” She adds that, yes, the competition got so heated that
some of the girls started “stripping down to nothing.” The only one not smiling
in the midst of all of this was Alex. Noel recollects that he became incensed
because his drums, along with the girls, had been drenched.
Somewhere across the bar was Anderson. “At the Rock Corporation,” he
says with a laugh, “we were in Dave’s world. It was crazy! It was like Dave was
an MC for a game show. He was totally in his element with the wet T-shirt
contest. The guy who ran the club would pour a pitcher over the chicks and they
were just loving it! It was free love back then. It was packed. You couldn’t get in
the place.”
Onstage, the show continued. Roth remembered that on some nights, “at
the end, the judges [were] too fucked up to make any decision so we [had to] run
all the contestants through again, five, six hundred people standing on top of
each other, drunk, and screaming.”[ 332 ] On other nights, however, Simons
decided the contest through applause.
On this particular night, just as Simons began calling for an audience vote, a
commotion broke out at the back of the club. Cops from the Van Nuys Division
of the Los Angeles Police Department had arrived. Noel says they “were in the
back. There was a scuffle, and then they worked their way through the packed
crowd to the stage.” At the same time, Simons recalls, a backup call had also
gone out to units from the North Hollywood Division, which came in full force
to help end the contest, arrest the participants, and clear out the club. It would
take, in fact, both divisions to shut down the Rock that night.[ 333 ]
But with nearly a thousand people in the Rock, all of this happened in slow
motion. Simons observes, “It actually took time for the police to work their way
through the crowd to stop it.” After the officers fought their way through the
throngs of belligerent, drunken patrons, they got onto the stage and handcuffed
Simons and the girls who they believed had bared their breasts. Noel says, “Girls
were pulled offstage at one point, which really put a damper on the evening. The
police were sending a message: We’re a force to be reckoned with.”
Even as the police dragged away Simons and the others, the members of
Van Halen were all smiles. The police ignored the band, especially after Roth
told the cops that Van Halen had nothing to do with the contest. Even so, the
notoriety that came from the contests and the police raid was invaluable. Like
the big backyard busts of prior years, the events at the Rock helped to cement
Van Halen’s reputation as Los Angeles’s best party band.

In 1982, Roth shared an anecdote with the Los Angeles Times that highlights the
band members’ belief, even when they were playing “the pits,” that they would
one day reach the height of rock and roll success: “I remember back to the days
standing in the parking lot with Alex, drinking beers behind the building after a
gig, and saying, ‘Al, someday, man, we’re gonna make it. Someday, you and me,
we’re gonna be drinking beer in the Forum parking lot.’”[ 334 ]
That same year, David Lee Roth sat for an interview with MTV’s Martha
Quinn. She asked Roth, “How do you map out a show that you’re going to do?”
His answer reflects the lessons he learned at the Rock and elsewhere and
underscores the importance of these years for Van Halen’s later success. Roth
replied, “It’s a constant movement. Who needs dead space? A lot of people have
nothing to say in between songs … I love talking. I love telling jokes. For me
this is just one big wet T-shirt contest.”[ 335 ] Roth’s analysis here is absolutely
correct. Starting in 1978, Van Halen took the swagger they’d learned playing
dive bars and hosting wet T-shirt contests in Los Angeles and unleashed it on an
unsuspecting American public. Rock and roll — and America — would never be
the same.
 CHAPTER EIGHT: THE GOLDEN WEST
His hair damp with sweat and a post-show cigarette between his fingers, Edward
made his way through the throngs of fans at the Golden West Ballroom on May
9, 1976. The numerous friends, acquaintances, and strangers he passed reached
out to congratulate him for his band’s gutsy and powerful performance. Van
Halen, despite the immense pressure of opening for the well-respected English
rock band UFO, had gambled by choosing this night to play its first-ever set of
all original material. They had done so knowing that many of Hollywood’s
tastemakers and stars would be there, all eager to see UFO and its young guitar
superstar Michael Schenker. While omitting their usual crowd-pleasing cover
songs had been a high-risk, high-reward move, the electric atmosphere inside
this Norwalk concert venue told the tale. Van Halen had delivered.
After saying thanks to one last well-wisher, Edward entered the men’s
room. He set down his beer to take a piss when a familiar figure approached.
Edward didn’t know his name, but he knew he was a dealer who had supplied
him with some cocaine the previous weekend at the Golden West. Moving close
to Edward, he bellowed, “Yeah! You guys were bad!” Edward, ever modest, said,
“Thanks, man,” and took a drag off his cigarette. Leaning in, the dealer then
motioned to a stall and whispered, “Do you want a toot?” Edward, ready to start
his post-show celebration, nodded.
Edward closed the stall door as the dealer produced his vial. He asked,
“How much can I take?” The dealer, his face flushed and his pupils as big as
saucers, said, “Hey, take as much as you want.” Edward didn’t hesitate. He
shoveled two big bumps into each nostril, said thanks, and headed out of the
bathroom.
Within minutes something was terribly wrong with him. Rudy Leiren
explained to Steven Rosen: “By the time he got back up to the stage to start
loading the equipment he just started coming onto it. He started going into
convulsions — kind of his body started freaking out and he started doing this
thing like he was playing air guitar, like freaking out.” As his bandmates and
crew huddled around him, Edward’s face was drawn taut, like a mask. His jaw
was locked and his eyes fixed. Panicking, Alex yelled in his ear and shook him,
and yet his younger brother remained rigid and unresponsive. Edward Van
Halen was dying.[ 336 ]
As 1975 came to an end, the four members of Van Halen would have been hard
pressed to conclude that they’d made any real progress towards getting a
recording contract. Musical talent aside, Van Halen’s brand of heavy metal was
woefully out of step with the “L.A. Sound,” the country-tinged soft rock that
dominated the city’s — and the nation’s — pop music culture. Los Angeles–
based recording artists like Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Graham Nash, and
Jackson Browne made the major labels millions of dollars as their records flew
off the shelves and their songs jammed the nation’s airwaves. As a result, the
industry’s A&R reps scrambled to sign the next Little Feat, not the next Led
Zep. Whether young rock musicians like the members of Van Halen knew it or
not, the major labels had concluded that heavy metal was a relic.[ 337 ]
This grim assessment of metal’s future meant that Van Halen would be
frozen out of high-profile rock venues like Hollywood’s legendary Starwood
Club. Looking back at this period in the band’s history, Roth remembered that
Van Halen found it “impossible to get bookings in Hollywood. The Whisky was
closed and you needed connections to play [the] Starwood.”[ 338 ]
Instead, the group, like the city’s other innumerable unsigned heavy rock
acts, slogged it out week after week by playing every place from low-rent bars to
improvised concert halls. While the band regularly packed the sizable Pasadena
Civic Exhibition Hall, the quartet still played backyard parties, and even
performed at aging western swing-dance ballrooms, like the Golden West,
which, in order to keep the lights on, now hosted rock concerts.
Then there was the band’s longstanding gig at Gazzarri’s. Despite the steady
work, the fact that Van Halen was now the de facto house band at this venerable
Hollywood venue actually hurt the band’s chances for advancement. Because the
club’s management demanded that its acts perform almost all cover songs, Van
Halen couldn’t showcase the original compositions that might interest record
executives. As Runaways bass player Jackie Fox explains, because of this policy
“serious bands did not play Gazzarri’s. If Van Halen was doing a lot of shows at
Gazzarri’s, it would have tainted industry opinion about them.” In other words,
none of the record industry’s major players ever considered signing a “Gazzarri’s
band.” Music critic Ken Tucker, who covered the scene for the Los Angeles
Herald Examiner, dismissed the venue as “a real dump, where bad heavy metal
and hard rock bands tried to make a start. It wasn’t seen as a particularly
desirable showcase, within the music industry at least.”[ 339 ]
 Herein lay the root of Van Halen’s dilemma. Gazzarri’s paid the bills —
albeit barely — but just paying the bills meant going nowhere fast. “It’s easy to
get in a rut,” bassist Michael Anthony explained to the Los Angeles Times in late
1977, because “you can go to a place like [legendary L.A. Top 40 club] Big
Daddy’s and make $1500 a week playing other people’s hits.” Yet as Anthony
pointed out, “You can do that the rest of your life” and never get a record
contract.[ 340 ] In December 1975, Van Halen seemed destined to be an also-
ran on the L.A. rock scene, thanks to the quartet’s identity as a copy band. But
by May 1976, Van Halen stood poised to reinvent themselves as an original act
that would stand or fall based on the strength of their own songs.

“Before I saw him play, I’d heard of him, like everybody did. You’d hear about a
guy locally,” says Tracy “G.” Grijalva. In 1975, Tracy G. was an introverted
sixteen-year-old from the L.A. suburb of La Puente. He remembers that Van
Halen was playing backyards, little halls, and parties around the San Gabriel
Valley, and “so you were hearing about him. Oh you’ve got to check out this band
Van Halen. You’ve got to check out this guitar player.”
Tracy, who’d one day serve as metal legend Ronnie James Dio’s guitarist,
was skeptical. He already had his local idol, Donny Simmons, a Jimmy Page
lookalike who strapped on a low-slung Les Paul and played searing, bluesy solos
for the hard rock cover band Stormer. For Tracy and his guitar-playing friends,
the talented Simmons was the guitar god of La Puente, Pomona, and West
Covina. There was nobody better in that part of L.A. Tracy explains, “When
you’re sixteen, you kind of think you’ve seen everything, almost, and you haven’t
seen shit, but you don’t know that yet. So how fucking good can Van Halen be,
man?”
On the last Sunday of the year, Tracy got a chance to find out. Van Halen
was headlining the Golden West, with Stormer as one of its two opening acts.
On the afternoon of the show, Tracy and his friends caught a ride to Norwalk
with the venue’s lighting operator.
After they arrived, Tracy and his friends entered the club. “I walked into this
place,” Tracy says, and “it seemed like the Forum to me, because I hadn’t been
anywhere. It was a little hall and bands were soundchecking.” Tracy recalls his
excitement as a young musician staring at a real stage: “You’re like whoa! There’s
nothing but Marshall heads, equipment, and that’s it. I was just hypnotized.”
While Tracy and his friends watched, the groups prepared for the show.
After a few minutes one of the musicians, wearing a grey mechanic’s coverall,
walked towards them from the stage. “My friend says, ‘This is Van Halen’s
guitar player. This is Ed Van Halen.’ I’m like, ‘Hey.’ I was really fucking shy so I
was afraid to say hi or anything,” Tracy remembers. “He was all like, ‘Hey nice to
meet you, man.’ So he sat down, right next to me.” Tracy mustered up his
courage and peppered him with questions about his gear and his band’s stage
setup. After a few more minutes of shooting the shit, Edward hopped up and
said, “Okay dude, nice meeting you. I’ve gotta soundcheck.”
He walked back to the stage and strapped on his wood-grained Ibanez
Destroyer. He looked at Alex as he counted in before Van Halen launched into
the galloping “Sweet F.A.” by British glam rockers the Sweet. Although the four
musicians were just warming up, Tracy thought, Wow. They sound pretty good.
Even more striking was Edward’s stage presence. “His whole look, and his whole
way he stood and the way he played? Fucking forget it. I’d never seen nothing
that came off like This guy’s God on guitar.”
As showtime approached, the hall filled. Tracy and his friends stood in front
of the stage and before long, the house lights dimmed. Tracy says, “The first
band, Maelstrom, plays, and they’re great.” As a young guitarist experiencing his
first concert, he kept thinking, How’s Van Halen gonna be better than that? I’ve
never even seen a band that good.
 Van Halen gets down to business at Lanterman Auditorium in La Cañada, California, November 22,
1975. MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

“Stormer comes on next, and those are my guys,” Tracy remembers. “There’s
my guy, Donny Simmons, up there. He’s the rock star, ripping with the Les
Paul.” Tracy watched as Stormer ran through a set punctuated with Foghat and
Bad Company covers. “They played and they’re better than Maelstrom. I’m
thinking, How can Van Halen be better than this?”
Tracy, like the rest of the crowd, waited for Van Halen. Then suddenly the
lights dimmed and from behind the purple velvet curtain, Roth, like a sideshow
barker, yelled, “Ladies and gentlemen! Van Halen!” The curtain parted and the
Pasadena quartet appeared.
Van Halen, standing tall in their platform shoes, rock out in La Cañada, California, November 22, 1975.
MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

Tracy recalls, “I see these four guys, but they don’t look like the guys I saw
setting up the equipment because they’re all done up and they have their rock
shit on. They open up with a song called ‘Man on the Silver Mountain’ by
Rainbow. I almost passed out, dude. It was like being with the perfect woman. I
don’t know how else to put it. Because they didn’t just have a guitar player like
you’d never seen. It’s the whole fucking band. You’ve got God on the lead vocals.
He looked perfect, and all the women wanted him. It didn’t really matter how he
was singing. Who cares? He looked great. He was great with the people, and
they’ve got the drummer from hell and a bass player who’s right there.” Tracy
stood motionless as Van Halen finished its opener with a flourish.
He then turned his full attention to Edward. “The guitar player was playing
an Ibanez Destroyer,” he recollects. “It hung on him perfectly. He held it
perfectly. He played it perfectly. He had his own sound and fire. I went, Holy
fuck.” As a budding player, Tracy struggled to comprehend what he was seeing
and hearing. He explains, “He did stretches with his really long piano fingers,”
unleashing “pure shredding picking and bluesy, soulful harmonics.” Tracy, who
today is a world-class rock guitarist, explains, “Everything that I didn’t know
about yet, it was all being crammed in my face when I was sixteen. I was like,
What?”
Van Halen moved through its set, doing the future-classic “Runnin’ with the
Devil” and a few other originals, which Tracy remembers as “fucking better than
the covers.” He says, “I’d never seen a unit work like that and sound like that.”
As the show built to a climax, Edward played his unaccompanied solo,
which would be entitled “Eruption” on Van Halen. Simmons watched from the
side of the stage and recalls, “‘Eruption’ was in the middle of ‘House of Pain.’ I
said to myself, Whoa! How the fuck did you come up with this shit? He didn’t brag
to anyone. He didn’t go, ‘Hey man, check it out! I learned all these licks.’ He just
pulled them out. He didn’t talk about it.” After an encore, the band took a bow,
waved, and exited.
Tracy, with audience members around him buzzing as they headed for
home, stood in stunned silence. Then Tracy’s buddy roused him out of his
stupor, reminding him that they needed to find the lighting man so they
wouldn’t miss their ride. Tracy followed his friends up to the stage and walked,
tentatively, behind the curtain. “So the concert’s over and I’m standing there
behind the curtain like a little scared kid waiting for the lighting man,” Tracy
explains. “I’m looking at Eddie. He’s sitting on the side of the stage dangling his
legs, and he’s shaking his head, smoking a cigarette, almost like, Eh, that was a
fucked night. That sucked. I didn’t do good. He wasn’t happy, and I could hear him
talking to a couple of people, saying, ‘Eh, the sound was shitty.’” Tracy,
awestruck, couldn’t even bring himself to approach Edward. “I was too young
and too shy. He blew me away so bad. I just stood there.”
Walking past Tracy came his guitar idol, Donny Simmons. Without
warning, Simmons kneeled down on the stage near Edward and lowered his
torso and arms, as if to say, you’re the king now. “He started bowing down to
this guy Eddie. I’m just standing in the corner, just looking at my hero just
completely give it up to some other dude. Then his words were, ‘You’re the
fucking greatest thing on two legs.’ I’ll never forget it.”

In March, Golden West Ballroom promoter Dan Teckenoff called Roth. He

offered the quartet, who now regularly played the venue, an April date for a
show he’d bill as “The Spring Jam,” which would also feature Maelstrom and
Eulogy, a hot, young band from Orange County.[ 341 ] Roth conferred with
Alex, and the band signed the contract.
On the afternoon of April 11, Eulogy’s seventeen-year-old guitarist, Rusty
Anderson, showed up at the Golden West for his band’s first performance at the
nightspot. Anderson realized that he was the first of his bandmates to arrive, so
the La Habra native settled in to watch Van Halen, a band he had never seen
before, soundcheck. Anderson, who plays guitar for Sir Paul McCartney,
remembers, “Just watching them I was going, Wow. They were very understated
in a certain way because their whole presence is pretty intense.”
After Van Halen finished, Eulogy played a couple of songs and then left the
stage. The group’s bass player, Dirk Van Tatenhove, then headed to the men’s
room. Soon after he got into the bathroom, the door flew open. “Their singer
comes in, who I find out later is named Dave Roth. I was at the stall and he’s at
the stall next to me. He goes, ‘Sorry, Eulogy, for taking so long with the
soundcheck!’ He said it in his kind-of iconic way, which by the way, he talked that
way onstage too. He looks at me and goes, ‘Do you want some coke?’ I looked at
him with a straight face — and I’m serious — and said, ‘Thank you, but I’m not
thirsty.’ At eighteen years old, I had honestly no idea what cocaine was. I
thought he was offering me a drink. So that’s my first recollection of meeting
Van Halen.”
Backstage, Eulogy’s drummer, John Nyman, overcame his initial
intimidation and drank beers with Alex, his counterpart on the skins. “The Van
Halen guys scared the shit out of me,” Nyman confesses with a chuckle. “They
were much more adult and very sure of themselves. They were aggressive. They
were adults, and they were working. When you’re sixteen and someone’s twenty-
one, they’re much older. They were scary in an awesome sort of way.”
As Alex cracked open another Schlitz Malt Liquor, he gestured for Nyman
to follow him across the room. “Alex showed me a hole in the wall in the little
dressing room,” Nyman remembers. “He had punched the wall. I think he was
mad at Eddie. They had gotten into a fight. I remember thinking, Oh yeah,
they’re brothers.”
They talked tools of the trade, drumsticks and drumheads, and about what it
meant to be a working musician. “They were gigging, from what he told me, like
six nights a week at that point, just bar after bar and gig after gig.” Nyman says
that Alex then sat him down and gave him “the long ‘here’s how you’ve gotta do it,
buddy’ talk.”

Edward Van Halen in La Cañada, California, November 22, 1975. MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

After Maelstrom and Eulogy performed, Van Halen took the stage in front
of a sparse crowd. While the other members of Eulogy had departed, Nyman
and a friend had stayed to watch Van Halen. He insists, “Van Halen was just
completely on fire. It was a great show that they played to about, oh, twenty or
forty people. There was nobody there, and they were just smoking. They kicked
ass to no one.” The professionalism inherent in giving your all when almost no
one’s watching made an enormous impact on the young drummer: “Wow, that
was a big lesson to me. They’re doing it for themselves. They’re going to kick ass
and if you want to ride along and enjoy it, great, but if you’re not here, well that’s
your tough luck.” This stood in sharp contrast to Nyman’s “teenage musician
point of view, which was I’m here to get some pumping up from the audience because
I wish I were a rock star. No, no, no. They were rock stars.”
“That band was tight,” Nyman declares, and “everything was just on the
edge of energy. When I say on the edge, they weren’t speeding up, but [it was] as
if they were on a surfboard on a wave, [as if] they would all be on the nose of the
board dangling their toes off the edge.” Van Halen, he says, “had achieved this
intensity. Alex would end one song with a really big flourish and then they’d go
right into the next song. That one night they kept this going — for no one!
There was no one there and they just kept up this incredible intensity. My friend
Michael and I were like, ‘Oh fuck! These guys are going to be big. This is crazy.’”

Despite gigs at good-sized venues like the Golden West, Dave, Alex, Edward,
and Mike knew that for all their sweat and dedication, Van Halen was still just
headlining beer bars and converted dance halls. And even though their band
name was up in lights on the Sunset Strip, they had made no progress on the
Hollywood front. In fact, Van Halen had just celebrated its second anniversary at
Gazzarri’s, a hollow milestone for a band pursuing a record deal.
One weeknight in early April, Rodney Bingenheimer, “the Mayor of the
Sunset Strip,” stood inside the legendary Rainbow Bar and Grill on the Strip
with his close friend Hernando Courtright. Bingenheimer, a fast-talking,
diminutive man with a shag haircut, knew seemingly everyone he encountered
on the Strip, but tonight, things at the Rainbow were dreadfully boring. On
typical evenings, Bingenheimer might hold court at the bar, chatting with
admirers. This evening, though, cocktail waitresses sat around talking, filing
their nails, and smoking, their tables empty. The club’s booths, often occupied
by rock luminaries like Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple, and the royalty of the
Hollywood groupie scene, stood empty.[ 342 ] Courtright, the handsome, dark-
haired son of a successful Los Angeles hotelier and a Runaways insider, finished
his drink and suggested he and Bingenheimer depart.
For no particular reason, the pair headed west on Sunset. They crossed
North Weatherly Drive before they realized they were standing in front of the
least hip club in Hollywood. They glanced up the Gazzarri’s marquee, which was
emblazoned with VAN HALEN. This name meant nothing to them.
They paused and looked at each other. They knew, like every other member
of the Tinseltown in-crowd, that Gazzarri’s offered up weak talent and weaker
drinks to clueless tourists, fading celebrities, and suburban kids who didn’t know
the difference between Linda Lovelace and Linda Ronstadt. Thus, the two men
entered the club on a lark — what Courtright terms “an accident” — just “to see
what was happening.”
As they entered, their expectations of a brief visit punctuated by snickers
dissipated as they listened to the group onstage. Instead of an amateurish band
playing limp Top 40 covers, this accomplished and powerful quartet interspersed
R&B songs by Wilson Pickett and the Isley Brothers with hard rock tunes by
Queen and Trapeze.[ 343 ] Between songs, the charismatic lead singer flirted
with the clutches of sexy teenage girls who stood near the high stage as he
bumped-and-grinded his way through the set.
Another round of tunes, this time by ZZ Top and Aerosmith, came next,
only to be followed by a stand-up routine directed at Russell, the club’s oft-
intoxicated Asian doorman. Russell, whom one Gazzarri’s regular describes as
looking “like a Kamikaze pilot who survived” a plane crash, jokingly gestured at
Van Halen’s singer.[ 344 ] After setting up his punch line, the frontman
bellowed into the microphone and stabbed a finger towards him, exclaiming,
“That’s because Russell looks like something out of a National Geographic
magazine!”[ 345 ]
Other song choices came out of left field. “Maid in Heaven,” by highbrow
prog-rockers Be-Bop Deluxe was followed by “Fopp,” by one of the singer’s
favorite funk acts, the Ohio Players.[ 346 ] With the musicians churning
through the verses, he belted out the words of this freaky call for carnal pleasure
only to be joined on the chorus by the bass player, who nailed the song’s
impossibly high notes.
 Edward Van Halen harmonizes at Gazzarri’s on the Sunset Strip, 1976. MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

Even when the music stopped, the performance continued. For those in the
know, Van Halen’s singer hammed it up with an absurd but amusing prop: a big
glass beaker, situated on a speaker, filled with white powder and outfitted with a
dinner spoon. With a shit-eating grin, he would shuffle over, scoop out a big
spoonful of “blow,” and pretend to snort it while the guitarist tuned his axe.
[ 347 ]
Bingenheimer said about the experience, “I was there with a friend,
Hernando Courtright, and we just knew that they were gonna to be the next big
thing.”[ 348 ] His friend agrees, noting, “They were just so amazing doing these
covers.” Yet Bingenheimer, who had a gift for spotting trends, is quick to point
out that for all of Van Halen’s greatness, the female response was what
convinced him that they were going places: “Girls are constantly setting the
trend. We could just tell by the vibe of the club,” which was “packed and filled
with hot females.”[ 349 ]
After the last set, Bingenheimer and Courtright introduced themselves to
Van Halen. “We went up to them afterwards,” Courtright explains, “and said to
them, ‘Do you guys do originals? Because your covers sound like originals.’ They
said, ‘Yes, but we can’t get into Hollywood. We play in Pasadena and Arcadia
and other places out that direction. But for some reason we haven’t been able to
crack the code and get into the Hollywood clubs and play originals.’ We said,
‘Well, we can help you with that.’”
The next afternoon, Bingenheimer and Courtright went to the Starwood.
They ascended the stairs and headed to the office of Ray Stayer, who booked the
nightclub. Courtright says, “We just about ran there the next day and said,
‘You’ve got to book this band. We’ve seen God! They’re the Godhead!’”
Despite Bingenheimer’s clout, Stayer balked. “Well, I don’t know,” he
replied, “[I’ve] never heard of Van Halen.” When they told him that the band
played Gazzarri’s, he shook his head, a reflection of the club’s poor reputation.
Desperate to make his case, Bingenheimer then exclaimed, “Yeah, but these guys
attract a lot of beer drinkers!” He knew, he admitted later, that “bar owners
always like” a band that will drive alcohol sales. Finally, Stayer relented and
agreed to give the band “a shot.” He promised to book Van Halen on an open
Monday night in mid-May.[ 350 ]
After leaving the Starwood, Bingenheimer went to Gazzarri’s to find the
Van Halen guys. He spotted Edward on the sidewalk in front of the club, talking
to a friend. With excitement coloring his voice, Bingenheimer told him the good
news. He then suggested it was time for Van Halen to bid farewell to Gazzarri’s:
“You guys should be playing the Starwood — it’s more happening.” To
Bingenhemer’s amazement, the young guitarist seemed less than enthused with
this idea. “No, we like it here,” Edward replied. “Bill [Gazzarri] treats us so
well.” After some more lobbying by Bingenheimer, the guitarist said he would
pitch the idea to the others and get back to him.[ 351 ]

Back in Pasadena, the band held a meeting at Roth’s place. By this time Dr.
Roth had purchased a new home at 455 Bradford St. In a reflection of his
success as a surgeon, he and Dave had moved into a twenty-four-room, 14,000-
square-foot Italianate mansion set on two-and-a-half acres of beautifully
groomed grounds, with a tennis court and swimming pool. Kim Miller, who
spent many days wandering through the house while her boyfriend and the rest
of the band practiced in the basement, recalls, “My favorite room was the library.
It was airy and bright with arched windows, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a
fireplace. You looked out over three manicured terraced yards surrounded by
mature trees licking the sky. I could live in that room. It was my idea of
heaven.”[ 352 ]
 Down in their basement practice space, Van Halen hashed out the pros and
cons of a Starwood booking. First, they knew that playing a competing club
would anger Bill Gazzarri, who was notoriously territorial about his talent. As
Roth explained in Crazy from the Heat, telling Gazzarri that the Starwood had
hired Van Halen was certain to result in being “threatened and banished to the
seventh level of hell.”[ 353 ] Second, the club did provide a steady income to
Van Halen, sometimes supplemented with an extra twenty dollars shoved in
Roth’s palm by Gazzarri after a particularly successful night. If its owner, in a fit
of anger, fired them and then they flopped at the Starwood, they would be out of
Hollywood and out of pocket altogether.
Yet the most salient issue was that the Starwood was, in early 1976, L.A.’s
premier rock nightclub. Practically every up-and-coming professional group in
the mid-’70s played there, from power-trios like Stray Dog and ZZ Top — two
of Edward’s favorite groups — to blues icons like Albert Collins and Albert
King. Young glitter rockers like Mott the Hoople and Slade, rock legends like
Buddy Miles and the Spencer Davis Group, all of them had headlined the
Starwood. Unsigned bands like Van Halen rarely played there.
Therefore, at the Starwood, Van Halen would have to perform a set of all
originals, something the band had never done before. They’d have to dig deep to
put together a forty-five-minute song list, which would necessarily include not
just their best tunes, such as the relentless “House of Pain” and throbbing
“Runnin’ with the Devil,” but deeper cuts like the funky “She’s the Woman” and
the prog-rocker “Believe Me.”
When some in the room expressed doubts, a confident Roth dismissed their
concerns. He knew that this was the best opportunity that had come Van
Halen’s way in years. He reminded the others that they’d spent the better part of
the past two years trying to build a following by playing everywhere from
Redondo Beach to Rancho Cucamonga and from Pomona to Pasadena. They’d
played in parks. They’d played in hotels. They’d gigged in Masonic temples,
backyards, Top 40 clubs, and Catholic girls’ schools. They’d provided musical
entertainment for sweet-sixteen parties and wedding receptions. Hell, they’d
even shared a bill with a screening of the 1969 Peter Sellers and Ringo Starr
comedy Magic Christian![ 354 ] They’d performed, at one point, twenty-three
nights in a row.[ 355 ] Roth pointed out that he’d even walked into the
Starwood earlier in the year, only to be told that Van Halen couldn’t even
audition, much less perform there. Bingenheimer and Courtright had given
them an opportunity that they couldn’t afford to pass up. As Roth explained to
the Los Angeles Times in 1978, “We knew we had to do something to get us out
of the bars where all we could do was play other people’s hits. We had to develop
a following; people who’d realize that we could do more than play Aerosmith
songs well.”[ 356 ]
When Roth finished, the others spoke. Alex and Anthony agreed that they
needed to take this risk. Edward, however, remained unconvinced. What if
Gazzarri fired them? What if the band bombed at the Starwood? He was against
it. While he thought that the others could rise to the occasion, he wasn’t sure
that he could do the same. Edward Van Halen, who in less than three years
would be acclaimed as the best new rock guitarist since Jimi Hendrix, was
gripped by a sense of insecurity so strong that he was hesitant to play the
Starwood.
Roth, attuned to his guitarist’s fragile psyche, countered with a suggestion
designed to bolster his confidence. The band had just been booked to play a gig
with UFO at the Golden West on May 9. That night, he explained, Van Halen
could play their first set of all original songs in front of what promised to be a
packed house. That way they could work out any kinks in their new song list at
least a week before playing the Starwood.
Everyone turned towards Edward. The guitarist pursed his lips, took a deep
drag on his Camel, and exhaled. “Okay,” he said.

On a Monday night in late April 1976, Edward, perhaps to prepare himself for
the impending Starwood booking, drove to the Starwood to check out a funk
rock group called Straight Jacket. Arriving before the show started, he walked
into the dressing room and said hello to an acquaintance, drummer Skip
Gillette, who later played with Ronnie Montrose’s Gamma. Also in the room
were Gillette’s bandmates, the singer of the funk outfit Rufus, Chaka Khan (who
was engaged to Straight Jacket’s manager), and Michael Kelley, a friend of
Gillette’s and a young drummer who had manned the skins for a number of Los
Angeles hard rock cover bands.
While Kelley chatted with Gillette, Edward picked up Straight Jacket
guitarist Tim McGovern’s Fender Mustang and plugged into a little practice
amp. He began playing an obscure tune by Trapeze, “You Are the Music, We’re
Just the Band.” Kelley’s ears perked up. Not only was this guy a great player, his
offbeat song choice told Kelley that he was a serious student of hard rock. Kelley
asked Gillette, “Who’s the guitarist?” Gillette replied, “That’s Ed Van Halen. I’ll
introduce you.”
Kelley and Edward shook hands. He told Edward that he loved Trapeze and
that his playing sounded great. Edward said thanks, then mentioned that his
band, Van Halen, would be playing the Starwood with two other local bands on
May 17. Kelley recognized the Van Halen name from the Gazzarri’s marquee
and from flyers he had seen around the city, saying, “Oh I know you guys. My
band plays a lot of the same clubs.”
Edward’s expression suddenly turned grim. He confessed to Kelley that
despite playing Gazzarri’s innumerable times, he was “scared” to play the
Starwood. “I’m not sure I can do it,” he told Kelley. The drummer smiled and
told him that playing the Starwood wouldn’t be different from playing any other
nightclub. Edward shook his head, finding Kelley’s words to be cold comfort and
said, “We’ve never played a place like this before.” Kelley says, “I knew he had
been playing around town doing covers with Van Halen for years, so in light of
this, his fear and nervousness over Van Halen’s upcoming all-originals Starwood
debut struck me as being funny and humble.”
Kelley then told Edward he was heading out. Before he walked away,
Edward asked him, “Will you come back and see us?” Kelley said, “Yeah man,
sure. I promise. I’ll be there.” Edward, imagining the humiliation inherent in
playing a deserted Starwood, said earnestly, “Thanks. When you come, though,
can you bring some friends?”[ 357 ]

But before Van Halen played the Starwood, they needed to take on UFO. After
poaching nineteen-year-old German wunderkind guitarist Michael Schenker
from the Scorpions, the band, rounded out by vocalist Phil Mogg, bassist Pete
Way, and drummer Andy Parker, released their classic 1974 album Phenomenon.
The next year, the quartet hit pay dirt with Force It, a powerful statement of
UFO’s musical growth.
In early 1976, UFO retreated to the studio again and emerged with its latest
album, No Heavy Petting, and a new band member, keyboardist Danny Peyronel.
To support their new LP, which would be released on May 7, the five musicians
flew to Los Angeles at the very beginning of that month. They would spend the
next few days in residence at the Starwood, where they would be introduced each
night by the perpetually enthusiastic Bingenheimer.
When not onstage, they laid siege to Hollywood’s Sunset Marquis Hotel.
They sat wasted by the pool in their mirrored sunglasses, soaking up the
Southern California sun, and enjoyed all of the decadent activities that the City
of Angels had to offer. And to end their L.A. campaign was one last windfall:
they signed a five-thousand-dollar contract with some small-time promoter to
play in someplace called Norwalk, with some local band they had never heard of
before and presumably would never hear from again.[ 358 ]

Across the city in Pasadena, Roth kept his eyes on the prize. Ever since their
band meeting, he’d heard all about the London-based group’s prowess. He knew
of Schenker’s reputation as hard rock’s newest and youngest guitar god. He’d laid
eyes on the magazine photos of him in full guitar-hero mode, his straight blond
hair draped in front of his face and his fingers bending the strings on his
trademark Gibson Flying V. Despite all of this, Roth knew his band and his
guitarist were better.
Anthony and the Van Halen brothers, initially at least, were not as sure.
UFO was a great group and Schenker was an amazing player. They were road
tested after years of touring and were about to release the album that everyone
expected would make them superstars. To counter this thinking, Roth began
pumping up his band for their looming encounter with UFO. Much like
Muhammad Ali before a prizefight, Roth motor-mouthed to Alex, Edward, and
Michael — and anyone who would listen — that on Sunday, May 9, the mighty
Van Halen was going to shock the world.
On a Thursday in late April, Tracy was back at the Golden West. Ever since
he’d first seen Van Halen, he’d kept his eyes peeled for their flyers. “I went to
every Van Halen gig I could possibly get a ride to, because I didn’t even drive
yet,” he recollects. On this day, Tracy had arrived at the club after Van Halen’s
soundcheck but well before the show’s starting time.
Wandering around the near-empty ballroom, Tracy spotted Roth. “Dave
was walking around with his coveralls on, his roadie clothes. I knew who he was
now, because I’d seen them a few times.” Although he found Roth intimidating,
Tracy greeted the Van Halen singer.
“Hey Dave! What’s going on, man?”
“Hey. What’s goin’ on?”
“Your band’s far out!”
“Yeah, we’re pretty hot.”
“Oh man, your guitar player’s amazing.”
 “Yeah, the kid’s pretty good.”
The teenage guitarist then asked the all-important question regarding the
source of Edward’s formidable talents. “So, um, how much does he practice?”
“Well, lemme put it to you like this, kid,” Roth said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“When he’s eating breakfast, he’s got the guitar with him and he’s practicing.
He’s always playing.”
“Oh fuck. He’s amazing, man.”
“Yep,” Roth said, without a trace of humility, and began to walk away.
“Wait,” Tracy blurted out. “One more thing. I’ve seen a flyer. In a couple of
weeks you guys are playing here with UFO. That’s fucking Michael Schenker! You
guys are gonna open up for ’em, huh?”
“Yeah we’re gonna open up for them, but I feel sorry for him.”
A perplexed Tracy cocked his head. “Who? Whattya mean?”
“Edward’s gonna blow him off the face of the fucking earth.”
“What?”
“I feel sorry for Michael Schenker. Edward’s gonna wipe the floor with
him.”
Tracy just stared, not believing what he was hearing.
“Okay, kid, I gotta go. Enjoy the show.” With that, Roth strutted towards
the stage.
Tracy recollects that Roth talked up his guitar player “with all the arrogance
that any man could have. I saw so much confidence coming out of him, it was
frightening.” More importantly, Tracy notes, Roth’s cocksure attitude about
Edward had to have given his guitar player an enormous boost. “Sometimes
when you ask a singer about his guitar player,” Tracy observes, “he’s going to be
all arrogant and make it all about himself, like, ‘Yeah, he’s pretty good, but it’s all
about me.’” Not Roth in the weeks leading up to this gig. He clearly believed
that “Eddie was the up-and-coming motherfucker.” Guitar god Michael
Schenker? Tracy reiterates that Roth’s attitude was “Sorry! Goodbye! Who’s
next?” Tracy says, “Dave knew it. I’m going to predict the future, watch. And he
did. Because he knew.”

On the day of the show, the phone rang in Donny Simmons’s apartment.
“Yehhloow.”
“Donny?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
 “It’s Ed.”
“Hey. Whassup, bro?”
“Hey. We’re playing with UFO tonight.”
Simmons knew about the show at the Golden West. “We were all UFO
fans. I’d already seen them a couple of times that week at the Starwood,” he
remembers, and he was eager to see them for a third time. Van Halen? He’d seen
them dozens of times, so they were just an afterthought. Maybe he’d even skip
their set and just show up for the headliner.
“Yeah, Ed, me and my girl, we’re gonna go.”
“Well, I’m gonna pull out all the stops tonight.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m gonna kick his ass.”
The line went quiet as Simmons tried to process what he’d just heard.
“Whose ass?”
“Schenker’s,” Edward declared.
“What? What are you talking about? No one’s gonna kick Michael
Schenker’s ass. What are you — fucking nuts? Are you crazy?”
Simmons says today, “Eddie already knew. In retrospect, it was My plan is to
take over the world.” He told him he’d be there to see Van Halen. Edward said
thanks and the line went dead.
That same afternoon, Dennis Catron, a sixteen-year-old budding guitarist
from Whittier, and a friend drove to the Golden West. Once inside, Catron and
his companion saw Van Halen getting ready to test their levels. Catron had seen
them a number of times, including a memorable Thursday night billing in 1975
with guitarist George Lynch’s band, the Boyz.
Catron, like every savvy fan on the local scene, thought Edward was one of
the best young guitar players around and was excited to see him play. As Catron
stared at the stage, Van Halen roared into one of their own songs. “We went
inside early and watched Van Halen soundcheck.” Catron recalls, “They were
on.”[ 359 ]
Nearby, Mogg and a couple of his bandmates stood bleary-eyed after days of
hard partying. UFO’s singer felt like a zombie, but he gathered that Van Halen
was no run-of-the-mill cover band. Like an out-of-shape champion boxer who
climbs into the ring with an upstart fighter he’d underestimated, Mogg knew
UFO was in trouble.
As the members of UFO stood with surprised looks on their faces, Catron
watched as Mogg called over one of UFO’s roadies. He yelled something in his
ear, and the man left in a hurry. When he returned a few minutes later, he came
bearing a couple of gifts for Van Halen, which he placed on the stage. Taking
this in from a few yards away, Catron surmised that Mogg had “coyly sent Van
Halen two wine jugs” to try to get the openers off their game.[ 360 ]
As night fell, the club came alive. Simmons, who was there as promised,
remarks, “The place was gigantic. Because it was out towards the beach it was
packed with surfers and surfer girls. The girls! The surfer girls had blonde hair
and peeling noses from the beach. Oh my goodness. It was like, whoa!” Catron
adds that those nights “there in 1975–1977 [were] Valhalla. Girls still dressed on
the glam side with the glitter heels and pixie cuts, every band had a good guitar
player with a Marshall, and there were so many bands then.”[ 361 ]
On an evening like this, with rising stars UFO on the marquee, even well-
connected Hollywood denizens made the long trip to Norwalk. Jackie Fox points
out that the distance between the Golden West and Tinseltown was “quite a
schlep.” She says, “I was only there twice in my life. I really never went to shows
there, because it was just too far away. It sounds snobby but it’s true.” In fact,
“We’d never go to Norwalk or Covina or any of those places unless there was a
band playing there that for some reason wasn’t playing in L.A. proper, and that
didn’t happen very often.”
But it was happening tonight. Fox, along with her fellow Runaway Lita
Ford and Bingenheimer, now sat in a dressing room and partied with UFO.
“Lita and I had gone to see UFO because we were fans,” Fox remembers. “I
think we must have met them [already], or they had put us on the [guest] list
anyway, because we were backstage.” As show time approached, she “asked
somebody, ‘Who’s the opening act?’” Someone mistakenly told her, “Oh, some
band from Orange County.” She thought, Eh, I don’t need to see some band from
Orange County.
Minutes later, Bingenheimer went onstage to introduce the opener in
question. Michael Anthony and the rest of Van Halen stood behind the curtain,
eyes fixed and jaws set, as Bingenheimer grabbed a microphone and began
talking up Van Halen to the nearly two thousand fans in the hall. Van Halen’s
bassist remembers, “We were ready to play with UFO. That was our first all-
originals gig. We wanted to make a good impression in front of Rodney and
everyone else who would be there. It was a big gig for us.”
“So let’s welcome, from Pasadena, Van Halen!” With that, the curtain
parted, and Van Halen lit into the fast-paced “On Fire.” Roth slithered across
the stage as he sang. Edward’s fingers gripped his guitar neck with a fury,
harmonics and power chords blasting out of his stack of Marshalls. As the song
reached its first chorus, Michael, Edward, and Dave all screamed in unison into
their microphones — I’m on fire! — as Edward’s thick chords rebounded off the
rear of the hall.
Backstage, Fox and Ford cocked their ears as the powerful tune pierced the
walls. As Edward lit into an incendiary solo, Fox turned to Ford and said,
“These guys sound pretty good. Maybe we should go check ’em out?” She recalls,
“So we went out and watched them, and we were both completely blown away.
We had to find out about this band from Orange County.”
Van Halen’s assault on the Golden West continued apace. A one-two punch
of the crushing “Somebody Get Me a Doctor” and a boogying “Show Your
Love” concluded with Roth, his bare chest glistening with sweat, declaring
“We’re gonna do all Van Halen music tonight!” A fist-pumping “Runnin’ with
the Devil” followed, with Anthony’s throbbing bass thumping the chests of
onlookers.
About halfway through the set, Alex soloed. Patti Smith Sutlick recalls, “It
was like you could see crystals floating in the air [Alex] was so fast. Everyone
always talks about Edward, but back in those days I thought Alex was the
talented one.”
For this important night, Alex, like the rest of his band, strove to make a
professional presentation. To hide the milk crates that served as the foundation
for his drum riser, Alex had roadie Jeff Burkhardt drape and staple a continuous
length of black fabric to his plywood drum platform.
But Alex had even bigger plans. Before the show he placed an array of
smoke pots in an unorthodox location — right under his riser. As he explained
to Burkhardt, when he set them off during his solo it would appear as if his
drum set “was blasting off.”
With his hands flying around the kit, Alex trigged the fiery effect with a
footswitch. Burkhardt recalls, “Boom! They go off and, just as he wanted, it
looked somewhat like an Apollo rocket launch.” But the impetuous drummer
hadn’t carefully measured the amount of black powder he’d used, thinking that if
a little bit would be good, a whole lot would be great. Not surprisingly,
Burkhardt recollects, “The fabric surrounding the drum riser” was suddenly
“burning pretty good.”
Burkhardt sprang into action: “I ran across the stage, bending down to grab
the fabric on the way. I yanked all the staples out but here’s this flaming black
riser curtain following me the rest of the way across the stage on Mike’s side. But
I just kept running and a guy off to the side of the stage saw me coming and
opened the back door for me. I ran outside, dropped the fabric, and stomped it
out.” In all, the episode took less than ten seconds.
Meanwhile, Edward faced his own equipment problems. He and Leiren, in
crisis mode, hovered over his guitar backstage. Joining them were Jimmy Bates
and Steve Hall, guitarist and drummer, respectively, of Stormer. Hall explains,
“Me and Jimmy Bates went backstage when Alex was doing a drum solo. Eddie
came off, and Eddie and Jimmy were talking for a minute. They were looking at
his guitar, and Jimmy was doing something to it. I went to say something to
Eddie, and he had this look on his face. Eddie was in this bad state of mind.
Bates said, ‘Don’t talk to him right now. His sound’s all fucked up.’”
After some repairs, Edward regained his composure and went back onstage.
After a few more songs, Roth, breathing heavily, asked the roaring crowd, “Do
ya wanna hear some electrical guitar?” Alex pounded his toms as Edward stepped
into the spotlight and banged out the first few chords of “Eruption.” In the five-
plus minutes that followed, Edward put on a tour de force performance that
distilled the tens of thousands of hours of performing and practicing he’d done
since the late 1960s. His blitzkrieg began with some hummingbird-quick
tremolo picking, partnered with a rollercoaster of double-stop bends. He wrung
meaty artificial harmonics out of the lower strings and set them off with a fluid
finger vibrato. A torrent of blazing legato hammer-ons and pull-offs poured
from the speakers before he halted his assault.
He then walked over to his effects rack, which sat inside a tall, black,
hollowed-out World War II–era practice bomb. Standing upright, it looked
every bit like the Little Boy atomic weapon that had leveled Hiroshima back in
’45. Twisting knobs on his Univox echo unit and hitting chords, he conjured up
a reverb-drenched interlude reminiscent of Jimmy Page’s work on Led
Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused.”
Guitarist Dave Macias was out in the crowd and recalls, “It was standing-
room only. Eddie started doing ‘Eruption’ but I couldn’t see the stage well. I was
thinking, What the hell is he doing to get that sound? Is it a machine? I stood on my
chair, but a bouncer ran over and told me to get down. Everyone was jumping up
and down and screaming their heads off.”
With smoke from theatrical pyro apocalyptically billowing from the nose of
the bomb, the guitarist concluded with a burst of speed picking. His echo unit
modulated the piercing notes, making them sound like a science fiction ray gun
amplified through a stack of cranked Marshalls. For those onlookers who may
have gotten too stoned, the effect sounded exactly like a real UFO was landing in
Norwalk. Simmons, after witnessing this amazing performance, could only
think, Maybe Eddie was serious.
After the band members powered through the end of the set, they came
offstage for a moment, wiping sweat, chugging Schlitz Malt, and lighting
smokes as the crowd roared. They then ran back onstage, and, perhaps still a bit
unwilling to fully embrace their new identity as an all original act, tore into their
only cover of the night, KISS’s “Rock and Roll All Nite.”
Out in the audience, Tom Broderick, who knew of the band’s plan to play
only their own material, turned to his friend and yelled, “Aw, they shouldn’t
have done that!” To this day, Broderick thinks, “They should have went all the
way with all originals, but that was one of their big party tunes at the
time.”[ 362 ] Mark Kendall says, “It was a pretty good little crowd. If I had to
guess, maybe fifteen hundred people, maybe two thousand? But, man, they
ripped it up, and you knew right then that this band, there is no denying they’re
going to go. It’s going to happen.” Chris Koenig, who later managed Mötley
Crüe singer Vince Neil’s first band, Rockandi, sums things up by declaring,
“They just destroyed the place.”
With the curtain closed and the crowd still buzzing, Mike, Alex, Dave, and
the band’s roadies began striking the stage. Just then, an overdosed Edward
staggered up to them, his body quivering and his arms making uncontrolled
motions. After a few panicked moments, Alex and the others grabbed the
unresponsive guitarist and dragged him backstage, where they encountered
Teckenoff and his assistant, Francis. The cool-headed promoter insisted that
they take the stricken Edward to the hospital. Leiren watched as Alex and other
Good Samaritans “got him out to the car [but] they couldn’t get him into the
car. They couldn’t get him bent over, ’cause he was so rigid. Finally Alex had to
punch him in the stomach to get him to double over so they could push him into
the car.”[ 363 ] Francis explains that this terrifying scene is “one of my most
vivid memories of Van Halen at the Golden West Ballroom. I was fearful. I
didn’t know this drug. The reaction that he had was frightening. It was a serious
thing.” As she and the others looked on, Alex sped away and raced to Norwalk
Hospital.

Meanwhile, Bingenheimer, unaware of the ongoing drama, introduced UFO.

The English band then kicked into the up-tempo “Can You Roll Her” from
their just-released album. At the outset, at least some onlookers thought that the
band was playing well. “UFO came out and did their thing,” Koenig remembers,
“and they were great.”
But as the quintet’s set progressed, it was obvious that they were drunk,
high, or hungover, or maybe all three, and thus were not ready to follow Van
Halen. Catron, who was a massive UFO fan, explains that the five musicians
“were drunk and played horribly.”[ 364 ] He surmises that Van Halen’s
aggressive performance took “something out of UFO as they looked self-
conscious and not at all like they were enjoying themselves.”[ 365 ] Their set
included all of their biggest songs, but they never got into sync, and before the
show was halfway over much of the crowd had lost interest. At the end of their
set, UFO walked offstage while the audience applauded halfheartedly.
When they returned to play an encore, UFO delivered what Catron terms
an “awful” rendition of one of their early hits. At its conclusion, he watched as
Mogg, “with his three inch platforms … walked over and kicked bassist Pete
Way’s Marshall stacks to the ground. I fully expected Pete to kill him after that,
but instead he took off his gorgeous black Thunderbird bass and heaved it into
the pile. That pretty much summed up their evening.”[ 366 ] Simmons
witnessed the same thing and remembers that the band’s German guitar player
also got into the act: “After UFO got done with their set, Michael Schenker
kicked over two stacks of Marshalls, because he was pissed off.” Macias adds, “At
the end of the show I remember him smashing his Flying V across his amps.”
UFO wandered offstage, smashed amps and shattered guitars feeding back in
their wake.
After the show, Simmons and his girlfriend went backstage. “I was in line to
meet UFO and the guy [Teckenoff] who ran the Golden West Ballroom, who
knew us really well, said, ‘Ah, Donny it’s really not a good idea. They are not in a
very good mood.’ I’m like, Oh my God. These guys are gonna go somewhere. Eddie’s
pissed off Michael Schenker!”
Meanwhile, Roth had gone back onto the floor to bask in the glory of Van
Halen’s triumph. Koenig recollects, “When you left the auditorium you had to
go through this hallway, and at the end of the night when everyone was leaving,
Roth was just standing back there leaning against the wall with his shoulders up,
[and] his hair all messed up … He’s just leaning there so that everybody who
walks out has to see him. It’s funny because I used to hate guys like that, but that
impressed me. It was his shtick. It was his thing. He was a rock star and he
wanted everybody to know it. I thought that was pretty cool. I was like, Wow,
look at Roth.” When the crowd thinned, Roth returned backstage.
In Van Halen’s dressing room, the mood was subdued as everyone anxiously
awaited word from the hospital. Roth idly talked with Bingenheimer, Ford, and
Fox, while some of Van Halen’s inner circle and crew lingered nearby.
Suddenly a scowling Mogg appeared. Leiren listened as UFO’s singer,
oblivious to Edward’s condition, gave Roth an earful about the effect that
Edward’s onslaught had on the fragile psyche of his guitar player.
“Hey! Your guitarist really fucked up. He fucked with the mind of Michael
Schenker!” Mogg stood close to Roth, his eyes narrow.
“Hey now, come on, man. You know! Edward’s doing his thing, Michael’s
doing his thing,” Roth said in a singsong voice, trying to smooth-talk his way
through the tense exchange.
Mogg’s face flashed with anger. “No you don’t know, man. You don’t
understand. You really fucked with Michael!”
The throng in the room parted as Mogg stalked off.[ 367 ]
Putting things in perspective, Kendall believes that despite all of Roth’s and
Edward’s talk and Mogg’s anger, “Eddie didn’t try to do anything to UFO.
Every show I’d seen him play was like that. With those guys it was like every
show was their last. They were so confident, and they played that way. If you’re
going to play guitar on the same stage with that guy, be prepared to bring out
everything you own. And I was a huge Schenker fan and I saw that show and I
stayed for UFO. I’m sorry, but Eddie got him that night. It was blistering. It was
an offensive.”

At the hospital, Edward was quickly wheeled into the emergency room. The
attending physician immediately placed a tube down his throat, while nurses
checked his vital signs and started him on oxygen. By this time, Edward’s
parents had gotten the awful news and had made their way to Norwalk. Later,
the doctor would walk out of the ER and remark to Jan, Eugenia, and Alex, “If
you got him here a few minutes later, you probably would have lost him.”
Leiren explained that this was Edward’s parents’ “first shock of drug abuse.”
It was the “first they’d ever heard, or ever thought, or ever conceived of their kids
being involved with drugs.”[ 368 ] Edward, too, had to come to grips with what
had happened to him, explaining to a radio host in the mid-’90s: “I OD’d on
PCP, thinking it was cocaine. That’s when I first got exposed to that stuff, and I
didn’t know what it was.”[ 369 ] Despite his brush with death, in later years he
would look back on it with black humor, telling Leiren, “I’m crazy now. I go
nuts trying to get all this music out of my head. I’m afraid of what I would have
been like if I hadn’t burned up all those brain cells!”[ 370 ]
 CHAPTER NINE: NO COMMERCIAL POTENTIAL
After a seemingly interminable wait, the Aucoin Management secretary escorted
Van Halen into the well-appointed Manhattan office. KISS’s manager, sporting
a thick mustache and a wide-lapelled sport shirt, had his feet up on his imposing
mahogany desk. “Sit down boys,” he said, gesturing to four leather chairs. “I’ll be
with you in a minute.” With Roth and Alex in the lead, they walked across the
garish shag carpet and sat down. Gold and platinum records lined the high walls.
Documents, promotional photographs, and albums covered the desk, all
illuminated by sunlight streaming through the fourteenth floor windows.[ 371 ]
In the street below, midtown traffic on Madison Avenue moved in fits and starts
on this cold November morning. Right in front of the four musicians, KISS’s
manager, Bill Aucoin, smoked a fat cigar while a diminutive man worked with
polish and brush on his Italian loafers.[ 372 ]
Aucoin leafed through a folder without speaking. A minute passed, then
another. Finally, Alex broke the silence, saying, “Where’s the paperwork? So
where do we sign?” Michael Anthony recalls, “We really thought this was it: he
sat us down because he wanted us to sign a contract.” The man behind America’s
biggest rock band put down the folder and set his eyes on Van Halen.

In October 1976, KISS bassist Gene Simmons wanted more. To be sure, he had
already enjoyed more power, fame, money, and women than whole cities of
normal men enjoyed in a lifetime. KISS was now America’s biggest rock band.
Over the summer, they’d performed in front of sellout crowds across the country,
capped off by an explosive performance in front of forty-three thousand fans at
Anaheim Stadium. Their new single, “Beth,” had just cracked the Billboard Top
20, and their latest album, Destroyer, was nearing platinum certification. But
sitting in his Hollywood hotel room, he gave KISS’s achievements little thought.
Instead, he focused on his newest ambition: to manage and produce a young
rock band.
After Simmons had voiced this idea a couple of weeks earlier, everyone from
Hollywood hangers-on to young musicians had begun feeding him band names.
But there were individuals whose opinions he trusted more than others. These
included Runaways bassist Jackie Fox, guitarist Lita Ford, and their good friend
Rodney Bingenheimer. Their consensus was that the best two unsigned bands in
Los Angeles were Van Halen and the Boyz, a quartet that featured hotshot
guitarist George Lynch and powerhouse drummer Mick Brown, both later of the
1980s glam metal act Dokken.

Van Halen performs a lunch-hour set at Glendale College in Glendale, California, fall 1975. MARY
GARSON/HOT SHOTZ
Michael Anthony, Edward, and Alex Van Halen in Glendale, California, fall 1975. MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

By October, Bingenheimer was long sold on Van Halen’s greatness. After

catching them at Gazzarri’s back in April, he’d seen them at the Pasadena Civic
and introduced them at some of their June Starwood shows.[ 373 ] So as soon as
Simmons asked him which unsigned local rock band he liked best, Rodney
blurted out, “Van Halen!” Simmons looked down at the pint-sized DJ, furrowed
his brow, and asked earnestly, “What the hell kind of name is that?”[ 374 ]
 Edward Van Halen bends a note on his Ibanez Destroyer, fall 1975. MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

Fox and Ford also had Simmons’s ear. The two sexy musicians would chat
him up at the funky Sunset Marquis, a Hollywood hotel that regularly hosted
the members of Cheap Trick, UFO, and KISS. “If we knew somebody who was
staying there, it would be a fun place to go and hang out,” Fox says. “You have to
remember we were all teenagers and we were still living with our parents. You’d
take any excuse to get out of the house and if that meant hanging out by the pool
drinking a vodka gimlet with rock musicians, well that was cool.”
 David Lee Roth, wearing an Acme Siren Whistle around his neck, belts it out, fall 1975. MARY
GARSON/HOT SHOTZ

By the middle of October, Fox had already talked up her favorite bands to
Simmons. So when the topic came up again while poolside, she and Ford told
him — and KISS frontman Paul Stanley, when he made an appearance — that
Van Halen and the Boyz had a Starwood gig on November 2. Fox recalls, “I’d
keep bugging them that they had to go see this band the Boyz. Lita and I found
out Van Halen was going to be [playing with] them and I said, ‘Gene, you’ve
gotta trust me — you guys have got to trust me. You have to go see these
bands.’”
Fox and Ford’s enthusiasm for Van Halen was genuine. Neither of them
had forgotten the experience of seeing them wipe the floor with UFO at the
Golden West Ballroom that past May. But the cerebral Fox, thinking about
which act would be the easiest sell to the record-buying public, figured that
Simmons and Stanley “would like the Boyz.” She says, “They were a little more
mainstream sounding. Van Halen was doing music that no one had ever done
before. They had a really unique sound. At the time, they didn’t seem as
commercial” as the Boyz.
Mass appeal aside, Simmons just couldn’t get past the Pasadena act’s
moniker. He told the girls that he thought Van Halen was “a silly name for a
group. It sounds like Van Heusen, the shirt company.”[ 375 ] They laughed,
reiterating their admiration for the two bands. Simmons listened but was
noncommittal about whether he’d go to the Starwood.
It turns out that KISS’s bassist was keeping his cards close to his chest. He
soon decided not to wait until next month to start evaluating these acts. While
Van Halen wouldn’t be playing in Hollywood until the Starwood show, he
learned that the Boyz, along with a few other local bands, would be gigging at
what was billed as a “Halloween Party” at Gazzarri’s on Wednesday, October 27.
[ 376 ]
Simmons and Stanley went to Gazzarri’s that night. In 1976, the public had
no idea what the members of KISS looked like, so when the two dark-haired
men and their entourage walked into the club, they attracted no attention.
Singer Myles Crawley, whose band Eulogy was on the bill, says, “On any given
night, there were like four bands playing. We’d each play a couple of sets
throughout the night, so it was this constant barrage of music.”
As all bands did at Gazzarri’s, Eulogy played covers, including the KISS
anthem, “Rock and Roll All Nite.” After they came offstage, a man with dark
curly hair approached them. “A guy walked up to us and introduced himself as
Paul Stanley from KISS,” Crawley says. “We were like, ‘Yeah, come on. No
way.’ But it turned out it was Paul and Gene Simmons. They just happened to
be there that night checking out all the bands.”
After wishing Eulogy well, Gene headed upstairs to catch the Boyz’s
performance. The band’s singer, Michael White, remembers, “KISS was
absolutely at the peak of their popularity in the fall of ’76. Everyone came down
dressed as KISS. I’m not exaggerating; probably ninety percent of the kids came
dressed in KISS makeup and costumes. When we saw all those kids dressed like
that, as a joke we said, ‘Let’s add a couple of KISS songs to our set.’ We used to
do ‘Firehouse’ when we soundchecked. We also threw ‘Detroit Rock City’ into
the set. We did those two songs to end the set.”
Between sets, a stranger approached White. “I’m standing around after the
set and this fucking huge guy walks up to me and says, ‘Hi, I’m Gene Simmons.
I really liked the way you did our songs.’ I knew it was Gene once I looked at
him. Paul was there too. Some guy they were with handed me a business card
from Casablanca Records. I still have that card.”
Simmons then asked, “Where are you playing next? I liked your set. I’d like
to bring some record company people down to see you.”
A wide-eyed White replied, “This Tuesday we’re playing at the Starwood.”
“Okay, I’ll be there with the record company. You guys be ready.”
With that, Simmons, Stanley, and the others departed.
A stunned White tracked down his bandmates: Lynch, Brown, and bassist
Monte Zufelt. He told them what had just happened, but, assuming he was
pulling a practical joke, they told White to stop fucking around. When White
showed them the card, the quartet got gleeful. “Everyone was all excited,” White
says. They exchanged high-fives and yelled.

A couple of days later, Fox and Ford visited with Simmons again at the Sunset
Marquis. Sitting by the pool, they reminded him about Tuesday’s show. This
time, Simmons agreed to go. They’d be joined by Stanley, the stunning model
Bebe Buell (Simmons’s then-current companion), Bingenheimer, and Hernando
Courtright.[ 377 ]
By the weekend, Hollywood buzzed with the news that KISS had been on
the prowl at Gazzarri’s. Sunset Strip denizens shared stories of seeing the two
dark-haired men at the club or in a booth at the Rainbow later that night. The
Boyz, eager to hype KISS’s interest in them, told members of their circle that
Simmons and Stanley planned to attend their Starwood show.
But among Van Halen and Boyz fans, there was another reason for
excitement about the gig. On that night, two of the best guitarists on the scene
would face off. Michael Kelley, a Starwood regular, explains, “Everyone was
talking about Eddie and George playing back to back. We thought it was going
to be like Tombstone, Arizona, in 1881. Two gunslingers would fight it out, but
only one would come out on top.”[ 378 ] Lynch, in particular, had something to
prove after a personally disastrous 1975 double billing of the Boyz and Van
Halen. “The first time I saw Eddie play was in the Golden West Ballroom,”
Lynch stated later. “He was amazing … He had a lot of fire and a great tone. I
was embarrassed for myself. I thought, This is ridiculous. I immediately went back
[home] and started practicing. I stayed up all night saying, ‘I sound awful. I play
awful.’”[ 379 ]
As was the norm at the Starwood, the two bands on the bill would alternate
sets. The Boyz would play first, followed by Van Halen. Then after an
intermission, the two groups would play again in the same order. Kelley, who
was at the Starwood on that fateful Tuesday, explains that while “it sounds
logistically insane in this day, that’s how it was done: two bands, two sets per
night, alternating.”[ 380 ]
That night, Simmons and company showed up at intermission. They were
seated at tables in the VIP balcony. From their perch they could look down at
the audience, which numbered about three hundred, and the stage. Whispering
and finger-pointing began soon after they arrived. “It was a big deal,” Kelley
says, “because at that time no one had seen the members of KISS without their
makeup.” Earlier in the evening, Kelley felt certain that KISS would appear,
because unlike most nights, “The upstairs VIP area, which was normally very
easy to get into, was suddenly off-limits and no-go.”[ 381 ]
Around eleven, the Boyz returned to the stage. White remembers that as a
unit, his band didn’t perform well. Over the past few days, they’d “rehearsed and
rehearsed” in order to be at the top of their game for KISS. But White says what
happened instead was “we burned ourselves out.” That night, “my voice was shot
and we were tired.”
Kelley has a different take, at least in regards to the Boyz’s guitarist. “George
was really killing it!” While he can’t be fully certain, he believes that “this may
have been the gig when George actually passed out briefly during the second set
because of a combination of heat and his personal intensity; he was delivering
the goods like he was possessed!”[ 382 ]
After the set ended, Simmons headed backstage. White remembers, “They
came and hung out with us upstairs; they schmoozed us. Bebe Buell was with
Gene. He announced, ‘We’re taking a band back to New York to record for a
new label we’re starting.’”
Then through the walls rumbled Roth’s introduction of his band. Simmons
recalled that he heard, “All right, ladies and gentlemen, here they are! From
Pasadena … ” Simmons, still hung up on the band’s name, shook his head as
Roth shouted, “Van Halen!”[ 383 ] Out on stage, the foursome ripped into their
opener.
Van Halen’s stage volume soon made communication impossible. “Van
Halen started playing,” White says, “and then it was too loud backstage at the
Starwood to keep talking. Simmons yelled, ‘We’re going to go out and see
them.’”
Simmons returned to the VIP area. “The first thing I thought,” he told
Steven Rosen, “was Dave looked like Jim Dandy, and they had kind of an old-
fashioned look. But within two numbers I thought, My fucking God, listen to these
guys.”[ 384 ] By the third song, Simmons was “floored” by Van Halen.[ 385 ]
What hit home for Simmons was the band’s enthusiasm and power. “The
sound, the approach, and the look all fit,” he said later. “There was a lot more
choreography — y’know, the old KISS choreography, where everybody would
shake their heads back and forth together. They looked like they were having a
good time.”[ 386 ] But more importantly, the band was generating atomic-level
energy in front of a somewhat listless crowd. “They did well, but there was no
tip-off that this was gonna be the next sensation, at least as far as the audience
was concerned. But the whole group, especially David, was playing the stage as if
it was Madison Square Garden. And that’s the sign of greatness. You’ve got to
be good in the first place, but when you treat a small, intimate gathering as if it’s
a spectacle, you have the makings of a star.”[ 387 ]
Of course, a seasoned musician like Simmons couldn’t help but notice
Edward’s talent. “As soon as Eddie started playing, the thing that struck me
right away was that the guy was amazingly fast and light on touch … Eddie was
just swimming over that fretboard, and I couldn’t believe the control he had. I
don’t remember him using the tremolo bar that much, but he was bending the
neck a lot.” His influences, too, seemed unusual to Simmons. Instead of the
conventional Beck-Page-Clapton blues trinity, what Simmons “heard was a
much more classical influence.”[ 388 ]
Courtright stood nearby, watching Simmons. He recalls, “We were in the
VIP section at the Starwood when Gene saw the band. I sat near him and kind
of just observed.” Simmons, Courtright says, sported a poker face. “He wasn’t
standing on the table and going Yeah!” The Runaways insider, who harbored his
own aspirations to manage Van Halen, explains with a laugh, “He didn’t want
people to know his enthusiasm, because that would raise the dollar value. So you
play it cool. He was just watching. He was looking at the band the way I did —
he saw dollars. When I saw Van Halen play I always thought, This band will
change your life if you manage them, because they’re going to go someplace.”
As the set climaxed, Simmons, without a word to Stanley, tapped
Bingenheimer on the shoulder and pointed backstage. With “the Mayor of the
Sunset Strip” in tow, KISS’s bassist set out to stake his claim.[ 389 ]
Down below, audience members took in the show as well. Photographer
Mary Garson, who shot many of Van Halen’s early promotional photos,
remembers, “I was there the night at the Starwood that the Boyz played with
Van Halen. Gene Simmons was there. The Boyz sucked. Van Halen had a great
night; I thought Dave was amazing.” Nearby was Steve Tortomasi, Roth’s old
high school acquaintance, who now promoted Van Halen’s Pasadena Civic
shows. He says, “I remember telling the guys, ‘The night that KISS came down,
you guys did one of the best sets of your life.’ And I’d seen them play many,
many, many shows from high school days on up.” By the time their encore was
wrapping up, their power and charisma had stirred the Starwood. “That set they
laid down that night, along with the crowd reaction, was just unbelievable. It
blew everybody away.” Right before the band left the stage, Tortomasi wended
his way through the crowd to congratulate the guys on their knockout
performance.
In the small dressing room, Van Halen let loose. They stood with their
roadies, girlfriends, and a few friends, chugged some beers, and bullshitted about
the set. When the door swung open after a knock, Tortomasi recognized
Bingenheimer but not the other man with him. “I’d never seen those guys
without their makeup,” he says.
“Hey everyone!” the uber-enthusiastic DJ said, “This is Gene Simmons of
KISS!”
After some introductions, Simmons said, “Well, we just wanted to come and
see you.”
 Alex powered through his beer and guffawed before saying to Simmons,
“Well that’s fair, because we went to see you at the Forum.”
Simmons’s face creased with a small smirk.
Tortomasi thought, Wow, that’s a ballsy thing to say.
“It was lighthearted,” Tortomasi explains, “but it was cocky of Alex.”
The unflappable Simmons then made his pitch. “Look, I’d like to help
because I think you guys can make it. I’m not stroking you, I’m not interested in
doing anything for myself, but I love your band and I’d like to help you.”[ 390 ]
Continuing, he asked, “Are you guys on a label or anything? Do you have a
manager?”[ 391 ] They shook their heads but mentioned that a certain “yogurt
manufacturer” had recently offered to support the band. “Please do me a favor,”
Simmons implored, “don’t do that.”[ 392 ]
Simmons then lectured the band, telling them, “You guys are going to make
it. Just be careful that you don’t get screwed business-wise.” Edward recalled
that Simmons “wised us up a lot” by warning them to “watch out because people
will take advantage of you. They end up rich, and you’ll be sitting there ten years
later saying, ‘Look at all of the stuff I’ve done and I ain’t got a penny.’”[ 393 ]
As Simmons talked contracts and bottom lines, Anthony felt his head spin,
and this time, it wasn’t from Jack Daniel’s, his favorite beverage. “My first
impression of him was that he was a great businessman. He had a real, no-
nonsense, business-oriented look about him,” Anthony recalled. “We actually
learned a lot from him. After talking to him for an hour, he made me really
wonder whether I really wanted to be a musician. He started talking to us about
accountants and lawyers, and it all sounded pretty heavy and a little
scary.”[ 394 ]
Eventually, Simmons pulled all four aside. He told them that he’d like to
sign them to a management contract and try to get them a record deal. The band
quickly agreed to accept his help. Edward remembered that before he left the
Starwood for Pasadena, Simmons handed him his hotel phone number “and
asked me to call him as soon as I got home that night.” By the time the band got
back to Pasadena, “it was three or four in the morning. By six that morning we
were in Village [Recorders] sitting with Gene. I was blown away.”[ 395 ]
After convening at the Santa Monica studio, the first order of business was
to evaluate Van Halen’s originals. “I wasn’t just going in and saying, ‘Okay, let’s
record,’” Simmons explained later. “They gave me a cassette of the tunes — there
must have been over twenty on there — and I picked thirteen to record. Didn’t
like ‘Ice Cream Man’ … The last one, ‘House of Pain’ is on 1984, though it
sounded much tougher then, much closer to ‘Runnin’ with the Devil.’”[ 396 ]
Along with their instruments, effects, and amplifiers, the band had another
unique prop to offer to Simmons: a car horn noisemaker that would later be
immortalized on the opening track of their debut. Pete Dougherty, who lived in
the Roth guesthouse in 1976, explains, “I took some horns out of an Old Ford
station wagon. It was a ’52 or something like that. And Dave gave me some old
horns.” Roth knew that Dougherty was an electronics genius who’d know how to
turn the horns into a stage prop. After successfully wiring them together,
Dougherty and Gary Nissley, who’d known the band since their high school
days, made a tape of the horns. “Gary and I recorded them and gave Dave the
recording,” along with the horns, which they’d mounted on a board. “Al thought
it was pretty clever what I did with the horns. It ran on a footswitch.” While it’s
unclear if the quartet hauled the horns down to Village Recorders or just brought
the tape to Simmons, the blaring horns would become a permanent part of Van
Halen’s sonic history.
During the November 3 session, Simmons’s admiration for the band’s guitar
player grew as each track was recorded. “What amazed me was when we got into
the studio, Eddie got a lot of his effects direct. Where you usually get the effects
after, from the board, he had the effects down pat, so all you had to do, basically,
was mike it. He really knew what he was doing.”[ 397 ]
Simmons also found a use for the horns, adding them between verses and
tagging them to the end of the blistering “House of Pain.” As the song faded
out, Simmons gradually dropped the pitch of the horns as they segued into
“Runnin’ with the Devil.” He explained, “I wanted to connect [the] two tunes
together, so I just slowed down the tape so it wound up in the same key.”[ 398 ]

Soon after the session wrapped, Simmons called Aucoin. He told him he’d
found this hot new group in Hollywood and that he’d just laid down thirteen
tracks with them in the studio. This demo, he explained, now just needed some
overdubs. Simmons hoped that if Aucoin liked them as much as he did, KISS’s
manager might take them on as clients and then put them on KISS’s label,
Casablanca Records. Then down the road, KISS might even take Van Halen on
tour with them as an opening act.[ 399 ]
Aucoin asked him the band’s name. “Van Halen” was the answer, and
Simmons continued his sales job. An impatient Aucoin cut him off, saying,
“Yeah, I’ve heard of them. I’ve heard their name when I was in L.A.”[ 400 ]
Simmons continued, telling his manager that Van Halen was great. After a bit
more back and forth, Aucoin sighed and said, “Okay, we’ll fly them to New
York.”[ 401 ]
While Aucoin would later concede that he’d badly bungled Simmons’s
proffer of Van Halen, he had a larger agenda when it came to Simmons and his
new hobby.[ 402 ] KISS’s new single, “Hard Luck Woman,” had just hit radio,
and their new album, Rock and Roll Over, would arrive in stores on November
11.[ 403 ] Perhaps more importantly, tour rehearsals were scheduled to begin at
New York’s SIR Studios on November 7.[ 404 ] He needed him back in New
York immediately.
After he hung up with Aucoin, Simmons called Edward. He told him that
he and his bandmates should pack, because they were flying to New York City to
finish the demo.[ 405 ] Van Halen’s guitarist remembered, “Gene had this
master plan that he’d produce us, but the rest of the guys in KISS were getting a
little uptight, because he was spending time with us instead of with
them.”[ 406 ] Because Michael and Alex had completed all of their bass and
drum tracks, Anthony says that it really wasn’t necessary for the band’s rhythm
section to go to New York. Regardless, Simmons told Anthony they were all
going because “he wanted us together as a band.”

After they arrived in New York, Simmons got them rooms at the venerable
Gotham Hotel, so they were smack dab in the middle of the city. Simmons
recalled that for Van Halen, “It was ‘Oh my God, we’re in New York.’ That first-
time feeling … I’m sure it was a little bit too much. They wandered around,
went to record stores, and I was rehearsing to go on the road with KISS.”[ 407 ]
Despite his responsibilities to KISS, Simmons was determined to finish the
demo. He booked time at Electric Lady Studios, a legendary facility that his
band frequented. With the drums, bass, and most of the background vocals
completed, Simmons planned to spend most of his studio time with Edward and
Roth. He wanted Roth to lay down more lead vocals and Edward to overdub
guitars, a task the guitarist had never undertaken before.
On the day the session began, all four members of Van Halen walked into
Electric Lady with Simmons. Anthony, in particular, was struck by the
experience of standing in Jimi Hendrix’s own studio. “The best thing about
going to New York,” he says, “was that we got to go into Electric Lady. They
took us into the vault and showed us all of these tape boxes of Hendrix
recordings. All I could think about was all the amazing music on those reels.”
After Anthony “sang a couple of backgrounds,” he and Alex departed. Van
Halen’s rhythm section then explored the city. Anthony remembers, “Alex and I
didn’t have much to do in New York except goof off. Alex and I stepped out of
the hotel and into the street every day and had hot dogs from the vendors. We
thought it was so fucking cool that you could get a hot dog right on the street,”
he laughs.
While Alex and Anthony had fun in the Big Apple, Simmons, Edward, and
Roth worked on the demo. After knocking out Roth’s vocals, Simmons focused
on thickening up Edward’s contributions to songs like “House of Pain,” “Big
Trouble,” “Somebody Get Me a Doctor,” and “On Fire” by having him double
solos and add harmony lines. The guitarist recollected, “It was my first attempt
at overdubbing, which was very bizarre. I remember asking Gene before we
started, ‘Can’t I just play the way we do [live]?’”[ 408 ] Edward said his first
tries went poorly, because he “just didn’t know how” to overdub since he “hadn’t
even played with another guitarist.”[ 409 ]
Simmons patiently coached the guitarist as they worked. He pushed the
talkback button and said, “Here’s what you do in the studio — you play your
rhythm parts on one track and your solo parts on another.”[ 410 ] When that
didn’t seem to help, Simmons added that all overdubbing meant was that “you
have to play to yourself.”[ 411 ] Edward explained later that his biggest stumbling
block was that he was “used to playing the main guitar all the way through so it
sounds like one guitar.”[ 412 ]
Despite Simmons’s mentoring, the man who’d become the most influential
guitarist since Jimi Hendrix was stumped. From the other side of the studio
glass, he told the KISS bassist to give him a few minutes. “I said, ‘Hold on, guys,
now I have to think of another part to play first.’ There’d never been another
guitar playing there. Now I have to think what I could play there.”[ 413 ]
Eventually, Edward started getting the job done. But after years of playing
in a power trio format, the sound of multiple guitars threaded through Van
Halen’s tunes seemed wrong. While reviewing one track’s overdubs, he said to
Simmons, “Whoa, that sounds odd to me.”[ 414 ] Ultimately, the studio
experience in New York taught Edward a valuable lesson: “I quickly learned that
I didn’t like overdubbing.”[ 415 ]
 In later years, Edward claimed that the demo was never completed.[ 416 ]
What exactly he meant is somewhat unclear. Here Edward could have been
referring to the fact that Simmons has often maintained that the demo contained
thirteen songs, even though only ten have ever leaked into the public realm, so
perhaps three of the songs remained unfinished. And while the ten songs from
the demo that have surfaced sound polished, it’s possible that Simmons’s
intention was to add extra guitar to all the tunes, rather than just the few that
ended up with overdubs. But regardless, what likely happened is that between
Edward’s slow pace and Simmons’s tight schedule with KISS, the clock had run
out. The recording sessions would have to end.[ 417 ]
Simmons now turned his attention to mixing the tape. For this task,
Simmons selected Dave Wittman, one of Electric Lady’s house engineers.
Wittman, who’d trained under the legendary Eddie Kramer and would later
work the board on smash albums like Foreigner’s 4, already had an impressive
resume of recordings to his name, including KISS’s Dressed to Kill. Wittman
says, “I was constantly working with Gene and/or Paul doing various demos. We
were seeing a lot of each other back in that period.”
The pair would work in Electric Lady’s Studio B. Wittman explains, “I seem
to remember that there were four or five songs I ended up mixing.” Wittman’s
recollection of four or five songs fits with the number of tracks that Edward,
Roth, and Gene had worked on in New York, so it’s likely that the rest of the
demo had been mixed in Los Angeles. “The one thing that sticks out in my
mind is the song ‘Runnin’ with the Devil.’ I loved that song. I’m going, ‘Wow!
This is cool! This song is really great.’” Gene sat back and let the engineer work,
occasionally telling him “maybe more of this” or “less of that” as Wittman
adjusted the levels. In under a week of work, and for an expense of $6,500, the
Van Halen demo was in quasi-finished form.[ 418 ]
Before he presented the tape to Aucoin and took his protégés to meet him,
Simmons wanted to make sure they looked the part. He recalled that because the
band hadn’t brought their stage outfits from home, they were hanging around
New York City in street clothes. That wouldn’t impress his manager, so he took
them shopping for some stylish rock garb. He remembered “telling them they
couldn’t walk around in sneakers if they want to try out for the labels. So I got
them leather pants and boots.”[ 419 ]
While Van Halen waited to meet Aucoin, Simmons focused on his own
band. Starting on November 7, KISS rehearsed at SIR Studios for their
upcoming tour, which was scheduled to last several months. All the while,
though, Simmons assured Van Halen that he remained committed to guiding
their career and finding them a record deal.
They knew, of course, that when push came to shove, KISS would always
trump Van Halen in Simmons’s world. “We were somewhat concerned,”
Anthony explains, “because Gene said he wanted to manage us and yet he was
about to take off on some massive Japanese tour or something like that with
KISS.”
In addition, they all remained somewhat unsatisfied with the recordings
they’d made. As Rudy Leiren explained to Steven Rosen, when it came to the
demo “they really weren’t happy — particularly Ed — with the way that
Simmons was producing the tunes.”[ 420 ]
When compared to the band’s albums, it’s clear why Van Halen didn’t love
the Simmons demo. Roth’s singing sounds strained in spots, particularly on the
opening track, “On Fire.” Simmons’s vocal coaching is clear on “House of Pain,”
as Roth adds some awkward “God of Thunder”–style growls to the chorus.
Alex’s drumming is stiff, and the tempos of songs like “Runnin’ with the Devil”
sound off-kilter, either too fast or too slow. And while Edward’s playing is
certainly respectable, the recording does little to capture the world-changing
brilliance that dominated every track on Van Halen’s debut. In fact, Michael
Anthony put in the best performance on the demo. His solid bass lines and his
fantastic background vocals shine on every song.
A few days after KISS’s rehearsals began, Simmons invited Van Halen to
SIR to watch the proceedings. On a break, the band stepped away from their
instruments. Simmons then strolled over to Van Halen. After some small talk,
he said, “Bill [Aucoin] is coming by, why don’t you guys play on our equipment
and do a little showcase for him?” Not wanting to pass up a chance to play in
front of one of the most powerful men in the record industry, the quartet said
yes.[ 421 ]
The four musicians walked onstage, sizing up KISS’s equipment. Alex sat
down behind Peter Criss’s kit and tried to get comfortable as Anthony adjusted
the strap on Simmons’s bass. Edward studied Ace Frehley’s amps and picked up
his Les Paul. As soon it was around his neck, he felt uneasy. “I didn’t even have
my own guitar. It was really funky,” he said later.[ 422 ] Even after tinkering
with Ace’s axe, “The guitar was totally alien to me.”[ 423 ]
Soon enough, Aucoin entered. He said some quick hellos and encouraged
the guys to start playing, which they did. Although afterwards he’d assure Van
Halen that he liked their performance, his true opinion was quite different.
[ 424 ] He told interviewers in later years that it was clear “they were nervous.”
The band’s vocalist “didn’t really sing that well.” Even though he liked Edward’s
guitar playing, Simmons had built him up “to be a phenomenal guitarist,” and
when he saw him perform at the showcase, he thought he just played
“okay.”[ 425 ]
But ultimately Aucoin’s assessment came down to the group as a unit and
the quality of their tunes. By the time they’d finished, he just wasn’t sold on the
“band in total.” And perhaps more importantly, he “wasn’t sure that there was a
song that we could really get behind.”[ 426 ] Regardless, Aucoin thanked the
guys and said he’d meet with them the next morning.
Meanwhile, there was another member of KISS who was taking an interest
in the goings on with Van Halen: Paul Stanley. While Gene had mentioned to
Edward that the other members of KISS were feeling “uptight” about their
bassist’s focus on Van Halen, Stanley, in particular, felt compelled to actively
intervene. As he disclosed in Face the Music, Simmons hadn’t told him in Los
Angeles that he planned to take Van Halen into the studio. Stanley would only
find out about their work at Village Recorders after the fact. He termed this
“secretive” behavior at best “sneaky,” and at worst “dishonest.”[ 427 ]
At some point during Van Halen’s visit to New York, Simmons brought the
demo to Stanley and Aucoin. Stanley recalled that Simmons, still uneasy about
the band’s moniker, said that he’d tell Van Halen that they’d be shopped to
labels under the name Daddy Long Legs. Simmons then played the tape.
Later that day, Stanley and Aucoin “spoke — without Gene — and agreed
to pass on Van Halen.” Stanley claims that this had nothing to do with the
band’s talent, but rather with the damage that Gene’s new hobby could do to
KISS’s upcoming campaigns. “We passed to protect KISS, which needed our
daily focus to continue building on all fronts. Gene’s wandering eye was clearly a
potential risk to all we had accomplished and all we were working
toward.”[ 428 ]

The morning after the impromptu showcase, Van Halen sat in Aucoin’s office.
Aucoin, not wasting a word, quickly shot down Alex’s notion that he had a
contract for Van Halen in his hands. He said, “I don’t see any commercial
potential” in Van Halen. “Besides that, I’ve got my hands full because I just
signed a band called Piper,” a Boston-based act that featured a then-unknown
singer named Billy Squier.[ 429 ]
Continuing, Aucoin centered on what he saw as the band’s biggest
liabilities. The first problem was that the group’s songs weren’t catchy enough. “I
just don’t hear the melodies,” Roth recalled that Aucoin told them. “Hits are
required in this day and age.” If Aucoin’s benchmark for songcraft at that time
was the power pop of Piper, it’s clear why he passed on Van Halen. Piper’s
ultimate commercial failure aside, the material on their first album sounded
radio-ready. The songs on Van Halen’s demo simply weren’t as polished.
The second problem was that he didn’t like the band’s vocalist. “Dave,” he
said to Roth, “maybe there are a couple other acts that I handle that we could get
you to work with.” To the rest of Van Halen, he said, “maybe another vocalist
would work.” But the bottom line was “Gene has his own career, he’s in KISS,
and barring any other permutations, I don’t think I can work with you.”[ 430 ]
With that, Aucoin dismissed them.
When Simmons heard that Aucoin had passed on Van Halen, he was
shocked. He sat down with him to try to change his mind. He played the demo
again. “I said, ‘This group is the next big thing.’”
“It’s too derivative,” Aucoin countered.
Simmons retorted, “Listen to how unique the guitarist is!”[ 431 ]
Aucoin conceded that the guitarist was talented, but what about the fact
that Roth looked just like Jim “Dandy” Mangrum of the now out-of-fashion
southern boogie-rockers Black Oak Arkansas?[ 432 ] Simmons told him he was
crazy, “because nobody knew who that band was” anymore.[ 433 ]
In the end, Simmons knew that all of this had less to do with Van Halen
and more to do with KISS. Simmons later said that the bigger issue was that
“the rest of the guys in the band were angry that I was turning my attention” to
Van Halen.[ 434 ] Ultimately “nobody wanted to listen” to him about Van
Halen any longer.[ 435 ] On his way out of Aucoin’s office, Simmons’s glared at
his manager and said, “You’re gonna eat those words.”[ 436 ]

Back at the hotel, Roth felt demoralized as he packed. He knew that the rest of
the band was stunned by this turn of events. As Edward said later, “Here we are,
totally bummed out because we thought this was our one shot to make it, and it
didn’t pan out; it didn’t work.”[ 437 ] Roth, like the others, understood that at
that moment KISS was America’s most popular group. If Gene fucking Simmons
couldn’t get them a record deal, how would they ever get one? Roth wrote in his
autobiography, “I felt terrible. Wow — had I had let the band down?” He was
particularly worried because he “didn’t know what the Van Halens were thinking
at the time.” Roth knew that some observers back home whispered that his vocal
ability paled in comparison to Edward’s masterful playing. Would the brothers,
after hearing Aucoin’s opinion, now want to get rid of their lead singer?[ 438 ]
Before Van Halen left town, Simmons met with them. He tore up the
contract they’d signed with his Man of a Thousand Faces production company
and told them they were free to use the demo to try to get a deal elsewhere. He’d
be back from tour in the spring, and if they still didn’t have a recording contract,
they could still expect help from him.[ 439 ] Just “give me a call,” he said, “and
we’ll do it again.”[ 440 ] Simmons shook their hands and gave them money for
plane tickets back to Los Angeles.[ 441 ]

After landing back in Los Angeles, the band members prepared to head home.
While Michael caught a ride back to Arcadia, Alex, Edward, and Dave stood
outside the terminal and waited for Roth’s old friend Stanley Swantek and his
brother David to pick them up and take them back to Pasadena. Edward,
looking back on the whole whirlwind experience, said it left the band feeling
“totally bummed” and ended up being “really depressing.”[ 442 ]
The Swanteks soon rolled up, setting the stage for what David Swantek
terms the “most dramatic” Van Halen moment he’d ever witnessed. With
Stanley behind the wheel, Roth grabbed shotgun as the other three piled into the
back seat. David remembers, “They were all bummed” about what had just gone
down with Simmons, “Eddie and Alex in particular.” As they got on the freeway,
the car was silent and the mood morose.
After another minute, Roth swung around in his seat. With his voice raised,
he said, “Look, don’t think for a second that this is over! This is how it’s gonna
be. We are really going to go into recording studios. We really are going to be a
big name. You’ll see. Just keep at it!”
The Van Halen brothers shook their heads. “We had our big break and we
lost it!” one of them said to Roth.
“No, no, no! That’s not what this is. This is just a flicker of what’s eventually
going to be a lot more.”
 David Swantek says that this episode just fortified his belief that Roth “was
really the driving force that kept them going, even though they had all the talent,
to be honest about it. I remember that scene in the car like it was yesterday.
That’s the thing about David Roth and Van Halen. They knew where they were
going, even back then. They really had a fix on it.”

Back in Pasadena, the band regrouped. They went back to gigging at places like
the Pasadena Civic, Walter Mitty’s, and the Starwood. They also thought about
what to do with their demo tape. At least from Edward’s perspective, the band
initially “didn’t know where in the hell to take it; we didn’t know anyone” in the
recording industry who’d be interested in hearing it.[ 443 ]
Roth, however, had ideas. By December, he’d gotten the tape into the hands
of Bingenheimer, who had a popular radio show on KROQ. On December 14,
Roth joined him on the air to debut “Runnin’ with the Devil.” Roth, ever the
shrewd promoter, lavished praise on the DJ, giving him all the credit for
bringing “some of the fellas from KISS” to the Starwood. Roth then recounted
their New York trip and recording session — without mentioning Aucoin’s
verdict — saying, “What we have here is one hell of a demo tape.” And just like
that, Van Halen got its first real airplay.[ 444 ]

In April 1977, KISS came off the road and Simmons returned to Los Angeles.
As he recounted in KISS’s official biography, “I wrote ‘Got Love for Sale’ at the
Sunset Marquis, when we got back from Japan, along with ‘Christine Sixteen.’”
He also had another song that he’d worked up called “Tunnel of Love.” With his
rough work tapes lying nearby, he picked up the phone and called the Van Halen
home. He asked Alex and Edward if they’d like to work with him at Village
Recorders again, this time to demo these three songs. If the brothers would lay
down drum and guitars, Simmons could add bass and lead vocals to the tracks.
[ 445 ]
None of this sat well with Roth. In Crazy from the Heat, Roth charged that
“Gene Simmons’s true interest” in Van Halen “was in conscripting Ed Van
Halen into their show in some form or another, get him to play on a record, get
him to help write guitar solos, get him into the band.”[ 446 ] Leiren shared
Roth’s suspicions. “As a matter of fact,” he told Steven Rosen, “I know he
wanted to get the band away from Dave. He didn’t like Dave at all.”[ 447 ]
 Further support for the idea that Simmons’s intentions weren’t pure comes
from Pasadena native Wally “Cartoon” Olney, who hung around the brothers
quite a bit in 1977. He told The Inside, “I was at [the Van Halen home] several
times, and Gene had called there and Ed was going, ‘No, man, I don’t want to
play.’” After he hung up the phone, Edward vented to Olney: “God, he calls me
constantly and won’t leave me the fuck alone. It was cool that he made the tape
for us, but I don’t want to be in a band with him. I’ve got my own band.”[ 448 ]
Ultimately, the brothers decided to do the session. But when Edward, Alex,
and their techs showed up at the studio, an unexpected guest accompanied them.
“Simmons would look at me with horror,” Roth recalled. “Horror, ’cause I was on
to his game way early.”[ 449 ] Leiren adds, “Dave wanted to be there whenever
they did anything, because he suspected what Gene was up to. He felt that, Hey,
this guy is trying to undermine my interest here and I want to keep an eye on it. There
was always a little static there between them.”[ 450 ]
With Roth and Leiren looking on from the control room, Gene, Edward,
and Alex set up. They recorded the basic tracks for the three songs live.
Simmons then listened to the playback and gave the performances a thumbs up.
To finish the tracks off, Simmons asked Edward to lay down some solos.
Within a few moments it was clear to Simmons that Edward’s skill level had
grown “leaps and bounds” since November. “The control he’d developed on the
instrument since I’d seen him last was just incredible,” Simmons remembers.
“He was flying on that thing. He was using the wang bar by now, and because
the [sound] level was so loud, he could continue to hit the fretboard without
picking the string. It sounded like a roller coaster ride — almost as if he was
playing and someone was messing with the speed of the tape.”[ 451 ] While
things went smoothly on “Love for Sale” and “Tunnel of Love,” they hit a
stumbling block when it came to “Christine Sixteen.”
Just as he had done in New York, Simmons coached Edward, trying to
convey his vision for the song’s lead guitar parts. Leiren recalled, “It’s funny,
because at first Edward wanted to play it the way he thought it should be played.
Gene would go, ‘No no no! Too intricate! Simpler, simpler!’ So he tried it
another way.”[ 452 ]
This new solo still didn’t match what Simmons was hearing in his head. He
reiterated that he wanted a less technically complex lead break. “Simpler!
Simpler!” he told him after each attempt. Six takes later, Simmons felt
unsatisfied and Edward felt frustrated.
 Finally, Roth could take no more of Simmons’s inability to coax the proper
performance out of Edward. Roth said to Simmons, “Can I talk to him?”
Simmons nodded, “Sure, go ahead.”
Roth marched into the studio and spoke to Edward. Using what Leiren
termed “baby talk,” he attempted to put what Simmons wanted into words that
Edward would understand. Leiren said, “I don’t remember how he said it, but he
got the message across to Edward and then the very next take Edward played it
just the way Gene wanted it. [Simmons was] like, ‘Yeah! Yeah! That’s it —
That’s it!’”[ 453 ] After Roth’s assistance, Simmons was so satisfied with the
result that “when the band recorded it for Love Gun, Ace pretty much copied
Eddie’s solo note for note.”[ 454 ]
But did Ace actually play that solo on Love Gun? Leiren, who watched the
whole session, doesn’t think so. “To this day,” he told Steven Rosen in 1985, “I
will swear that that guitar solo on ‘Christine Sixteen’ is the same one that
Edward laid down. Just listen to the sound quality. It sounds just like Ed
[playing] on the Love Gun album. To me it sounds exactly like when I was
standing in the control room watching and listening. Exactly!”[ 455 ]

As the summer of 1977 began, Simmons stayed in Los Angeles and remained in
touch with the Van Halen brothers. Kim Miller recalls that Gene took her and
Edward to see Cheap Trick.[ 456 ] At other times the God of Thunder would
show up at Van Halen’s shows at the Whisky a Go-Go. Brian Box says, “Gene
Simmons used to come to a lot” of their Whisky gigs. Patti Fujii Carberry,
whose boyfriend was Roth’s old friend from high school, was in Van Halen’s
dressing room one night when Simmons made an appearance. “We were upstairs
at the Whisky when Gene Simmons came in, and we talked to him. He sat
backstage with us.” Patti, who is of Japanese descent, recalls the incident vividly
because Simmons spoke to her in Japanese.
By July, Simmons was on the road again with KISS, only to return in late
August for three shows at the cavernous Los Angeles Forum. Before the stand
began, the Van Halen brothers got a call from the KISS camp, telling them that
tickets for the band would be waiting for them at the will-call window. Roth
unloaded about this episode in his autobiography: “There were scenes like, ‘Oh,
all you guys are invited to the big KISS show down at the Forum,’ and I would
show up and there would be no tickets for me. The Van Halens would be inside,
comfortably ensconced in the back room with Gene and his pals. Of course I
knew what was up, and I was super protective of the band at the time, or people
like that would have picked us apart right away.”[ 457 ] Once again, Leiren
offers confirmation: “Gene came back to town with KISS, he called up the guys,
‘Hey come down to the show.’ When they got down there, there were tickets for
everybody except for Dave. No tickets for Dave. Dave said, ‘fuck it’ [and]
split.”[ 458 ]

Despite the passage of years, Roth never forgot this snub. According to Leiren,
Roth bumped into Simmons in Los Angeles in the spring of 1984, sometime
before Van Halen played the Forum in May. Roth greeted Simmons warmly
and, in his inimitable Diamond Dave style, said, “Hey Gene! How you doing?
Good to see you!” The two stars spoke for a few minutes before Roth said, “Hey
we’re going to be playing the Forum. You want to come down to the show?”
Simmons smiled and said, “Sure. Great. I’d love to.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of you.”
The night of the sold-out show, Simmons went to the will-call window.
“Tickets for Gene Simmons,” he said. After a couple of minutes, the clerk
returned and informed Simmons that there were no tickets for that name. Leiren
told Steven Rosen, “Dave swore someday he’d get his revenge, and he got it. He
left no tickets for Gene Simmons. Payback is a motherfucker.”[ 459 ]
 CHAPTER TEN: RIGHT OUT OF THE MOVIES
Van Halen’s 1977 signing to Warner Bros. Records by producer Ted
Templeman and label executive Mo Ostin is the stuff of rock legend. “They
came in [to the Starwood] one night when we were playing for free,” Roth
mythologized to Record Mirror in July 1978. “Having watched the set, they came
backstage and offered to sign us up with Warner Brothers.”[ 460 ]
After years of striving for this moment, the band members found the
experience surreal. Edward said the two powerful men appearing in their
dressing room was a “heavy thing, man.”[ 461 ] Roth told the Los Angeles Times
that the night felt like “a scene right out of the movies.”[ 462 ] The motion
picture analogy used by the band’s singer was no accidental turn-of-phrase. The
band’s late 1977 Warner Bros. Records band biography quotes him saying “We
always knew we’d be discovered, but when it happened it was right out of the
movies.”[ 463 ]
While the movie metaphor captures the storybook nature of that fateful
night, it does little to tell the full story of how Templeman and Ostin ended up
at the Starwood. Van Halen’s Warner Bros. “discovery,” it turns out, depended
on many behind-the-scenes maneuverings that put the four performers in the
perfect position to get their long-awaited record deal.

In the summer of 1976, Kim Fowley heard a lot of street talk about a promising
local group. “It came to my attention that there was this band at Gazzarri’s at the
other end of the Sunset Strip,” the fast-talking promoter and producer said.
Even though Fowley was always in search of pop music’s “next big thing,” the
idea of visiting that nightclub turned his stomach.[ 464 ] He remembered, “It
was two blocks away from the heart of the Strip but it might as well have been
two thousand miles away. Gazzarri’s was for all the troglodytes from the hillbilly
sections of L.A.; all the redneck enclaves like the horrible Inland Empire. I’d see
these loser kids hanging out in the parking lots near the Rainbow and London
Fog. It was awful. The word polyester was invented with Gazzarri’s in mind.”
Still, the Runaways manager couldn’t dismiss all of these impassioned
testimonials he’d heard from “blondes with big tits” and “redneck kids” hanging
out on the Strip. “All they’d talk about,” he explained with a grunt, was this
Pasadena band called Van Halen![ 465 ]
Fowley, who’d grown disgusted with the recent trend of “all these people
trying to create New York or London bands in L.A.,” went to the club. “And
there they were.” That night, Roth laid his best used-car salesman pitch on the
influential Fowley, telling him that Van Halen was the “ultimate band” in town.
[ 466 ]
Soon after, the pair lunched in Hollywood. “We ate at Denny’s one
afternoon,” Fowley recalls, “and he told me that David Lee Roth and Van Halen
were going to rule the world.” As Fowley listened, he considered the band’s
strengths and weaknesses. He says, “I thought Eddie and Dave were good; I
thought Dave was a combination of Black Oak Arkansas’s Jim Dandy, and Al
Jolson. I thought the drummer was okay. The bass player didn’t really fit, but
that didn’t really matter. To me, they were just another version of Led
Zeppelin.” Once he finished his monologue, Roth asked, “Will you help us?”
Fowley agreed to do so, undoubtedly thinking about the innumerable times he’d
profited from helping bands get record deals.
Fowley then made a few calls. One of them was to Denny Rosencrantz, the
Mercury Records A&R representative who’d signed the Runaways. Fowley
encouraged him to come see the quartet at the Starwood. Rosencrantz, hoping
that Fowley had just handed him another marketable act to sign, said he’d come
to the show.
As promised, Rosencrantz appeared. He found Fowley in the VIP balcony
and grabbed a seat. In truth, they could have sat or stood anywhere in the club,
because it was deserted. Fowley estimates there were about eight people in the
audience when Van Halen started playing.
It didn’t take long for Rosencrantz to make his views known. He looked
over at Fowley, shaking his head and laughing. “He hated them,” Fowley recalls.
With a smile on his face, Rosencrantz yelled, “It’s an awful band, but keep
trying, Kim!” Before leaving, he informed Fowley for future reference: “I’m not
interested in signing Jim Dandy fronting Led Zeppelin.”
Between sets, Fowley went backstage and told the band that Rosencrantz
had passed. A crestfallen Edward asked, “Will you still help us even though
Mercury said no?” Once again, he said he would help.

It’s important to note that even more music industry figures had received a
heads-up about Van Halen in the second half of 1976. Joe Berman, who was a
fixture on the Hollywood scene, says, “I saw record company people at their
shows before Gene Simmons ever came into the picture. I didn’t know these
people, because I wasn’t in that part of the business at that time. I can’t
remember names, but A&R guys were aware of what was going on with this
band in town. I’m sure they were coming to check them out.”
In one instance, musician and record executive Herb Alpert took a look at
Van Halen. Edward told Rolling Stone, “I remember a long time ago, we were
playing and someone told us, ‘A&M Records is here to see you guys.’” Alpert,
like Rosencrantz, saw no potential in the band. After finding himself put off by
Edward’s wild playing, he told the band that their “guitarist is too psychedelic
and [has] too much uncontrolled energy.” Years later, he conceded to Edward,
“One of the biggest mistakes I ever made was passing on you guys. I didn’t
understand what the hell you were doing ’cause it was so unorthodox.”[ 467 ]
Yet even industry figures who embraced the unorthodox, like legendary
producer Bob Ezrin, didn’t think Van Halen was worth their time. Hernando
Courtright explains, “I tried through my friend Scott Anderson, who was
working with Bob Ezrin at the time, to bring Ezrin to see the band. Bob just
couldn’t be bothered. He was too busy. He had worked with Alice Cooper and
he had just done Peter Gabriel’s album. Scott just couldn’t get him focused to
come out and see the band. I don’t know if Scott was not selling it right, but I
know he said, ‘You’ve got to see this band. You’ve got to lock in on this band.
This band’s going to be huge.’ We told the band, ‘I don’t know what the story is,
but he’s just not motivated.’”
Anthony explains that this type of thing happened frequently. They’d hear
that record executives would be coming to see them, only to find that no one had
shown up. This even occurred when Dr. Roth made calls to record labels.
Anthony recalls, “On occasion, he’d say that he was going to send someone out
to see us, but what we’d do is have the reserved card out on a table, and nine
times out of ten it would still be there at the end of the night.”

Meanwhile, Fowley hadn’t forgotten about Van Halen. By early November

1976, he was helping to line up acts for the re-opening of a Sunset Strip
landmark, the Whisky A Go-Go. The club, which had spent the last three years
operating under different guises, including as a disco, would start featuring local
rock acts at the end of the month.[ 468 ] Elmer Valentine, the club’s owner, told
Billboard that he believed the timing was right to start booking unsigned bands,
because “punk rock, which is so hot in New York now, may well be due to hit
Los Angeles.”[ 469 ] The man that Valentine entrusted with the task of
capitalizing on this abrasive new musical trend was Marshall Berle.
Even though he’s well known for being the nephew of comedian Milton
Berle, Marshall Berle became the Whisky’s booking agent after building an
impressive music industry resume. Back in 1960, he went to work as an agent for
the famed William Morris Agency. He started up their West Coast music
department and within eighteen months had signed the Beach Boys. Later, he
worked with rock legends Creedence Clearwater Revival and Spirit.
In early November, Berle left a message for Fowley, asking if he knew of any
hot local bands he might consider for the Whisky. When the Runaways manager
returned the call, he reminded Berle about his newest act, the pop-punkers
Venus and the Razorblades, before dropping another name on Berle. He said,
“There’s this band Van Halen. Even though Danny didn’t get it, I think there’s
something there.” Fowley, always thinking about his own publishing revenues,
then made a request of Berle. “If you end up managing them, just make sure I
have a song on their album.”[ 470 ] He then passed Roth’s phone number on to
Berle.[ 471 ]
When Berle called Roth, he let him know that he was considering booking
Van Halen at the Whisky. Roth reacted with enthusiasm, and suggested that
Berle come check out his band at their upcoming show at the Pasadena Civic.
Berle agreed to do so, telling Roth that he’d come bearing the Whisky contracts.
 Flyer for Van Halen’s November 1976 concert at the Pasadena Civic, where Marshall Berle, who later
managed the band, first saw Van Halen perform. MARY GARSON/HOT SHOTZ AND STEVE TORTOMASI

On November 19, Berle drove to the gig, which he expected would be a

small affair. He soon realized his mistake. “When I got there on the night of the
show, to see what I thought was just another punk rock band,” he saw the
parking lot filled with a fleet of Camaros, Mustangs, and custom vans while
herds of teenagers made their way into the Civic.[ 472 ] When he arrived at the
building’s entrance, he was told the show was sold out. He recalls, “There were
3,500 people at the Civic in Pasadena. I couldn’t even get in! I had to go
backstage and do the whole ‘I’m an agent’ number just to get in.”
Standing in the packed hall, Berle felt the electric vibe as an army of
screaming teenagers greeted Van Halen and cheered their every move. He
remembers, “It was great! I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was one of
those things that you see once in a lifetime, and I saw it twice: one time at the
Palladium when the Beach Boys opened for Dick and Dee Dee, and then with
Van Halen. Only twice in my life have I seen a band that no one’s ever heard of
in terms of commerciality that just blew me away. It just happened to be two of
the greatest bands in the history of music.”
After the show, Berle went backstage and found Roth surrounded by a
harem of young beauties. Roth excused himself, shook Berle’s hand, and
introduced him to the others. Berle, still buzzing from Van Halen’s blistering
performance, complimented them and said, “You guys should have a record
deal.”
To Berle’s surprise, the four musicians suddenly turned cold. He says,
“Eddie Van Halen turned around and looked at me. Then the brothers looked at
each other, and then at Dave and Michael. Then the brothers looked at me and
went ‘Yeah. Right.’” Shrugging off their comments, Berle reiterated, “I’ll get you
a record deal. Let’s play some shows at the Whisky.” The band signed the
contracts.
For some time, Berle had no inkling why they’d responded in that fashion,
until someone told him about Van Halen’s recent trip to New York. Tired of
hearing people promise everything and deliver nothing, Van Halen thought
Berle would do little more for them than get them into the Whisky.
Berle, who says that he harbored no aspirations to be Van Halen’s manager
at that time, held up his end of the Whisky bargain. Van Halen was among the
first acts booked by Berle. The club, which had built its storied reputation by
showcasing some of the greatest talent in rock history, sought to become ground
zero for the city’s burgeoning punk rock scene. Thus, Berle hired acts like glam-
punk oddballs Zolar X and Fowley’s Venus and the Razorblades and proceeded
to put them on bills with a decidedly un-punk rock quartet from Pasadena.

Soon after their Whisky debut, Van Halen met a young man who eventually
became one of their most valued employees. In 1976, a teenage Pete Angelus
had driven from the East Coast to Hollywood. He’d then landed a job at the
Whisky, which involved getting bands off- and onstage in a timely fashion and,
eventually, working the stage lights.
After a slow night at the club, Angelus struck up a conversation with Roth.
Angelus said he’d made short films back on the East Coast and had an interest
in lighting and staging. Roth then asked Angelus about Van Halen’s show.
Angelus shot straight, telling the singer that while he thought his band was
great, their show featured some “very repetitive” aspects that could be improved.
Roth, intrigued by Angelus’s suggestions, invited him to an upcoming rehearsal.
Angelus arrived at the Roth mansion the next day. After Diamond Dave
buzzed him through the gate, Angelus drove down the long driveway. He met
Van Halen’s frontman outside a back door that led right into the kitchen. When
they stepped inside, Angelus did a double take. “I was really caught off guard,”
he recalls, “because somebody had spray-painted on the kitchen cabinets NO
MILK!
“I said to Dave, ‘Um, are you guys remodeling? What’s going on here?’
“‘Nah, man, there’s no fucking milk in the refrigerator and it really annoys
me.’
“‘So you’ve gotta spray paint that? You can’t just jot that down as a note and
leave it for somebody?’
“That was my first impression of entering their world.”
Angelus apparently fit right in, because he soon went to work as a lighting
and production consultant. He remembers, “So I said, ‘Okay, I will design a
lighting show that will step things up a little bit,’ to make them look like rock
gods, so to speak.”

With Angelus in their corner, the band continued to perform all over Los
Angeles. Bookings at the Whisky continued in December, but the band also
played at the Golden West, the Starwood, and the KROQ Cabaret, a short-lived
West Hollywood nightclub that was housed in a former disco.
At the Cabaret, they’d shoot the shit with Bingenheimer and gig with bands
like Venus and the Razorblades, punk-rockers the Quick, and Randy Rhoads’s
neo-glitter quartet, Quiet Riot. At soundchecks, Edward and Alex put their
fellow musicians on notice about their exceptional musical skill. They played
scorching renditions of fusion songs from Jeff Beck’s Wired. They also slammed
out “Quadrant 4,” from Billy Cobham’s Spectrum, a jazz-rock tune they’d nick
for “Hot for Teacher.”[ 473 ]
 A few weeks later, Van Halen gigged with a young hard rock band from San
Francisco, Yesterday & Today. Drummer Leonard Haze remembers, “The first
time I met them I was down in Hollywood. We went and saw them at
Gazzarri’s. The next time we were playing at the Starwood, Roth came down.
We talked, drank, smoked a couple of joints, and just got to be friends.”
They played three gigs together in January. They lined up two shows at the
Starwood, but the night before those shows started, they played at the Golden
Bear nightclub in nearby Huntington Beach. Hoping for a little beach time,
both bands got to the club early on January 17. Haze says, “Dave and I were
sitting out on this brick wall that was by a cement walkway. There was sand on
one side and you’ve got street on the other. We were smoking a joint, like Dave
and I usually did. Eddie comes walking out. He’s sitting there, smoking with us.”
After the three got high, Edward pulled out a harmonica. Haze says, “He
goes, ‘Man, I just bought this thing.’ And he’s blowing it like he’s played that
thing forever. Dave goes, ‘Doesn’t that just piss you off, man?’”
While Edward blew his harmonica, a musician who’d just come from a
nearby jazz club approached carrying a saxophone case. Once he was in earshot,
Edward asked, “Hey dude, is that a tenor or an alto?”
“A tenor,” he replied.
“Dude, I’ve always wanted to play a tenor!”
“Um, yeah, okay, cool.”
“Hey I’ve got a reed in my guitar case! Can I blow on your sax if I get my
own reed?”
The saxophonist paused.
Roth chimed in, “Come on, man. Do it. Let him do it. He’s never played
one before. Go ahead and give him a shot. Here, smoke this joint with us. This
could be fun.”
Putting his case up on the wall, the man sat down and said, “Yeah, you’ve
got your own reed? Go ahead and get it.”
Edward left and then returned with a reed. Edward then started to play. His
raw musical talent stunned Haze. “And so in five minutes, Eddie was blowing
the shit out of that saxophone. I mean like a serious sax player. He was playing it
like he had been playing it all his life. It was amazing. It blew me away.”
The next afternoon, the two bands reconvened at the Starwood. Once again,
Edward showed off his unmatched musical abilities. When Yesterday & Today
soundchecked, Dave, Edward, and Alex watched.
On a break, Edward jumped behind Haze’s kit. Haze chuckles at the
memory. “I told him, ‘Get off my fucking drums, man! You can’t even play.’ He
goes, ‘What do you mean, I can’t play?’”
Roth, as he was wont to do, interjected. “No, it’s not that he can’t play. You
give it to him, and he’ll play it.” Haze then watched as Edward played his drums
“like he had been practicing. It wasn’t like a guy getting sloppy and blowing it
here and there. He was just on it! I was like, ‘Goddam, dude, stop that!’ I said
[laughs], ‘You let him do that on your kit, Al?’ Al goes, ‘I’m not around when he
does it!’” Haze observes, “The guy could play anything. That’s what amazed me
about him. Playing guitar, he was great. Watching him do stuff on harmonica
and play my drums; the guy is the most talented human being I’ve ever laid my
eyes on.”
Edward then picked up a guitar as the San Francisco rockers resumed their
soundcheck. Haze says, “[Guitarist] Joey Alves and Eddie hit it off. Joey loved
playing rhythm for a guy who could solo. So the two of them would jam, and
they were having a great old time. Matter of fact, you know that [technique]
where you hit a chord and then you turn up the volume knob? Joey showed that
to Eddie, because we had a song that had that in it. Eddie goes, ‘What are you
doing on that song ‘I’m Lost’?” Joey goes, ‘I hit the chord with the volume off
and then I bring it up slowly.’ Eddie’s like, ‘That’s cool!’”
Later, someone whispered to Van Halen in the dressing room that record
company executives would be coming to the shows. Although Berle has no
recollection of inviting anyone down for these gigs, it’s possible that his promise
to get the band a deal got Van Halen thinking that he’d already worked his
magic.
But no executives ever made themselves known to Van Halen on those
nights. The band again felt deflated. Edward tied one on to drown his sorrows.
Out in the parking lot, Yesterday & Today packed their van as a loaded
Edward stood nearby. When the band’s vocalist and lead guitarist, Dave
Meniketti, started to drive off, Edward staggered over and stuck his head in the
driver’s side window. Meniketti recalls, “He was crying to me, ‘When are we ever
gonna get a record deal?’”[ 474 ]
The members of Yesterday & Today, who had a record contract, offered
Edward some words of encouragement before pulling away. Haze says, “They
were one of my favorite bands during that era. I was amazed they hadn’t gotten a
deal. I was amazed that Warners hadn’t come and seen them, especially because
of the stuff Eddie was doing. You know, they were right down the street. That’s
a fucking no-brainer if you ask me!”
While Tom Broderick remembers that in early 1977 the band “fully expected” to
be signed soon, the disappointments did weigh on them even as they continued
to work harder than ever. Maria Parkinson, who later appeared in David Lee
Roth’s “Yankee Rose” video, says, “I remember one time I saw David on a break
from rehearsing. They were playing at the Whisky and they didn’t get signed. I
remember David being very frustrated and upset. In the meantime they still
practiced like crazy.”
Dana Anderson saw a similar determination in the Van Halen brothers.
One day in January 1977, he heard Alex’s drum tech Gregg Emerson ask Alex
and Edward, “What are you going to do if you guys don’t get signed? What are
you going to do for a living? You don’t have any experience at anything.”
Anderson recalls, “They looked at him like he was crazy. ‘What do you mean, if?
We’re going to make it.’” He emphasizes the fact that “they were determined
from a very young age. They had the drive and the determination. I think they
got it from their dad and the Dutch upbringing.”

The band regrouped and reflected on how far they’d come. They’d put Gazzarri’s
in the rear-view mirror, and now with steady bookings at the Whisky on their
calendar, they prepared to say goodbye to Walter Mitty’s. Chris Koenig saw the
band’s final show at Mitty’s. He recalls that the quartet let loose onstage. “The
last Walter Mitty’s gig was fun. They announced ‘This is it!’ They were on. They
did Johnny Winter, Edgar Winter, and KISS. They were just having a blast.
They all changed instruments. I think at one point Eddie was playing drums.”
Koenig, who stood by the stage, adds, “I was so close, and the show was so
crazy.” He laughs, “I remember at one point I was standing in the front, and I
had a pitcher of beer, and Roth asked me for it. I handed it to him, and he
poured it over his head, which at the time pissed me off because, hey, I spent
two bucks for that! It’s funny, years later I ran into him at the Country Club [an
L.A. nightclub]. I said, ‘Hey, you owe me a pitcher of beer!’ I told him the story
and he started laughing.”

Back in Hollywood, their Whisky bookings had earned them praise from the Los
Angeles Times. Critic Richard Cromelin, whose review also highlights the
embryonic nature of Los Angeles “punk rock” in late 1976, had this to say about
Van Halen and “Edwin,” the band’s guitar player: “Even though the group is
associated with the local punk-rock scene, its highly developed musical attack
and conventional image give it a good chance of moving from the L.A. circuit
into national popularity. Edwin Van Halen is the heart of the group … The
material itself is pretty fundamental, but [Edward] Van Halen’s resourcefulness
keeps things interesting and steers the music clear of formulized heavy metal
monotony.”[ 475 ]
The good reviews continued into January 1977. Cromelin labeled the group
“the slickest and most commercially promising of the local outfits” and praised
“the dazzling guitar work of Ed Van Halen” which “more than compensates for
some material that, while perhaps thin on paper, comes to vibrant life
onstage.”[ 476 ]
More importantly, the dean of the city’s critics chimed in about Van Halen.
Robert Hilburn, who’d been one of the first American journalists to recognize
Elton John’s star power, wrote, “The fastest moving of the unsigned bands
appears to be Van Halen, a heavy metal quartet from Pasadena.” In the same
piece, Bingenheimer gave the band his stamp of approval, saying, “I wouldn’t be
surprised to see them signed and on a big tour soon. They should be playing the
Forum as a support act by the end of the year.”[ 477 ]
This buzz helped Berle get the band on a high-profile bill with Santana at
the Long Beach Arena on January 30. Years later, Michael Anthony called the
experience of opening this arena show as an unsigned band “amazing,” but that
night the heavily Hispanic audience had little love for Van Halen.[ 478 ] The
Long Beach Press Telegram reported that the “hard-core rock band from Los
Angeles whipped the crowd into an avid boredom.”[ 479 ] In fact, even before
they’d played a note, the crowd broke into a chant of SAN-TAN-A! SAN-
TAN-A! The MC, preparing to introduce the band, walked over to Roth and
asked, “By the way, what label are you guys on?” Roth shot back, “Shut up and
just introduce us!”[ 480 ]

At this juncture, Berle moved to set up a label showcase. He called the

Starwood, which often hosted such gigs, and blocked off a couple of nights. He
then rang up the band and, without telling them about his plans for a showcase,
let them know that he’d booked Van Halen into the Starwood on February 2
and 3. Next, he called the Warner Bros. Records switchboard.[ 481 ]
 When Berle got Templeman on the phone, he said, “Ted, I’ve got a band
for you.” He told him that their name was Van Halen and that he should come
see them at the Starwood. Berle says, “I pitched them to Ted because he had an
expertise in three-part harmony, and they were doing that in some of their
songs. Plus Ted had a huge resume of hits.” Indeed, Templeman, then an
executive vice-president and house producer for the label, had overseen
successful LPs by Van Morrison, Little Feat, Captain Beefheart, the Doobie
Brothers, and another West Coast heavy rock quartet, Montrose.
Templeman recalls that he was happy to hear from Berle, whom he’d
“known for ages.” But he was at a loss when his old friend said the name “Van
Halen.” He asserts, “That was the first I’d heard of them, when Marshall Berle
told me. I was busy. I wasn’t on the street at that time. That’s why he called me.”
Despite the recent run of positive press and big gigs, Templeman had no inkling
that Van Halen was practically right on his doorstep. He told Berle he’d come
check them out, since he knew the former agent had good instincts. “He always
had his finger on the pulse,” Templeman says.
On Wednesday night, a reserved sign sat on an empty table in the VIP
section. But the blond Templeman, who looked more like a surfer than an
industry executive, was in the house. “So I went down there one night,” he
remembers. “I kind of went in the back. I went in, but I didn’t let them know I
was there. I saw Ed, and I was just fucking knocked out. He was the best
musician I’d ever seen in person.”
Of course, Templeman couldn’t help but notice Roth as well. “Dave was
playing to an audience of ten thousand, when there were about eleven people in
there,” Templeman told Newsday. “He was performing and sweating and
jumping whether anybody was out there or not. He was wearing outrageous
clothes.”[ 482 ]
 Ad for Van Halen’s performances at Hollywood’s Starwood Club, February 1977. On these two nights,
Ted Templeman and Mo Ostin of Warner Bros. Records first saw Van Halen live. AUTHOR’S COLLECTION

As the set moved along, Templeman focused almost exclusively on the

band’s guitarist. “Ed was still playing those hammer-ons while he was jumping
in the air … Ed had Jimmy Page’s moves down, he could play with a cigarette in
his mouth. I signed them because of Ed, because he was such a great player. I
figured there’s Art Tatum, Ornette Coleman, and this kid.”[ 483 ]
Looking back, Templeman emphasizes that his background as a working
musician led him to lock in on Edward’s virtuosity when other A&R men had
found the same frenzied playing too avant-garde. “I don’t think most A&R guys
really knew their stuff when it came to guitar players, or musicians. I was kind of
a snob, because I played jazz trumpet. I played bebop and everything else, so I
was looking at Ed as a musician, rather than the group.” Templeman says. “I
think if you’re an A&R guy just looking for a pop group you might get a little
scared by Van Halen. But you’ve got to remember, there’s a plethora of bands
out there, and a lot of people — listeners at the time — weren’t sophisticated
enough to know how great Ed was. They wouldn’t know.” But he knew.
Having seen enough, Templeman exited. He says, “I don’t think the guys
knew the first night I was there. I had heard about them, and I wanted to see
what was going on. Once I saw Ed I thought, I don’t want to talk to them until I
have the guy with me who can sign them. So that’s why I made sure I had Mo with
me the next night.”

The next day, Templeman shared his experience with label president and
chairman Mo Ostin and the company’s other top executives. After he mentioned
the name Van Halen around the office, someone handed Templeman a cassette
copy of the Gene Simmons demo, which he’d never heard. He then tracked
down his partner-in-crime, engineer Donn Landee. Landee recalls, “Ted came
back after the first night at the Starwood and said, ‘We’re going to sign them.
You’ve gotta hear this guitar player.’” Templeman then pushed play on the
Simmons demo. “We listened,” Landee says, “and Ted said, ‘We gotta go get
these guys.’ Ted loved Eddie.” Templeman also called Berle and told him he’d
be coming down to the Starwood with Ostin in tow.
Templeman explains that he was thinking strategically by inviting only
Ostin. Typically, he would have asked his best friend and the label’s top A&R
man, Lenny Waronker, to come along. But he knew that Waronker, who
produced “L.A. Sound” singer-songwriters and country-rock acts for the label,
would find a hard and heavy act like Van Halen distasteful. “Lenny was not into
heavy metal, ever, ever, ever,” Templeman says.
Ostin, in contrast, liked heavy music. The bearded and bespectacled label
executive, Templeman says, “was more open to [hard rock and heavy metal] than
Lenny, I knew he knew this stuff — I knew he appreciated it — and so that’s
why I took Mo instead of Lenny.” Templeman also knew that Ostin had signed
rock superstars the Kinks and another revolutionary guitar player to Warner’s
sister label, Reprise, back in the 1960s. “Mo signed Jimi Hendrix,” Templeman
explains. In fact, Mo had been watching at the Monterey Pop Festival when
Hendrix set the music world on its ear. Templeman told Ostin, “You’ve got to
check these guys out,” in the hopes he’d have a similar reaction that evening to
the virtuoso guitarist that Templeman had just seen.
As Michael Anthony remembered, the Thursday evening was unremarkable:
“The night we got discovered by Ted Templeman and Mo Ostin was just
another night.” Berle said to the group, “‘Hey there are some important people
here to see you.’ People say that all the time, so we just said, ‘So what, we’ll play
our normal set.’”[ 484 ]
Perhaps because of the mid-week booking and a passing shower, once again
the club wasn’t crowded. Still, the band set out to level the place. Alex recalled,
“We were playing to about twenty people at the Starwood Club in Hollywood
— but that didn’t stop us from doing our usual big show.”[ 485 ]
As he’d promised, Templeman appeared with Ostin and another label
executive, whose name has been lost to time. Berle recalls that he was happy to
see Ostin, who, like Templeman, was an old friend who he’d known since the
early 1960s.
The four men then headed upstairs to the VIP area and sat down. Edward’s
playing once again grabbed Templeman: “Let’s put it this way — without Ed,
there wouldn’t have been a Van Halen. That’s for sure. I saw them and I
thought, here’s this genius. I’m thinking, There’s Art Tatum, there’s Charlie
Parker, and there’s this fucker. I went, ‘Goddamn, he’s the real deal.’”
In fact, Templeman says, he put the flaws he saw in the band out of his
mind because of Edward’s greatness. “I signed them based just on Ed. Boom!
That was it. I was signing Ed as a guitar player and the band I was going to
make work around that, because I thought he was the greatest musician I’d ever
seen in my life! I’d never seen anyone play live like that, except when I used to go
to jazz concerts. I saw Dizzy Gillespie, I saw Miles, and all these people, but Ed
played better than almost anyone else I’d ever seen live. I saw it instantly. I
wanted to sign them on the spot.”
Ostin, too, was impressed. Between the band’s Hendrix-like guitar player
and their knockout version of “You Really Got Me,” Ostin saw the makings of a
commercially successful act. Years later, he recounted, “I heard them onstage and
turned to my colleagues and said something crass: ‘They sound like
money.’”[ 486 ]
Berle, who knew the band’s talents well, says that his pre-gig call for the
band to “play good” had been far exceeded by the four musicians, who were
“fucking great” that night. When the house lights came on, Ostin turned to
Berle and asked, “Are you the manager?”
Berle said no.
“You are now,” Ostin replied.
In their small dressing room, the band members congratulated each other on
the excellent performance. “We got done with the set,” Edward told Jas
Obrecht, “and we’re all going, ‘Hey, it was a good set. All right, guys!’”[ 487 ]
With no label executives in sight, the band cracked a few cold ones and flirted
with their girlfriends.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. Anthony remembered, “It was
kind of rainy that night and we thought, Nobody’s coming, and after we finished
upstairs it was like, ‘How do you do? I’m Mo Ostin and this is Ted
Templeman.’” The stunned quartet stammered hellos and sent the girls packing
as Berle and the executives entered.[ 488 ]
As the girls filed into the hallway, Leiren made his way down the corridor
from the stage to the dressing room. He told Steven Rosen, “I remember the
girls standing in the hallway going, ‘Oh man, why do we have to get out? Those
guys are fucked!’ They were pissed! I knocked on the door and they said, ‘You
can’t go in there!’ Then they opened the door — I had the guitars in my hand
and they let me right in! I knew who these big shots were so I go, Man, there’s no
way I’m going to miss this.”[ 489 ]
Inside the room, Ostin and Templeman told the band that they’d enjoyed
the show. Anthony said, “Our mouths dropped to the floor, and I remember Mo
saying he really loved the way we played ‘You Really Got Me,’” a song he’d
helped bring to the American market.[ 490 ] Templeman, too, “got off” on the
song that night and made a mental note that the Kinks classic might be an
excellent candidate to include on a Van Halen album.[ 491 ]
The pair then got down to business. Edward remembered that Ostin “asked
us if we were signed. We said no. He then asked if we had a manager. We said
no. Finally he asked if we had an agent, and we said no again!”[ 492 ] At that
point the executives encouraged them to cement a formal relationship with
Berle, the man who’d told them about Van Halen.[ 493 ]
Eavesdropping as he cleaned Edward’s guitars, Leiren heard Ostin and
Templeman say that they’d like to book some studio time with the band.[ 494 ]
Anthony remembered, “Ted said, ‘I’d like to do a demo with you sometime; get
together in the studio and do a few songs and see what develops.’”[ 495 ] When
Ostin proffered a letter of intent for them to sign, the band demurred, telling
him that they’d “have to think about it” before signing anything.[ 496 ]
With that, the Warner Bros. team took down the Van Halen brothers’
phone number and said, “Don’t sign with anybody else,” before heading out the
door.[ 497 ] Roth observed that there was no chance of that happening: “We all
stood around with our tongues hanging out, going ‘Yessir, yessir.’”[ 498 ] Leiren
remembered that once the executives departed, “Everyone was like, ‘Alright!
This is the big time!’”[ 499 ]
The next day, the phone rang at 1881 Las Lunas Street. It was Warner
Bros. Records asking again if Van Halen would sign with the label.[ 500 ] Alex
didn’t wait long to say yes, since the band had already decided that they would
take the deal.
Within hours, the four musicians, along with Berle, reconvened at the label’s
Burbank headquarters. After scheduling a demo session at the legendary Sunset
Sound Studios with Templeman and engineer Donn Landee, they signed the
letter of intent with the label.[ 501 ]

From the standpoint of their career hopes, the band couldn’t have been happier.
Templeman and Landee had been the brains behind the Montrose debut album,
which was one of Van Halen’s favorite rock records.[ 502 ] But more
importantly, Warner Bros. Records had long embraced hard rock and heavy
metal. As writer Warren Zanes observes, “[As early as 1972] Warners was laying
the groundwork for an era of heavy metal that would surprise many in its staying
power.”[ 503 ]
From the band’s perspective, this made Warner Bros. their ideal label. Haze
says, “They wanted a Warner Bros. deal. That’s what Dave told me, anyway. He
said, ‘Everyone’s got good deals, but we want to be on Warner Bros.’ It was all of
the bands that were there like Sabbath, Deep Purple, and Montrose. They had a
stable of the heavy rock bands. Then they had commercial access. They had a lot
of radio promotion guys [on board], because they had the Doobie Brothers and
stuff like that too. So Warner Bros. was really diverse.” Edward felt the same
way, telling Steven Rosen, “Warner Bros., man, that was always the company I
wanted to be with.”[ 504 ]
Knowing that nothing would be set in stone until the final rounds of
negotiations drew to a close, the band celebrated in a low-key fashion. Larry
Abajian, who owned the Van Halen family’s favorite liquor store, Allen Villa
Beverage, remembers, “The day they signed, Alex and Ed came in and bought a
bottle of champagne and a package of paper cups.”
But if they’d hoped to keep things quiet at first, they soon found out that
wasn’t going to be possible after the Los Angeles Free Press reported on February
11: “Local favorites Van Halen have signed with Warner Bros., marking them as
the first band of the new wave of young groups to work their way through the
local clubs onto a major label.”[ 505 ] With the news out, Roth headed over to
KROQ on Sunday to tell Bingenheimer. Koenig recalls, “I was actually at
KROQ hanging out on Rodney’s show when Roth showed up with a case of
champagne, saying, ‘Rodney, we got signed!’”

Within a couple of weeks, Van Halen entered the studio with Ted Templeman,
Donn Landee, and second engineer Richard McKernan. Edward remembered
that the band didn’t decide which facility to use: “Donn and Ted had basically
done all the Doobie Brothers stuff there; it was one of their favorite places. I
didn’t know anything about studios, so wherever they wanted to go was
okay.”[ 506 ]
The band might not have known it, but by working at Sunset Sound, they
were walking in the footsteps of rock’s giants. Led Zeppelin, Alice Cooper, the
Rolling Stones, and the Doors had recorded there. Along with the Doobie
Brothers, Templeman and Landee had recorded Little Feat and Montrose at the
fabled studio.[ 507 ] In preparation for the sessions, Landee reserved a generous
amount of studio time.[ 508 ]
In the meantime, Templeman and the band held a pre-production meeting.
They worked up a list of twenty-five tunes to record based on Van Halen’s
lengthy song list, which the band members had written out on a wall in Roth’s
basement.[ 509 ] At that meeting, Edward told Templeman that based on his
experiences with Simmons, he preferred not to add extra guitar tracks to their
songs. Templeman agreed to that plan, since he’d already learned at the
Starwood about Van Halen’s wall of sound.
On the first day at Sunset Sound, Templeman watched Van Halen tune up.
Edward’s ragtag effects setup caught his eye, and he looked on in amazement as
the guitarist tested his rig. Templeman recalls, “He had this little board with all
these things jury-rigged, like string and gum putting shit together. He’d put it all
together and step on these little things. He was a fucking little genius. He
sounded great. That board was just something he brought when we did the
demo.”
Once Landee rolled tape, Templeman watched in wonder as Edward
worked. Unlike most guitarists, who needed multiple takes or multiple tracks to
get their parts right, Edward just blazed through the songs, solos and all, in one
take. Templeman says, “With Ed, I couldn’t believe it. When we did the demo,
he would sit there and just play. When he came to the solo, he would play the
solo. I’d say, ‘Do you want to put the chords underneath it?’ He’d say no. But
that’s what sounded so great about it. They were playing as a power trio, because
there was no rhythm guitar underneath the solo.” McKernan says that Edward’s
vision for the demo sessions came to life because other than “a couple of
overdubs” the tracks were in fact done live.
Things moved at a dizzying pace. Alex, Michael, and Edward stood
together in the room, with only baffles separating them, and recorded the
instrumental tracks for each song live. Roth ensconced himself in the vocal
booth and sang along. Templeman, who was unprepared for how quickly the
band could work, says, “We just knocked ’em all down in one afternoon —
boom, boom, boom!” Landee, who’d recorded bands since the late 1960s, says
without qualification, “They were the most prepared band I had ever heard or
recorded,” so in the end, “we didn’t need the extra studio time.”[ 510 ]

Templeman and his engineers had reason to be impressed. The band’s song list
was long and deep. It included six of the eleven songs that would end up on Van
Halen’s debut and eight other songs that would end up on Van Halen’s first six
albums in one form or another. To settle their debt with Kim Fowley, the band
also recorded a hot version of a KISS-like song called “Young and Wild,” which
had been written by Fowley and Venus and the Razorblades’ Steven Tetsch.
Even though the demo sizzles with energy, there are a few clunkers. Edward
later explained to Steven Rosen that the demo included a few songs that “Van
Halen–wise” were “kind of dated. They’re a little dumber rock.”[ 511 ]
The next day, the quartet knocked out their backing vocals. To conclude,
the band recorded the Roy Rogers classic, “Happy Trails.” Before they sang,
Roth asked, “What else is left?” Anthony, surely thinking of the whirlwind
nature of the experience, yelled, “Insanity!” Apart from a few vocal fixes by Roth
— which he completed about a week later on the same day that Landee mixed
the tape — the demo was completed.[ 512 ]

While the band had a blast recording the demo, there was a less pleasant task
ahead: getting legal representation and signing the final contracts. Anthony
remembered, “Next thing I know, it was contract time. We scrambled out and
[hired] a lawyer that Roth’s old man got us.”[ 513 ] The man that Dr. Roth
suggested was an entertainment attorney named Denny Bond. He’d worked for
singer Paul Williams in the 1970s, and in later years would be Lee Majors’s
publicist.[ 514 ] In the liner notes on Van Halen, the band gave “Special Thanks”
to Dennis Bond, Esq.
Gary Ostby, the live-in groundskeeper at the Roth estate who’d become
tight with Dave, points out that Dr. Roth had become a big Van Halen
supporter by 1977. He says, “Dr. Roth didn’t like [Dave’s musical pursuits] at
first, but as Van Halen started growing, he became more tolerant. He became a
fan. He’d try to help them out every chance he could with the attorneys he knew;
he would turn Dave on to them. And Dave had a business sense anyway, so he’d
know if the guy was good or not. Even though the guy was always onstage, he
made a lot of good moves.”
Ostby adds that Roth understood that record companies almost always
ended up in the catbird seat when the ink was dry on contracts. “He knew all the
horror stories that you’d hear, even back then, about how the record companies
are ripping people off and taking more than they were due.” After they initially
committed to Warner Bros. in February, Roth told Ostby, “We ain’t giving away
anything.” Ostby says Roth’s confidence came from the fact that “he had good
attorneys from his dad to advise them.”
Before any agreement was final, the band needed to tell Bond how they
intended to handle their songwriting credits. Apparently, that decision had been
made years earlier. Edward, who later lamented the arrangement, said: “We sat
down at Dave’s father’s house and said, ‘Well, what are we going to do if we
make it?’ I said, ‘Split it four ways. There are four people, right?’ That was before
I found out that I was the only one who writes.’”[ 515 ] Soon after, the
negotiations ended.

On March 3, 1977, guitarists Carl Haasis and Gary Putman showed up early for
Queen’s Day at the Races concert at the Forum, making their way into the arena
more than an hour before showtime.
While the pair checked out the stage, Edward walked up to them. They
asked, “Hey man, what’s up?” Edward laid some big news on them. “We fucking
got signed today!”
Haasis said, “Whattya mean?”
“We’re going to put a record out! A real record! We got signed!”
Haasis recalls that Edward went on to say, “‘We got $150,000, and eighty
thousand of it is going to go to this … ’ He kind of broke it down.” Haasis says
that he and Putman, who were still playing in bands that specialized in copy
material, stood dumbfounded as their friend shared the great news.

Finally, it was time to celebrate. Roth visited George Courville and asked if they
could throw a party at his house, since Roth’s father had just laid down the law
about late night gatherings at his home. Courville chuckles, “Dave came over
and said, ‘Can we use your house?’ Stupid me, I said yes.” [ 516 ]
Courville says that in true Van Halen style, the band threw a legendary bash.
“There were about three hundred people at that party, with about twenty-one
people standing in my tub/shower smoking and tooting at any given time. I
passed out around 2:00 a.m. on the couch, with four holes in my walls: two in
the bathroom, one in the kitchen, and one in the living room. I woke up at 3:00
a.m. to a food fight going on in the kitchen. Eddie, Alex, Dave, and a few
friends had opened a case of beer on the kitchen floor and were doing a slip and
slide thing. Meanwhile, they had taken all the food out of the refrigerator, piled
it up on the kitchen table, and made a three-foot-wide by two-foot-high salad.
The empty jars were included and mixed into the salad. By 6:00 a.m., I could
have opened up a recycling center for all the empty bottles, cans, cups, and food
plates everywhere.”[ 517 ]

These were indeed days of celebration for Van Halen. After years of hard work,
Van Halen had finally secured the major label deal they’d long dreamed about.
Now it was time to get ready to record their debut.
 CHAPTER ELEVEN: VAN HALEN
In March 1977, Ted Templeman was riding one hell of a hot streak. He’d
produced numerous hit albums, and his upcoming schedule included sessions
with proven acts the Doobie Brothers and Little Feat and promising newcomers
Nicolette Larson and Van Halen.
In the case of Van Halen, he couldn’t help but liken them to Montrose, the
muscular quartet he’d produced back in 1973. And that’s what worried him.
Montrose had had all the pieces in place for a breakout debut: solid songs, an
earthshaking bassist, a monster drummer, a masterful guitarist, and a powerful
vocalist by the name of Sammy Hagar. Despite those advantages, Montrose
staggered to a disappointing No. 133 on the Billboard album chart before
disappearing from it forever.
When he did a similar accounting of Van Halen’s assets, he felt confident
about the band’s deep song list, virtuoso guitarist, and rock-solid rhythm section.
But when he compared the two singers, he thought Roth came up short.
Templeman says, “I didn’t think I was going to keep him” in the band after
seeing Van Halen at the Starwood. Wanting to hear how Roth performed in the
studio, the producer withheld further judgment until after the mid-February
demo session. Templeman recalls that what he heard on tape didn’t assuage his
fears. In fact, he says that at that time “Dave really made me nervous, because he
couldn’t sing.”
Templeman thus considered replacing Roth with Hagar, who was then a
solo artist. He says, “I actually wanted Sammy in the band at the time, because I
had done Montrose. I know that was on my mind in the beginning.” He explains
that this plan made sense, because Edward loved Montrose’s debut. Still, at that
time Templeman never brought this idea to anyone in the band, even though he
recalls mentioning it to Lenny Waronker and perhaps Donn Landee.
While Templeman ruminated, Roth refused to rest on his laurels. While
many aspiring rock stars under contract with Warner Bros. might have gotten
lazy, Roth worked hard. Within weeks, Roth’s creative mind, clever lyrics, and
improved vocals had convinced Templeman that he had all the requisite tools to
front Van Halen.
Roth’s labors, and those of his bandmates, would eventually bear fruit inside
of Sunset Sound. In just fifteen days, Van Halen recorded one of rock’s greatest
debut albums, one that would make them America’s hottest young rock band
just months after its release. For Van Halen, this kind of success is a story of
talent and hard work winning out in the end. For David Lee Roth — who could
have been bounced out of Van Halen in early 1977 — it’s a Rocky-like story of
winning when the odds are stacked against you.

Despite Van Halen’s eagerness to start recording, the band entered hurry-up-
and-wait mode after finishing the demo in February. Anthony remembered,
“We didn’t go into the studio for a long time, because Ted was doing a Doobie
Brothers project.”[ 518 ] As it turned out, he wouldn’t be done cutting tracks
with the Doobies anytime soon. Templeman explained in 1981 that unlike Van
Halen, a band that can “go into the studio and blow it right out,” a Doobie
Brothers’ album “takes a lot longer” to record.[ 519 ] With Templeman and
Landee indisposed, Van Halen kept working.
Roth led the way. Although there’s no evidence that he knew of
Templeman’s misgivings, Roth did hire a vocal coach in the spring of 1977. As
he self-deprecatingly told Winner in 1986, “I took some vocal lessons for a while
and obviously they didn’t make my voice much better.”[ 520 ]
Nonetheless, Roth did set out to become a better singer. Jim Burger
remembers waiting in Roth’s driveway for his friend Pete Dougherty (who lived
in the property’s garage apartment) when he heard singing coming from the
main house. He looked and saw that “Dave was practicing his voice lessons up
on the second story of the mansion. He’d tell us he wasn’t taking ‘singing lessons’
— they were voice lessons.”
Roth practiced religiously. Gary Ostby says Van Halen’s main man “went
through his exercises every morning” — which for a rock-star-in-training like
Roth, began no earlier than 11:00 a.m. — and then every hour on the hour.
Ostby says, “He was always doing his scales, A-E-I-O-U, and all that. He was
with a voice coach way before their album ever came out.”
With studio sessions looming, Roth knew the stakes were high. But he also
knew that his own flaws as a singer would be magnified on an album featuring a
guitarist as talented as Edward. Lisa Christine Glave, who was Dave’s friend in
those days, thinks that Roth worked so hard “in 1977 because he knew that
Eddie was a virtuoso. If he was going to stay in this band, he realized he was
going to have to take his performances up a notch. Eddie could take a tin can
with three strings and make it sounds like a Stradivarius. To keep up, Dave had
to really work at it. Eddie’s talent was more inborn.”
 Significantly, Roth had made previous efforts to tune up his pipes. During
his early ’70s stint at PCC, Roth took a summer class, Music 172: Advanced
Vocals, with an instructor named Gloria Prosper. For the final exam, students
needed to sing five different songs in five different vocal styles, including pop,
rock and roll, rhythm and blues, and Broadway. Roth, who likely failed the class
after not turning in any written work, did give the final assignment a go. In front
of his classmates and Prosper, Roth sang four of five required songs, all covers:
Chicago’s “Wishing You Were Here,” John Brim’s “Ice Cream Man,” Donny
Osmond’s “Go Away, Little Girl,” and Peter, Paul and Mary’s “If I Had My
Way.”[ 521 ]
While it’s unclear how Prosper and Roth’s fellow students responded to this
particular performance, at some point Prosper gave Roth some general feedback.
Debbie Imler McDermott says, “I’d see him sitting outside the music room all
the time. I’d walk up, say hi, and sit down and talk with him. I remember one
day he was sitting there looking forlorn. I walked up and asked him, ‘What’s
wrong?’ He said, ‘I’m taking this voice class, and my teacher said I’ve got a
terrible voice and I’ll never amount to anything.’”

While Roth worked, Templeman pored over the demo. After a few weeks, he
had a change of heart when it came to Roth. Whatever vocal shortcomings Roth
possessed, Templeman knew that inside of Sunset Sound he “could go to work
on whatever it was and try to fix it.”
He also came to love Roth’s songwriting. He says, “Once I got through that
demo, I knew that Dave had something to say. He had a lot of depth and
comedic skills. He was pretty amazing.” Templeman’s newfound appreciation
grew after he heard some songs that Van Halen had written since the demo
session, like “Atomic Punk” and “Ain’t Talkin’ ’Bout Love.” “I really did my
homework,” he remarks, “and what I learned was that those were Dave’s lyrics,
and he was a great lyricist. And I knew he was smart. And that’s hard to come
by, somebody who’s really, really bright like that.” Templeman says that in the
end, “Sammy was a great singer, but Dave was a great writer.”
Resolved to move forward with the current lineup, Templeman scheduled
pre-production meetings. Here the band’s inexperience encouraged them to
defer to their producer. “We had Ted Templeman,” Anthony recalled, “who was
kind of like being the band leader at that point, telling us, ‘Yeah, you should do
this.’” With “us being new in the studio and the whole [recording] thing,”
Anthony said, “we were just like, ‘Yeah, yeah,’” to whatever he suggested.[ 522 ]
The producer says that while he did call the shots, the band ceded that authority
to him. “Let’s put it this way,” he says, “all they did was say, ‘Yeah. Whatever
you want.’”
The first order of business was to pick tunes for the LP. Templeman says, “I
pretty much wanted their album to be up and playful.” In other words, he
wanted nothing to do with gloomier songs like the Island of Lost Souls–inspired
“House of Pain” or the Nightmare on the Bayou–themed “Voodoo Queen.” He
explains, “I just looked away from those songs” lest the album come off as
“morose.” Thus, any chance that Van Halen’s debut would become a dark,
doomy affair was scotched well before the band recorded their debut.
Instead, the vibe would be Southern California sunshine with a sugar rush.
Songs like “Feel Your Love Tonight,” “Show Your Love,” “On Fire,” and “Ice
Cream Man” fit with this upbeat feeling. According to Templeman, everyone
saw eye to eye on this point. “They were kind of gravitating towards happier
stuff,” a philosophy they’d largely remain committed to throughout their career.
“If you go through the years, and if you listen to ‘Jump’ or ‘Hot for Teacher’ or
‘Panama’ they have an ‘up-thing’ to them.”
Still, there was space for shadow on the LP. Remembers Templeman,
“‘Runnin’ with the Devil’ was dark and great the way it should be,” and would
make the final cut, as would “Atomic Punk” and “Ain’t Talkin’ ’Bout Love.”
These last two songs, interestingly enough, had been inspired by the city’s punk
scene, with the former allowing Roth to declare to the legions of punkers that he
was the Strip’s true alpha male.[ 523 ]
After watching them work on the demo, Templeman resolved once again to
track the sessions as live as possible, an approach backed by Edward. This
stemmed in no small part from the well-rehearsed group’s talents. “They were so
good live in the studio,” Landee comments. “Not many bands could pull that off.
We knew they could do it. We wanted it as raw as we could make it.” Landee
recalls that even before they recorded demos, Templeman and Landee intended
to minimize overdubbing. “They don’t know this,” Landee remarks, “but we
spoke between ourselves and decided we were going to discourage them from
doing anything other than a ‘live’ recording.”
To hear Templeman tell it, recording Van Halen depended on little more
than rolling tape: “My job with Van Halen is to put a microphone in front of
them and get the take.”[ 524 ] Templeman recognized that Van Halen’s ability
to deliver live was what made them magical; he knew better than to conceal that
talent under layers of studio effects.
Still, one band member harbored reservations about this approach. “Ted at
that time was one of the most purist kind of [producers] around,” Alex said later.
“He wasn’t interested in special effects. He wasn’t interested in overdubbing. As
a matter a fact … at the time I would have liked the record to be more like a
Zeppelin record, which had layers of sound. But Ted [would have] nothing to do
with it. He wanted to record the purity of it.”[ 525 ]
Of course, nothing on Van Halen would sound more pure than Edward’s
monstrous guitar sound and dynamic playing. “When I recorded Van Halen’s
debut,” the producer told Guitar World, “my strategy was just to take the guitar
and blow it up all over the face of the damn map, because I thought it was the
most amazing thing I’d ever heard.”[ 526 ]
This approach all flowed from Templeman’s awareness that Edward’s
instantly recognizable style made him a rarity among players. “Certain guitar
players, no matter how well they play, just don’t have a sense of how to make
their instrument sound distinct.”[ 527 ] Edward did, and thus his guitar would
be front and center in the mix. As Michael Anthony would explain, “When we
recorded our first album, Ted Templeman, our producer, was so into Eddie’s
playing. Everything was really oriented around the guitar.”[ 528 ]

What further encouraged Templeman to focus on Van Halen’s guitarist was the
great leap forward he’d recently made as a player. Carl Haasis, who’d seen
Edward perform dozens of times since 1973, observes, “When I talk to people
about Van Halen, I say, ‘The two things he’s known for, the whammy bar and
tapping, happened at the very last moment.’ He’s playing for years and years and
years, and that happened in the span of six months. All of a sudden he’s doing
this tapping. Isn’t that crazy? You’d think, Oh, this guy’s been doing this for twenty
years. No.” During the months leading up to recording the band’s debut, Edward
would radically alter his style.
The first step in this sequence began around December 1976 when Edward
started playing a guitar he’d modified himself: a Stratocaster, loaded with a
humbucking pickup and equipped with a whammy bar. When paired with his
favorite Marshall head, his Variac, his effects pedals, and his own gifted hands,
Edward’s guitar sound was now astonishingly powerful.
At the same time, the introduction of the tremolo bar made Edward’s style
more wild and unpredictable than ever. Tracy G. recalls that he first saw Edward
play this type of instrument at an early 1977 show at Walter Mitty’s. “So he has
this bar thing going, and he was using it like I never heard anybody use it, with
the giant dive bombs, with that wrooom and all that.”
And Edward still wasn’t done changing his style. Tracy, who had rarely
missed a Van Halen show, went to see them at the Whisky in the early summer
of 1977. Again, Edward offered up something unexpected. He came out “with
the Strat and he’d painted it white and he’d put electrician’s tape crisscrossed all
over it.” Because Edward’s unconventional-looking “Frankenstrat” — which he
later painted in a unique black-and-white-striped pattern — would transform
the way 1980s heavy metal guitarists decorated their instruments, it’s easy to
overlook how striking it was to those who first laid eyes on it.[ 529 ] Tracy
explains, “I was standing there with a bunch of other guitar players. You could
tell, because they were the ones with their fucking mouths open.”
Edward had yet another surprise for everyone at the Whisky that night.
After an introduction by Roth, Edward stepped into the spotlight. Tracy says,
“He starts to do ‘Eruption,’ and he breaks out the finger tapping for the first
time I’d ever seen it. I remember I turned to my friend and said, ‘Oh no. That
can’t be.’ I had never seen it. I had never heard it. I literally just bowed my head.
I said to myself, Fuck! What the fuck is that? Are you kidding me?”
What astounded Tracy, and everyone else who saw Edward debut this
technique in the summer of 1977, was its unorthodox nature. Edward used his
right hand index finger to strike notes on his fretboard while simultaneously
hammering on and pulling off notes on his guitar neck with his left hand. In
doing so, he created music that sounded wholly different from the fretwork of
more conventional rock guitar players. At this moment — months before the
release of Van Halen’s first album — Edward’s tapping was setting the agenda
for heavy metal’s guitar heroes of the 1980s.
Here it’s important to underscore the significant differences between the
two-handed finger-tapping technique that Edward debuted that summer and
what he’d learned from Mandel via Kilgore and from Gibbons’s work on “Beer
Drinkers.” Guitar Player’s Jas Obrecht observes that the approach involved the
creation of “spiraling, keyboard-like arpeggios.”[ 530 ] Edward’s 1977 technique
unleashed torrents of flowing notes, rather than single pings or stuttering runs of
tapped notes. In short, it was revolutionary.
Still, Edward did have sources of inspiration in late 1976 that might have
encouraged him to revisit what he’d learned back in 1974. On September 14,
1976, Jeff Burkhardt took Edward to see Derringer, guitarist Rick Derringer’s
new quartet, open for the Runaways at the Starwood. That night, guitarists
Derringer and Danny Johnson tapped a few notes early in their set before
showcasing their take on the technique during the galloping “Beyond the
Universe.” Burkhardt explains, “It has that guitar solo at the end. Danny and
Derringer bent their strings up and touched [makes tapping sound] strings in
harmony at the end of the solo. Ed was standing right next to me; he was like
eight inches away from me. And when they did that I kind of looked over at him
and he had his head kind of cocked to the side. You could tell that all of a
sudden the mechanics were working.”
Edward got another dose of the technique right before Christmas. On the
evening of December 20, Edward was walking on Santa Monica Boulevard
when he bumped into his longtime rival, guitarist George Lynch, who’d just left
a band practice.[ 531 ] Lynch and Edward exchanged pleasantries and found out
they were both headed to the same place. Lynch says, “After a rehearsal, me and
Eddie walked to the Starwood together” to see Canned Heat. When they
arrived, the marquee said a special guest would be joining them: Harvey Mandel.
[ 532 ]
Lynch later explained what they saw. “We both witnessed Harvey Mandel
from Canned Heat do a neo-classic tapping thing” during his guitar solo. He
added later with a chuckle, “It was rudimentary, but it was tapping, which woke
everybody up. Everybody went home and ripped it off.”[ 533 ]
However these two experiences affected Edward’s playing, it’s a fact that he
started woodshedding the tapping technique in the next few months. During
that span, he created a paradigm-shattering approach to the instrument. And by
the time he unveiled his two-handed method, it was a fundamental part of his
style. Kilgore observes, “Like Jimmy Page, he could take something and own it
like it was welded into his playing.”
While Edward has always been publicly cagey about what inspired his two-
handed tapping, he would privately credit Mandel. Journey guitarist Neal Schon
told journalist Dan Hedges that Edward had confided in him when their two
bands toured together in early 1978: “I was listening to ‘Eruption’ and all these
other tunes, going ‘What the hell is this kid doing?’ I couldn’t figure it out. I’d
never seen that one-finger thing before. Later, I talked to Eddie and he told me
how Harvey Mandel had done some stuff like that in the early days. I recalled
seeing Mandel, but Edward took it to the limit.”[ 534 ]
Perhaps the last word here should go to Kilgore; he’s the first to concede
that Edward was the difference-maker. Kilgore explained that when he tapped in
the mid-’70s, all he did was “tag a note here and there.” Edward, he maintained,
is the player who “perfected it.” If Mandel was “the guy who pioneered this
tapping thing,” Edward “took it three levels beyond that.”[ 535 ]

Apart from Edward’s playing, Templeman also took inspiration from Montrose’s
first album. With its short, powerful songs, killer guitar tones, and brash
production, it seemed like the perfect blueprint for Van Halen. Templeman
remembers, “They pretty much liked Montrose so much that Ed wanted to
borrow Ronnie’s Marshall head for this recording. They’d named their band
name just like Ronnie’s last name. Van Halen really wanted to be exactly like
Montrose.” Michael Anthony agrees, saying, “Ted Templeman produced
[Montrose], and I remember all of us in Van Halen telling Ted that we wanted
to sound big and bad, just like them.”[ 536 ]
Significantly, Templeman’s Montrose experience had taught him a lesson:
Van Halen needed a hit. He says, “Montrose never had a hit record, because
they didn’t have a hit single.” At this juncture, Templeman thought that none of
the band’s originals sounded like pop singles. Thus, the Kinks’ “You Really Got
Me” would make the cut. As Edward Van Halen remembers it, “Ted felt that if
you redo a proven hit, you’re already halfway there.”[ 537 ]

Finally, in late August 1977, Van Halen entered Sunset Sound’s Studio Two.
Anthony concedes that they were all nervous: “As confident and full of ourselves
as we came across on that record, the truth is, we were all pretty scared. I
remember we put our headphones on and kind of looked at each other like,
‘Wow, we’re really doing this. Hope we don’t mess up!’”[ 538 ]
To get loose, they treated Sunset Sound like Roth’s basement. Edward told
Guitar Player that once things got underway in the studio, they started “jumping
around, drinking beer, and getting crazy.”[ 539 ] Peggy McCreary, who served
as one of the second engineers on the album sessions, remembers the band’s
exuberance. “The best thing I remember,” she says, “was how enthusiastic and
excited the band was just to be there.”[ 540 ] “We had a lot of laughs, a lot of
fun,” Templeman told writer Warren Zanes. But it turned out “they were having
a little more fun” than their producer, thanks to a certain white powder. “They
would go into the other room, and I wasn’t quite sure what they were up to.
They had their own word for it: Krell. Ed would say to the roadie, ‘Call
Krellman.’ I didn’t figure it out for a while.”[ 541 ]
To capture a live feel, Van Halen would record the basic tracks as a quartet,
and thus try to perform in the studio as they did onstage. The best way to
achieve this goal was to have the band track inside of Studio Two’s spacious
thirty-one-by-twenty-four-foot performance area. Templeman and Landee got
the ball rolling by situating the drums in a location that would allow them to
make eye contact with Alex from the control room. Templeman recalls, “In
Sunset Two, I always put the drummers in the same place. With Little Feat I
put Richie in the same corner I put Al in. With the Doobies I’d put the
drummer over in that corner too. If they were just to the right-hand side, Donn
could see them. I put Al in the same place. That way I could talk to Al. I could
do a hand sign to him and he would look over and go, ‘Yeah.’”
With Alex ensconced, the production team placed the others nearby. While
Roth would sing in an adjacent booth, Michael and Edward would cluster
around the drummer with only baffles separating the three instrumentalists. In
fact, Edward so desired an intimacy with Alex and Michael that he would
dispense with wearing cans. “I can’t stand to wear headphones,” he declared. “I
feel like I’m in a glass bottle, separated from the rest of the guys. I never wear
headphones in the studio, I just stand right next to Al and play.”[ 542 ] The
guitarist, like the rest of the band, would also play loud. “I use two [Marshall
amps and cabinets],” he told Steven Rosen in 1978, “because I like to feel it too
while I’m playing.”[ 543 ] Even though Templeman and Landee sometimes
spent days getting a good guitar sound, Edward quickly nailed things down.
[ 544 ]
Still, the guitarist and his tech were unwilling to stand pat. McKernan
explains, “Rudy always said, ‘Eddie does everything himself,’ but Eddie and
Rudy masterminded his sound. They took pickups and rewound them with
different gauge wire to see if that made a difference. They were always
experimenting. But the real key was the Variac. They hooked it up between the
amp and the wall. They’d use a lower voltage for the rhythm stuff when they
wanted to sag out the amp for that thump. Or they would put a lot of voltage
through it and push it almost to the limit and the amp’s tubes would sizzle.
That’s what they would use for leads; they’d turn it up and get that sizzle. They
were trying to do the same thing with pickups that they had done with the
Variac.” Templeman observes, “Ed was never locked into anything. He was all
about exploring whatever he wanted to do. He was a very inventive, creative
guy.”
Landee, too, remembers Edward as a player who’d try almost anything to
get the right sound. “Ed was totally committed to his sound and his craft,” the
engineer says. “I knew this after I was miking his cabinets for the album. I said,
‘I want to get this microphone as close as possible to the speaker here.’ He just
took a knife and cut the grill cloth completely away, right in front of me. I didn’t
ask him to do it. He just did it. His sound came from being totally prepared.”
With all of this attention focused on Edward, Michael Anthony felt like the
odd man out. The very experience of entering Sunset Sound left him
overwhelmed and frightened, and no one educated him on how to sound good
on tape.[ 545 ] “The first album was weird,” he later told Steven Rosen. “I
discovered I didn’t really know how to get a good sound in the studio with my
fingers. Not to really slam Ted, but I wish he would have worked more with me
too on that first album because … you can hear a lot of clicking and slapping on
the bass.” The producer, in Anthony’s estimation, didn’t pay much attention to
the album’s bottom end, because he “was infatuated with Edward’s guitar playing
and made that known.” During the first album sessions, Anthony would
ultimately discover that he “had a lot to learn [about] playing in the
studio.”[ 546 ]

On Tuesday, August 30, tape rolled. The first track they recorded was “Atomic
Punk.” To create an appropriately primitive opening for the fast-paced song,
Edward clicked on his phase shifter pedal and scraped the heavily callused heel
of his right hand across his strings to create a riff that any beginner punk
guitarist could mimic with ease.[ 547 ]
The next day, August 31, the band laid down the basic tracks for four more
songs. The first was “Feel Your Love Tonight,” a song propelled by an infectious
riff that sounds like something the Beach Boys would have written if they’d been
a hard rock band. As Roth explained in 1978, “‘Feel Your Love Tonight’ is the
way you feel when you go out on a weekend night.”[ 548 ] Alex agreed and
added, “It’s about what everybody feels on a Friday or Saturday night … you
jump in your car, you pick up your girlfriend, and you’re gonna have a good time.
Well, with Van Halen, every night’s a Saturday night.”[ 549 ]
Next up was what would become the album’s opener, “Runnin’ with the
Devil.” Here Templeman acknowledges his debt to Simmons’s work. The way
he recollects it, “They brought me a demo I think they had done with KISS of
‘Runnin’ with the Devil.’ We pretty much used the same horn intro for that
thing.” As the song fades into full volume, those salvaged horns roar like a 747
landing at LAX before giving way to Anthony’s bass thumps. During Edward’s
solo spot, Landee and Templeman gave headphone listeners some ear-candy by
panning Edward’s rhythm guitar between channels, another flourish they’d
borrowed from the Simmons demo.
But Templeman had reinvented the song. He primarily did so by
recalibrating the song’s cadence. A tune that had bounced along at a spirited
pace now took on a menacing lumber. As Roth put it, “‘Runnin’ with the Devil’
is how you feel when you feel like going out and strutting your stuff.”[ 550 ] It’s
new tempo matched Roth’s Chippendales dancer–meets–Jim Dandy vibe
perfectly; what had been a stiff march now swaggered with attitude.
Templeman and Landee also remade “Devil” by making Edward’s guitar
sound like the roar of the gods. Ted Templeman, who always liked “a real good
live echo chamber,” placed one of Edward’s cabinets inside one of Sunset
Sound’s reverb rooms and then had Landee treat the sound with the studio’s
EMT Plate Reverb unit.[ 551 ]
Set within the song’s expansive sonic landscape were Roth’s vocals. As the
album’s opener, it would be critical for establishing Roth as a bona fide vocalist.
After Roth sang with the band, Templeman had him run through the song two
more times. The Sunset Sound track sheet for “Devil” reveals that Roth’s vocals
on the first verse are a Templeman/Landee compilation of two takes, while the
second and third verses appear to be drawn from individual Roth vocal attempts.
McKernan and Templeman explain how this played out in practice.
McKernan says, “For Van Halen, Roth sang with the band as they played out in
the big room. Then we went back and fixed the vocals by doing the traditional
cut vocals.” The band’s producer adds, “We had him in the same booth every
time, and we’d record that. We’d save a lot of the vocals. Sometimes we’d have
him go back in there, and we’d punch him in and put him on another track, and
we’d combine them later.”
Here Templeman’s skill paid dividends; he coached Roth so he’d shine.
Anthony said, “Ted was Roth’s mentor when it came to lyrics and melodies for
the vocals. For the most part, Dave had a few licks down that he did over and
over, so Templeman was in there and tried to suggest different lines.”[ 552 ] In
the end, what Roth set as a goal was “getting a feeling, or feelings, across” on
tape, which “doesn’t take the voice of a Caruso, a flawless technique, or purity of
tone.”[ 553 ]
In the end, “Devil” would capture the definitive David Lee Roth vocal. His
singing, complete with screams, yelps, and whoops, wouldn’t win him a
Grammy for best vocal performance, but those affectations made him instantly
recognizable. On the same album side that allowed the rock world to discover
that no one played guitar quite like Edward Van Halen, listeners learned that no
one sang quite like David Lee Roth.
As the band worked, tempers flared in the pressure-cooker atmosphere of
the studio. Alex remembered, “If I was in the middle of a take and Ed told me I
was rushing or slowing, I’d tell him he was out of tune. He’d throw the guitar
down but … neither of us drew blood.”[ 554 ]
During cool-down periods, Templeman would track the drummer down.
“Alex Van Halen,” Templeman observed, “never says much, but he has great
ideas. So I’d maybe be at the Coke machine and he’d say, ‘Hey Ted, did you ever
think of trying this?’” Templeman would respond, “Wow, God, I wish I’d
thought of that, Al. That’s great! Why don’t you say more?”[ 555 ]
Alex did start saying more, especially to his brother. Templeman explains,
“Al was really good at helping Ed dial stuff in. He’d say, ‘Ed, remember this?
Ed, remember that?’ Al was almost like an associate producer. He was always in
there helping Ed remember things and do things that Ed did and stuff like that.
He was this integral part of the band in this odd way that people don’t know
about.”
The next song on the list was Van Halen’s two-chord masterpiece, “Ain’t
Talkin’ ’Bout Love.” On this track, the production team came up with the idea
of giving a song that started off as a punk parody a psychedelic flavor. Edward
told Guitar Aficionado, “The first time I used a Coral Sitar was when Donn
Landee rented one from S.I.R. (Studio Instrument Rentals) for me to record
overdubs for ‘Ain’t Talkin’ ’Bout Love.’ Either Donn or Ted suggested I overdub
a sitar underneath that melodic part I played for the solos.”[ 556 ] Even though
Edward thought the unfamiliar instrument played like “a buzzy-fretted guitar,”
the track turned out spectacularly.[ 557 ] In 1983, Templeman revealed, “One of
my favorite tracks I’ve ever done is ‘Ain’t Talkin’ ’Bout Love.’ As a production, I
really loved that one.”[ 558 ]
The last song cut on the second day of tracking was the Kinks’ “You Really
Got Me,” a riff-based rocker that would become the perfect vehicle for Van
Halen to prove that they’d reinvented heavy metal. Edward Van Halen
explained, “We turned that song into a jet plane compared to the first version.
We brought it up to date. It’s just an old tune we always used to play in the bars
when we did a lot of oldies. It went over very well live and fit well into our style
of music.”[ 559 ] Donn Landee recalls that the band cut the song quickly, and
after playback they responded to their engineer’s work with a burst of
enthusiasm: “They did it in two takes, and I remember they gave me my first
standing ovation at the board.”
On Thursday, the first day of September, work continued with “On Fire.”
By this time, the song’s arrangement had changed from the demo version.
Perhaps after some input from his brother and Templeman, Edward cut out a
tremolo bar–saturated tease between the first pre-chorus and the second verse;
on the album track, the band gets right to the chorus. And in a gesture that
might be taken as a final warning regarding Van Halen’s coming assault on
middle America, Roth added a siren-like scream for the song’s close, another
feature that hadn’t appeared on the demo.
For “Ice Cream Man,” Roth performed a song that he’d been singing well
before he ever joined Van Halen. But even if he could sing it in his sleep, he still
needed to croon out the song’s opening with only a soft acoustic guitar as
backing. There would be no end-of-the-world playing from the rest of the band
to hide behind. This song was a Roth vehicle; it was up to him to sell it.
In one sense, the very fact that the song made the LP with this arrangement
makes clear that Templeman now had confidence in Van Halen’s vocalist. But
the song’s mix, with the acoustic set back, is the real tell. Roth is more naked
here than on any other song on the album, and his strong blues voice fills the
speakers. As much as any track on the LP, the opening of “Ice Cream Man”
proves that Roth’s hard work on his vocals had paid off.
In light of his later status as a rock sex god, Roth’s performance on the
opening verses is quite tame. The song’s lyrics, which suggest that this vendor of
sweet treats has more than lemonade to offer the ladies on his route, presented
Roth with a golden opportunity to leer like Jim Dandy and lemon-squeeze like
Robert Plant. But Roth sang it in a manner that wouldn’t even make a sixteen-
year-old virgin blush.
After the third verse — and a swaggering “Alright, boys!” — Roth’s
bandmates transform the song from an acoustic blues-shuffle into a searing
electrified boogie. Edward’s solo is another jaw-dropper, one that had given him
fits as he sat at home, wondering, “Fuck, man, what kind of a solo am I gonna
do [on] this?” But with its combination of swing and virtuosity, he hit all the
right notes.[ 560 ] The song concludes with just a hint of Roth-as-Lothario. He
croons his guts out, promising that his flavors are guaranteed to satisfy.
“Show Your Love” was Thursday’s last song. It’s a manic blues shuffle fueled
by Krell and malt liquor, one that paid tribute to two Van Halen backyard party
favorites, “I’m Going Home” and “Parchman Farm.” While those tracks cooked,
Van Halen’s boogie here is hot enough to melt rock. The rhythm section locks
in and sets toes tapping. Roth’s sass and leer come with the perfect touch of
Landee echo, making him sound like he’s singing from the top of Mount
Olympus. Edward serves up one dive bomb and whammy slur after another
before unleashing not one but two burning solos with so many artificial
harmonics that ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons must have stood and applauded the first
time he heard it.
Just when it seemed like they’d keep the pedal to the metal, the quartet
slammed on the brakes and served up an incongruous barbershop quartet vocal
breakdown. On paper, the idea of R&B-styled doo-wop joining forces with
adrenalized metal sounds like a career-ender, but as with so much in the early
Van Halen catalog, there’s no sense that this detour takes the band into
unfamiliar territory. In fact, it sounds like they’d been woodshedding the Five
Satins’ 1956 hit “In the Still of the Night” on off-nights when they weren’t
flattening Gazzarri’s. But this unexpected wrinkle in the Van Halen sound —
just like the band’s later efforts with offbeat tunes like Diver Down’s “Big Bad
Bill (Is Sweet William Now)” — ends up smooth as glass; there are no lines that
reveal where Van Halen ends and the Five Satins begin. It’s all Van Halen.
The finishing touch on this track came later. The song was re-titled at some
point between the day the song was recorded and the time Landee finished
working with the master reels. Perhaps to prevent two songs on the album from
having a title that included the phrase “Your Love,” the band decided to rename
the song “I’m the One.” Hence, while the track sheet says “Show Your Love,”
the front of the tape box reads “I’m the One,” a title written on top of a thin
layer of Wite-Out.

Starting on Friday, September 2, Van Halen worked on overdubs and

background vocals, a process that would take them the good part of a week to
complete. These overdubs added splashes of color in surprising ways. For
instance, on “Feel Your Love Tonight,” Templeman added two tracks of
handclaps and a tambourine (!) track. Likewise, “You Really Got Me” took on
two tracks of “moans” for the song’s breakdown.
Guitars, too, needed to be added. Edward overdubbed a rhythm guitar to
provide backing for his “Feel” solo. For “Ice Cream Man,” he laid down some
blistering call-and-response fills for the song’s climax. On “Devil,” he played a
solo on top of the rhythm guitar he’d laid down on the live tracks. “Ain’t” saw
Edward add the sitar. “On Fire,” too, has a guitar overdub track listed on the
track sheet, but it seems likely that whatever was recorded didn’t make the LP.
[ 561 ]
Also on the agenda was a distinctive part of Van Halen’s sonic palette:
background vocals. Roth explained later that the three-part harmony, an aspect
of the band’s sound that he’d always championed, originated from his “old
Motown learning … Everything I was listening to at the youth club dance was,
[sings] “Standing in the Shadows of Love,” but that’s where the harmonies come
from. And that dates back to early Van Halen stuff … we had no keyboard, we
had no pumping brass section. What are we going to do to add a little color to
the chorus? We’ll sing. Let’s get some harmonies going here … This is the
Temptations played to the background of ‘Heartbreaker’ by Led
Zeppelin.”[ 562 ]
To fully realize this part of Van Halen’s sound, all four band members, and
even Templeman at times, sang backgrounds.[ 563 ] The way Templeman
remembers it, “A lot of times the background vocals were Michael Anthony and
Ed. I would sing with them and then later Michael would double Ed’s part too.”
But Van Halen’s unsung hero in this department was Michael Anthony.
The bassist, whose strong vocals had helped get him in the band, was as
important to the Van Halen sound as Roth’s screams and Edward’s solos. In
fact, his singing was so powerful that the others started calling him
“Cannonmouth.” He remembered, “A lot of our harmonies we sang live out of
one mike, and Edward and Dave would be right on the mike and here I’d be all
the way in the back of the room against the wall. They had to keep me farther
away, because I was so loud.”[ 564 ]
These harmonies, as much as any other aspect of Van Halen’s musical
presentation, helped assure that Van Halen would never be mistaken for a
traditional heavy metal band. While the average metal band’s gang choruses
sounded like they’d been tracked in a dungeon, Van Halen’s sounded like they’d
been cut on a sun-drenched beach. Anthony observed, “Being able to sing three-
part harmony was a big thing that set us apart from other heavy metal bands. It
added a more sophisticated pop element that most metal bands weren’t able to
replicate.”[ 565 ] This, more than any other factor, made Van Halen’s heavy
metal sound as sweet as cotton candy.
For all of the attention heaped on the band’s singer and guitarist, Roth is the
first to concede that Anthony’s vocals were a signature aspect of the band’s
sound. In 2012, Roth told Rolling Stone that Anthony possessed “arguably one of
the greatest high tenor voices ever.” He continued: “In our tiny little corner of
the universe, that voice is as identifiable as the high voice in Earth, Wind &
Fire, as identifiable as the high voice in the Beach Boys. Van Halen is an
indelicate house blend of both.”[ 566 ]

On Wednesday, September 7, Van Halen returned to cutting basic tracks for the
remaining songs. Perhaps because another act had laid claim to Sunset Sound’s
Studio Two, the band relocated to Studio One. Templeman can’t remember why
this move was made, but says, “With Van Halen we only used [Studio One]
because we couldn’t get into Studio Two.”
In their new environs, the band set out to finish their album. “Little
Dreamer,” a mournful ballad, opens with another razor-sharp riff by Edward. In
between verses, he smoothly slips out of the song’s primary guitar line to add
some snarling fills, another distinctive aspect of his style. For the solo, he plays
with as much restraint as an amped-up Edward Van Halen was capable of in
1977. While he put his whammy bar to good use with some Hendrixian bends,
he matched that with some Claptonesque lyricism that paid homage to the
song’s melody.
With nine songs in the can, Templeman still needed a second single.
Edward then offered up the riff for what became “Jamie’s Cryin’.” Templeman
and Roth immediately heard its potential. Roth recalled, “We heard Edward
fooling around with his guitar between takes, and we yelled, ‘Hey man, that’s
just what we need on the album.’”[ 567 ]
During a late night session, “Jamie’s” came to life. Roth, in a Los Angeles
Times interview, explained the band’s writing method: “We just stand in a circle
and hum at each other. Ted gets in there and says, ‘Let’s try that.’ Doing the
lyrics is a spontaneous thing too. I get a brown paper bag or the back of a
magazine or something like that and scratch out the lyrics. Usually within an
hour or so I have something together and read it to the guys. If they like it we go
ahead and do it.”[ 568 ]
 Intriguingly, the song’s hook, based on a heartbeat of an open-string riff,
resembles KISS’s “Christine Sixteen,” perhaps an unsurprising development
considering Edward and Alex’s work on that KISS track. But while the
“Christine” riff opens a tune that sounds like an American Graffiti–inspired
throwback to the 1950s, “Jamie’s Cryin’” turned into what Roth would describe
as a “Cosmic Cha-Cha.”[ 569 ] Putting a fine point on it, he told the Guardian,
“We’re the band that sold a Ricky Ricardo rumba in ‘Jamie’s Cryin’.’”[ 570 ]
According to Roth, his first vocal attempts on the song were a disaster. In
Crazy from the Heat, Roth explained what happened next: “I went out and sat in
the little basketball court area outside of [the] studio … I ate half a cheeseburger
and drained a soda pop and smoked half a joint. Walked in, knocked out ‘Jamie’s
Cryin’’ in forty minutes.”[ 571 ] On “Jamie’s,” Roth rose to the occasion, as he
did on every track on the LP.
The resulting track is indubitably a pop song. Ted Templeman observes that
even though Van Halen is a heavy album, “those guys had pop sensibilities. For
example, ‘Jamie’s Cryin’’ or ‘Dance the Night Away.’ They’d write these pop
tunes.” Roth, too, considered it a radio-friendly track, but he went to pains to
explain that “Jamie’s” wasn’t just fluff. As he told the Cleveland Plain Dealer, “I
don’t consider it bubblegum. It ain’t. It’s a pop tune. I grew up with that stuff,
with the Dave Clark Five and the Beatles.”[ 572 ]

The next day, September 8, Templeman and Landee sat in the control room
while Edward worked through his solo for an upcoming Whisky show.[ 573 ]
“When we were recording our first album,” Edward remembered, “our producer,
Ted Templeman, heard me practicing it for an upcoming gig and asked, ‘What
the hell is that?’ I said, ‘It’s a thing I do live — it’s my guitar solo.’ His
immediate reaction was, ‘Shit, roll tape.’”[ 574 ]
Templeman’s interest surprised Edward. As Edward explained to Steven
Rosen, “I just didn’t think it was something we’d put on a record. He liked it,
Donn liked it, and everyone else agreed that we should throw it on.”[ 575 ]
The band’s three instrumentalists quickly cut the track. In Edward’s words,
“I played it two or three times for the record, and we kept the one, which seemed
to flow.”[ 576 ]
What was captured on tape sounded apocalyptic. “Eruption” (first titled
“Guitar Solo,” according to the song’s track sheet), takes flight after a quick
drum fill and a power chord. Edward sends notes and harmonics soaring before
diving down with some gravity-defying tremolo bar bends. Alex and Michael
then fire off a flak burst of three chords. Edward maneuvers again, twisting and
turning, strafing and bombing before turning on the jets and heading skyward
with a flurry of notes. He recedes again, leaving only a descending low note in
his wake. After another pause, he attacks again, faster than ever. He weaves and
twists and then unleashes his secret weapon: his two-handed tapping technique
that would astound and confound guitarists across the world. Finally, an atomic
blast, courtesy of Edward’s Univox echo chamber, concludes this minute and
forty-three seconds of open warfare on the guitar world.
Amazingly, Edward felt disappointed with the way the track turned out. He
explained, “I didn’t even play it right. There’s a mistake at the top end of it.
Whenever I hear it, I always think, Man, I could have played it better.”[ 577 ] Still,
after years of dissecting guitar solos by every band from Aerosmith to ZZ Top,
he knew what ended up on tape was unique. “I like the way it sounds; I’ve never
heard a guitar sound like it. It’s not that my playing was so great, it just sounds
like some classical instrument. Donn really made it sound like more than it is, in
a way.”[ 578 ]
After a few more days of guitar overdubs (on “Jamie’s”), background vocals,
and Roth vocal patches, Van Halen rested. According to Landee’s tape box
notations, he printed alignment tones on the third master reel on September 13,
bringing the studio work on Van Halen to a close about two weeks after the band
had entered Sunset Sound.[ 579 ]
The next step was to mix the album. Despite some objections from the
band, Templeman and Landee worked alone. “Up until 1984, Donn and I
always mixed by ourselves. No one was ever allowed in our mixes — ever. If the
band’s there, you can really get tripped up; it’s better to give it your shot. They
didn’t like it at first, but I would mix it with Donn.”
Still, Templeman says that he and Landee had such a simpatico relationship
that it just made sense for them to work alone: “So when Donn and I started
doing Van Halen, I would look over at Donn and he knew what I wanted,
usually +2 at 10, or something like that. So we both heard the same. So people
would come in and see us, I’d look over at Donn and he’d look over at me, and
he knew exactly what to do. It was amazing.”
During the mixing process, Landee had a vision for how to arrange the
album’s sonic landscape. “On the mix,” Templeman explains, “we’d put the
guitar on the left and always put the echo return on the right. That got a neat
sound. That was Donn’s idea, I think. It was really good.” Landee later explained
that the idea grew out of the band’s live tracking. “It made sense, because we
didn’t want to overdub guitars,” Landee told Dave Simons. “If you put the guitar
right down the middle with everything else, you’d wind up with the whole band
in mono! So it seemed like a reasonable idea.”[ 580 ]

Once the mix was completed, Templeman invited the foursome into his office to
hear the results. While Alex wished the album had turned out heavier, and
Michael wished his bass sounded crisper, in general the band seemed satisfied.
“They sat in my office to hear the first mix of the thing,” Templeman recollects.
“They didn’t complain much but — they went with it. After I mixed the stuff
without them, they were good for four or five albums. They never questioned it.”
Edward, for his part, remembered that while he’d harbored doubts about
Landee and Templeman’s approach, what he heard on tape made him a believer.
“By the time Donn got through with it, I really liked it.”[ 581 ] He also had
praise for his producer: “What he managed to do was put our live sound on a
record. I mean, a lot of people have to do a bunch of overdubs to make it sound
full. It’s a lot easier to make a lot of instruments sound full than a guitar, bass,
and drums. That’s where Ted comes in — he knows his shit. He’s the
man.”[ 582 ]
Landee then finished off the project by himself. “Here’s another thing about
Donn,” Templeman says. “Donn would master the fucking records. You could
never find an engineer who could do the mastering. He was damn good.” After
Landee made the album’s sound consistent across its eleven tracks, Van Halen
was complete.
Some days later, Warner Bros. Records’ bean counters tallied the bill for the
Van Halen project. Remarkably, the album cost about a third of what the typical
late-’70s major-label recording project ran, an outcome that didn’t get
overlooked by the industry. “When an act is well-rehearsed, recording can be
relatively inexpensive,” veteran rock scribe Harold Bronson wrote in late 1978.
“For instance, Van Halen’s debut album, which is approaching platinum (sales of
1 million units), was recorded for $54,000.”
In contrast, Fleetwood Mac overran their Warner Bros. budget by more
than $400,000 when recording Rumours. As Con Merten, the manager of
Cherokee Studios, explained to Bronson in 1978, “I doubt whether any albums
in the Top 20 cost less than $100,000, and I would guess that the average cost
would probably approach $150,000,” or approximately $544,000 in 2014 dollars.
[ 583 ] Edward, in later years, recalled that between the speed of the recording
process and the low cost, “people couldn’t believe it” when they found out about
Van Halen’s sessions. “Back then, bands like Fleetwood Mac and Boston were
spending something like three years on [an] album, so you can just imagine the
cost.”[ 584 ]

To be sure, Van Halen’s debut is a landmark in rock history. And while many of
the plaudits for the LP have been showered on guitarist Edward Van Halen, the
guy who really came through in the clutch was David Lee Roth. While few
listeners would contend that Roth’s vocal prowess matched that of 1970s
superstars Ian Gillan, Robert Plant, and Paul Rodgers, Roth had created a
distinctive vocal persona. Roth sang with brio and sass, power and energy,
personality and charm. He was having a great time fronting Van Halen, and it
sounded like it on tape.
And that really was the whole vision behind Van Halen’s first album.
Templeman wanted fun, humor, and sunshine, and he got it. As Roth explained
to Rolling Stone soon after the album’s release, such Van Halen songs offer “an
attitude, a feeling — like driving down the Strip with a load of girls, the radio
on, and a couple of cases of beer … The lyrics just come from our experiences:
the cars, the girls, the beer, the parties, the sweat, and the fun.”[ 585 ]
Of course, Van Halen sounded like that because it was a snapshot in time,
not an elaborate production that pasted together disjointed performances logged
over months of work. As Roth explained, “The album was done on the first or
second take exclusively. You can get lost in the studio if you’re not careful. With
overdubbing, you can get everything musically perfect. But that human vibe, that
intangible thing … that’s the thing for Van Halen.”[ 586 ]
 CHAPTER TWELVE: CALM BEFORE THE STORM
With their album finished, Van Halen felt confident about their chances for
commercial success. Roth, naturally, didn’t hold back when asked in late 1977
about the band’s future. He boasted to Raw Power, “We started in the little
bathroom places and now we’re at the Whisky, and we’re probably gonna take
over the world as soon as our record comes out on Warner Bros.,” which Roth
predicted would be in January.[ 587 ]
But one glance at the 1977 Billboard charts should have given Roth and the
others pause about their prospects. While established metal bands like KISS and
Ted Nugent had hit records, young heavy metal and hard rock acts like Judas
Priest and the Bill Aucoin–backed Starz had limited sales success despite
releasing solid albums. And even if the Sex Pistols hadn’t sold millions of units,
the massive buzz surrounding their riotous Warner Bros. Records debut seemed
to signal that punk would come to define the future of heavy, aggressive music.
But what dominated the charts — apart from disco, which showed no signs
of abating as a trend — was soft rock. In fact, the latest LPs from two L.A.-
based acts, Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles, had each achieved blockbuster
success. Meanwhile, Peter Frampton’s breakthrough 1976 live album, Frampton
Comes Alive, remained near the top of Billboard charts for all of 1977. All of this
added up to one inescapable fact: very few people in the music industry saw a
bright future for hard rock and heavy metal.
Accordingly, musicians and industry executives shared that same sentiment
when it came to Van Halen. Terry Kilgore’s take was that in 1977, “Warner
Bros. didn’t give a shit about Van Halen; their money was on the Sex Pistols,
even though the Sex Pistols were incredible fuckups who couldn’t do anything
right.” Keyboardist Drake Shining says the belief among many Pasadena
musicians — driven in no small part by jealousy — was “Oh yeah, right. Warner
Bros. Records! This is just a tax write off for the label. Their album will get
buried over at Warner headquarters in Burbank.” Incredibly, there’s evidence
that some inside of Warner Bros. Records thought this way. Roth remembered,
“The first thing the director of promotions told me before our first album was
about ready to come out was ‘Hey, don’t get your hopes up. Your kind of music
is pretty passé. It’s all about the Sex Pistols and the Clash now. I want to warn
you [up] front.’”[ 588 ]
By the end of the year, all of this would come to a head between Van Halen
and Warner Bros. In the meantime, they gigged just frequently enough to leave
no doubt that they were Los Angeles’s best young rock band. Behind closed
doors, however, the band would confront an internal matter that threatened to
undermine their future prospects, even as they all looked ahead to the day their
debut would finally drop.

Almost immediately after Van Halen completed work at Sunset Sound, people
began asking about the LP. Gary Putman recalls, “I remember seeing them at
the Whisky when they were finished recording the album. They were around.
Eddie and I had a brief conversation. I remember him telling me he was pretty
happy with how it turned out. We’d run into them and they’d talk to you for a
minute.”
Putman, who was a big fan, was smart to see them at the Whisky in
September. Their management and record label, wanting to keep the focus on
the band’s forthcoming release, told the quartet to limit their live appearances.
Joe Ramsey, who’d gigged with Van Halen in the past and then ran an Arcadia
nightclub, remembered, “I tried my damndest to get Van Halen to play the
Marquee West. Mike Anthony was an old friend, and they really wanted to do
it, but it was during a weird time when their album was ninety-nine percent
finished and their management didn’t want them to play anywhere, let alone a
hometown gig.”
As a result, a band that had played most nights of the week now found itself
sidelined. “There was like this six-month drought in 1977,” Rob Broderick
remembers. “It was like they weren’t allowed to play.” The band members passed
the time, incongruously enough, by hitting the links. “A bunch of us would go
out, play golf, and drink Schlitz Malt Liquor on these three-pars. Sometimes
they would come and hang out. They weren’t playing live,” Broderick says. Dana
Anderson turned up for these outings as well. He recalls, “We’d play a little
three-par in the Arroyo Seco. It was all about getting drunk in the California
sun.”
One of the few shows Van Halen did play in the fall of 1977 was at the
Movieland Cars of the Stars Exhibition Center in Buena Park, Orange County.
The promoter hauled in a couple of flatbed trucks to serve as an outdoor stage
and hired Van Halen, Orange County favorites Eulogy, and a last-minute
addition to the bill, a punk-flavored group called the Strand. Significantly, Tom
Broderick recalls the October 8 gig only happened because it was a makeup for a
previously scheduled Cars of Stars show, suggesting that if Van Halen’s
management had had its way, the band might not have appeared at all.
Van Halen’s low profile clearly had not reduced interest in the band: by the
day of the show, more than four thousand tickets had been sold. The Strand,
who were amped about the gig, arrived early. When they popped their head
inside of the dressing room (an unglamorous mobile home trailer) they
encountered Edward, who’d already started warming up. Strand guitarist Fred
Taccone remembers the scene: “He put the guitar on and didn’t take it off until
he got offstage. He played every single second. Practicing, practicing,
practicing.”
A couple of hours later, the Strand played a barnburner of a set that got the
crowd roaring. As Taccone recalls, “People really liked us, and we did good at
the Cars of Stars gig, because there was a whole movement of people who were
like: Out with the old, in with the new! We did some of our own material, some
Roxy Music, some Raw Power–era Stooges, and a Sex Pistols song. When we
played ‘God Save the Queen’ in front of four thousand people, the crowd
erupted. People hadn’t heard something like that. You can be Van Halen all you
want, but people were like, wow, what the fuck is that? It worked.”
After the Strand bid the crowd farewell and Eulogy took the stage, Taccone
asked Edward what he’d thought of his band’s set. Taccone’s take is that Edward
had taken note of the passionate response that the Strand had received from the
crowd. “Eddie knew that something was happening on the scene,” Taccone
remarks. “When we got done opening for them, he looked at me and said, ‘You
guys dress a lot more rad than you play.’ I didn’t take offense to it, because
Eddie’s a nice guy. But he had no problem with speaking what he thought. I
wouldn’t say it was arrogance, because he earned everything. But his fear was
that pretty soon, Van Halen might be obsolete. Eddie was suggesting that you
guys are good, but you’re not that good. You guys are doing the new wave thing,
and that’s why everyone likes you.”
After Eulogy finished, Roth and the others got their game faces on and hit
the stage around 10:00 p.m. Right out of the gate, Van Halen was on fire. Dirk
Van Tatenhove, Eulogy’s bassist, observes, “You know the old Maxell tape
advertisement, with the photo of the guy sitting in the chair with his hair
blowing back? Now, it wasn’t like I wasn’t confident in Eulogy, our singer, our
songs, and of course Rusty Anderson on guitar. But Van Halen was an extremely
powerful, invading force. They were very special, because when they played it
was like being on the deck of an aircraft carrier: Whoooom! It was like a jet taking
off.”
Taccone watched as well and was particularly struck by the persona that the
leather-clad Roth now projected onstage. He points out that in the early to
mid-’70s, glam rock had topped the charts. In fact, even as late as 1977, it
continued to serve as the model for many local L.A. bands like Eulogy and Quiet
Riot: “All of the guys in bands like Quiet Riot were really into the makeup and
the feminine, Bowie, androgynous thing. In fact, Randy Rhoads got really
popular in L.A. because he was like a miniature Mick Ronson [a guitarist for
David Bowie]. That feminine thing — even Rod Stewart and the Stones at that
time were doing that.”
But at some point, Taccone observes, Roth had taken a detour from the
glitter-rock mold that had captured his imagination back in 1973 and 1974. He
laughs, “Everyone at that time was like, ‘I like Bowie.’ But for some reason,
maybe the guys in Van Halen saw Jim Dandy and Black Oak Arkansas at the
[1974] Cal Jam, and it just clicked with David Lee Roth. He said, I want to be
Jim Dandy, as opposed to, I want to be Bowie. If you’ve ever seen Jim Dandy back
in the day, he’s exactly David Lee Roth. It’s all about the cock rock.”
At this gig, girls went wild for the shirtless Roth. Taccone recalls, “They
were like, ‘Wow, look at this guy! Wow, look at that!’ David Lee Roth was the
first local guy to open the shirt, show the hairy chest, and say, ‘We’re here to
par-tay. I’m here for sex. I’m here to have sex.’ He looked like a complete
Neanderthal, and he moved onstage like a fucking Chippendales dancer, like a
stripper. David had a new way of doing things. It was unique. Look at Randy
Rhoads during that exact period of time. He was very effeminate. Van Halen
wasn’t doing that. They’d play some dance and get fucked up on coke and fuck
chicks.”

The band’s next gig, which took place on October 15, would be their last show
at the Pasadena Civic. Steve Tortomasi, who promoted a total of four Van
Halen shows at the Civic, recalls that he hated saying goodbye to Van Halen,
because their partnership had been so fruitful. As Tortomasi tells it, “We kicked
ass at that first [October 1976] Van Halen show. It was an all-cash show.
Eventually, the kids just overran the gate. I couldn’t even stop them. After that I
wasn’t sure we’d cover our expenses, but by the end of the night, I had so much
money, I couldn’t carry it. Now, remember, we are all kids and it’s the ’70s. If
you made ten thousand bucks back then, you thought you’d hit the lottery, but
we made a ton of money.” Anthony agreed that this run of Civic gigs showed the
band they were on the right track: “When we played the Pasadena Civic … those
shows were when I was starting to realize that, wow this could happen. This is
like big time … I’d try to get my parents to come down and watch. I’d say, ‘Hey,
check it out, we’re playing a [real] concert. We’re doing it.’”[ 589 ]
For this final show, Tortomasi and Van Halen wanted to break their own
attendance record. The promoter hired two local bands, Terry Kilgore’s new
group, Reddi Kilowatt, and a blues-boogie trio called Smokehouse, to warm up
the crowd.
Tortomasi also printed a mind-boggling 100,000 flyers for the bands and
the small army of kids the promoter hired to distribute. He says, “What we’d do
is flyer every single high school from La Crescenta all the way to San Marino
and Arcadia, twice a week. Then every weekend we’d hit all the clubs in
Hollywood. We’d go up and down Mulholland Drive where everybody parked
and put them on cars. We’d put them on every influential telephone pole; we’d
put them everywhere. My plan back then was to put out so many flyers that
people couldn’t stand looking at them anymore.”
Flyer for Van Halen’s final performance at the Pasadena Civic, October 1977. David and Edward’s flashy
stage garb underscores how sharply the band’s image had evolved since their jeans-and-T-shirt days.
STEVE TORTOMASI

Roth and the rest of Van Halen joined in this project. Roth explained to
Tiger Beat, “We used to drive all over town putting flyers up on every lamp post,
bathroom wall, gym locker, just so that people would get to know our name and
come and see us play.”[ 590 ] As Anthony told Guitar for the Practicing
Musician, it all paid off: “I’d look out and see five thousand kids that we’d drawn
because we put fliers on everyone’s car at Anaheim Stadium, where Aerosmith
was playing an outdoor show.”[ 591 ]
Despite this massive marketing effort, Tortomasi and the band weren’t
done. Tortomasi had rented huge spotlights, which he set up in the Civic
parking lot. On the night of the show, they’d send beams of light into the sky to
make it easy for kids to find the venue. He had also paid for radio
advertisements, which he and Roth worked up with their resident electronics
wizard, Pete Dougherty. Tortomasi remembers, “Roth’s house was an old
mansion, and there was a [garage apartment] in the back that Dr. Roth had
rented out to Dougherty. He had some audio equipment in there. I said, ‘Okay,
David, we’re going to use your voice on them.’ We put some music to them and
brought them to KROQ.”

On the evening of October 15, friends and fans mingled with the band before
the show. Jan Van Halen was there in his lederhosen, having arrived at the Civic
straight from a gig of his own. A few Warner Bros. executives, including a vice-
president and Ted Templeman, made an appearance as well.[ 592 ]
Tortomasi then huddled with Van Halen. At a prior Civic show, he
explains, Van Halen had blown off their flash pots and filled the hall with
smoke. “We had a problem with pyrotechnics back then. There was an angry,
drunken asshole named Jack, who was a Civic stage manager. He hated rock
music. He told me before this show, ‘If they use fireworks, I’m calling the fire
department and shutting your show down.’” Accordingly, Tortomasi said to the
band, “No pyrotechnics tonight, right?” He made clear that the future of rock
shows at the Civic would be threatened if they didn’t listen to him. In fact, the
fire marshal might even fine him and the band. The foursome nodded,
promising they’d eliminate that part of their show.
After the opening acts finished, Van Halen kicked things off with a
supercharged “On Fire.” Edward’s old friend Tom Hensley, who hadn’t seen
Van Halen perform live in months, was surprised by the band’s updated look.
They’d donned all new Hollywood-purchased stage clothes, and Edward’s guitar
had received a makeover. He remembers, “At the Pasadena Civic, Edward came
out with the Stratocaster and the stripes and the dog leash chain for a guitar
strap with the whole new heavy metal image.” As Hensley’s observation reveals,
Edward’s image now bore no resemblance to the days when he performed in
jeans and a flannel shirt while playing his Les Paul Goldtop.
 Dressed to the nines with the volume on ten, Van Halen roused the crowd
with their incendiary set, which featured all the songs from their forthcoming
debut, save “Jamie’s Cryin’” and “I’m the One.” Edward’s colossal guitar sound
resounded, and Roth’s vocals sounded full and rich, leaving no doubt that Van
Halen had no peer on the local scene.
Janice Pirre Francis, who’d first seen Van Halen in the Van Furche'
backyard back in 1974, makes this exact case. “The Civic would just be packed
full of people; it was overwhelming. Nobody drew a crowd like Van Halen. They
just didn’t. I remember the completely over-the-top loud music, the crowds of
people, and that ultimate stardom that the band possessed.”
About halfway through the show, the band spotlighted Alex at the tail end
of “Atomic Punk.” Chris Koenig remembers the ever-growing size of Alex’s kit
and the powerhouse drummer’s solo flair: “Alex had these double deep bass
drums. It was literally two bass drums joined together with chains and locks.
He’d go through his drum solo, and the band’s crew would use fire extinguishers
on him. He’d just be enveloped in smoke. Then he’d be done with the solo, and
he’d stand up, wearing a gas mask. Everybody would go crazy.”
Tracy G. was also in the house. To hear him tell it, Roth held the audience
in the palm of his hand. “He’d stand out front with no shirt on going: Hey
motherfuckers! What do ya think of my fuckin’ band? You wanted to hate him,
because he was such an arrogant fuck. But you couldn’t, because there were all
these hot girls there to see him. They all wanted him.”
At the end of their taut forty-five minute show, Van Halen blazed into “You
Really Got Me.” Anthony raced to his microphone and bellowed, “Ted
Templeman where are you? This one’s for you, baby!” Forty years later,
Templeman still remembers what a blast he had at this concert: “I saw them in
Pasadena, and it was amazing!”
Van Halen had one more surprise for the crowd. The band’s soundman,
Tom Broderick, explains, “My brother, Rob, had just finished making these
smoke pots for them. We had a whole sequence of them. We set some on top of
the amps, some by the drums, and you could hit different buttons to fire them
off, and go this one, this one, these two, these two.”
Roth recounted in Crazy from the Heat what happened next: “We saved all
of the smoke pots for the grand finale, hit the last song and fired off all twenty-
five at once — in a 4,500-person exhibition hall with the windows closed — and
it smoked the place out.” They’d laid out so many pots that Roth apparently lost
track of one of them. Broderick says, chuckling quietly, “I remember Roth was
standing too close to the one right by the drum riser. One went off right by his
head!” Backstage, Tortomasi went apeshit as Jack called police. In a matter of
minutes, the wail of sirens sounded in the hall.
Onstage, the band coughed and laughed. Roth explained, “[Then] it was
like right out of the movies. All the doorways flew open at once, and all you can
see [were] those rolling red lights on top of the fire trucks and all of these guys
with gas masks and hoses and full-blast fire boots and gear … bursting through
the door to throw 4,500 of our closest friends out of the building.”[ 593 ]
Tortomasi, hacking his guts out, stumbled onstage. “I said to Dave, ‘What
the fuck is wrong with you? I told you they were going to shut the show down
and shut down our business for the night! Why’d you do that?’” Roth didn’t
answer, but Tortomasi knew why they’d done it: “Those guys were on a mission.
I’m not angry about it, but to them, it was more important that that show was
good than any ramifications of getting shut down by the fire department and
losing money.”

In the late fall, Warner Bros. Records invited the band and their manager to
Burbank to see the cover for their forthcoming album. The unveiling did not go
well. Eager to capitalize on the punk trend, Warner Bros. designers had
produced a graphic-arts disaster. They’d created an angular, garish logo that
rendered Van Halen as “Vanhalen,” an unintentional throwback to the group’s
way of presenting its name circa 1974. They’d used a photo from a nighttime
shoot on the grounds of the Roth mansion. Alex, who looks ten-feet tall in the
picture, stands close to the lens while the photogenic Roth poses in the
background with his eyes closed. While it’s unclear if Roth had blinked or if the
photographer had asked him to close his eyes, it makes Roth look bizarre.
The response from team Van Halen was resoundingly negative. Berle
remembers that he told the Warner executives that the cover sucked. The band
could hardly contain their fury. As Edward explained to Guitar World, “You
should see the first album cover Warner Bros. designed for us — they tried to
make us look like the Clash. We said, ‘Fuck this shit!’”[ 594 ]
Looking to mend fences, a few days later Warner Bros. executives asked the
band and Berle to join them for a lunch meeting. The way then–Warner
executive Ted Cohen remembers it, “Warner Music invited the band to [Le]
Petit Chateau on [Lankershim] in North Hollywood to discuss their debut
album. David Lee Roth showed up half an hour late, explaining his old
Plymouth Valiant had broken down a couple of miles from the restaurant. Out
of that lunch, we announced to the guys that they’d be going on a major tour to
support their first record.”[ 595 ]

The proposed album cover for Van Halen’s debut, as drawn up by Warner Bros. Records, fall 1977. The
band, believing the artwork was designed to market them as a punk band, rejected the cover. FROM THE
COLLECTION OF MIKE KASSIS

Berle adds that a few other details had been worked out by the time of this
meeting. After the cover debacle, the album release date was pushed back from
January to February 1978. For the band’s promotional tour, Van Halen’s
manager and the label had signed a contract with one of the industry’s leading
booking agencies, Premier Talent. Berle argues that locking up that deal was
crucial to an unknown band’s chances of success. Berle explains, “You don’t just
go out and get a tour. You have to understand, industry people at that time
wanted to know: Who the fuck is Van Halen? What’s their story? It was very
difficult getting them on a good tour. But by putting them with Premier Talent,
which was the most powerful rock agency in the world, I was almost assured of
getting them out there on a tour.” It turned out that Van Halen would be going
on the road with Journey and Ronnie Montrose, a jaunt that was scheduled to
last six weeks.[ 596 ]
Berle then worked to assemble the team that would tour with the band.
Apart from the band’s techs, Van Halen would be accompanied by Cohen,
who’d work as the band’s A&R representative, and tour manager Noel E. Monk,
a tough-minded former New York City cop who would join the Van Halen team
in early 1978 right after finishing with another hot Warner Bros. Records
property, the Sex Pistols.
 Soon after, Berle and the band focused on the new album cover. Designer
Dave Bhang worked up a new design and photographer Elliot Gilbert took
action photos of the four band members during a Whisky photo shoot. In
consultation with the band, Bhang created a new gleaming, winged logo fronted
by a banner inscribed “Van Halen.” Edward recalled that after Bhang “came up
with the Van Halen logo,” the band “made [Warner Bros.] put it on the album
so that it would be clear that we had nothing to do with the punk movement. It
was our way of saying ‘Hey we’re just a fucking rock and roll band, don’t try and
slot us with the Sex Pistols thing just because it’s becoming popular.’”[ 597 ]
The label’s promotion plan also included videos, which the band shot at the
Whisky for the three presumed singles: “Runnin’ with the Devil,” “Jamie’s
Cryin’,” and “You Really Got Me.” Apart from the band’s mediocre miming
skills, the videos capture the band’s image and performance style circa late 1977.
Alex’s brutalizes his kit while wearing what appears to be a bondage harness.
Roth’s sporting low-rise leather pants, a wide metal-studded belt, and a smaller
waist chain. He’s got a gold chain glistening on his hairy chest, he’s donning a
satin blouse that’s open to the waist, and he prowls the stage in his platform
shoes with swiveling hips and bulging eyes. The others’ clothing choices are only
slightly more tasteful. Edward’s wearing a striped disco shirt, open to the waist,
and maroon polyester pants. Anthony, always the most sensible of the bunch,
dons a white scoop neck T-shirt and jeans. Together they project a band image
that simultaneously pays homage to heavy metal, disco, and early ’70s cock rock.
Around this time, Warner Bros. Records executives had their own reasons
for frustration after a Van Halen blunder threatened to hurt the album’s rollout.
Ted Templeman rang up Edward and told him that he’d just gotten a call from
Aerosmith’s tour manager, who’d informed the producer that a glam-rock band
named Angel had entered the studio to crank out their own version of “You
Really Got Me.” Edward explained what happened: “I played [Barry Brandt,
Angel’s drummer] our tape about a month before it was going to be released,
and a week later Ted Templeman calls me and goes, ‘Did you play that tape for
anybody?’
“‘Yeah, wasn’t I supposed to?’
“‘I told you. Fuck! I should have never given you a copy!’”[ 598 ]
As a result, the label rushed the song to market. This perhaps explains the
band’s rare red vinyl “Looney Tunes” EP. It features the rejected “punk” Van
Halen logo rather than the familiar winged logo, suggesting that the label wasn’t
going to wait for the band’s new iconography to put “You Really Got Me” on
vinyl.[ 599 ]

To bring the year to an end, Van Halen played two farewell shows at the
Whisky on December 30 and 31. With Van Halen nearing release, the Los
Angeles Times paid more attention to the band, even if its critics seemed
somewhat underwhelmed by Van Halen. Robert Hilburn, in discussing the
band’s Whisky engagement, suggested that Van Halen hardly represented the
future of rock music: “This isn’t new wave. More a Led Zeppelin Meets Black
Oak, they’ve got a Warner Bros. album due next month and are apparently in
line for a big push. If you’re still into the heavy metal sound, this is your chance
to see what it looks like up close.”[ 600 ] A few weeks later, Terry Atkinson
offered measured praise by writing: “Van Halen’s music is hard-driving rock with
rough edges. There’s nothing revolutionary about it, but it’s executed in an
engaging, sometimes exciting way.”[ 601 ]
Regardless of the Times’ opinions, the group sold out both nights. Fans lined
up outside the club, and, once inside, had the chance to purchase Van Halen T-
shirts, a sign of the band’s expanding sense of entrepreneurship.[ 602 ]
In contrast to the Van Halen–heavy set performed at the Civic, on New
Year’s Eve the foursome let loose by performing some of the band’s more
obscure original material. Tom Broderick says, “We talked them into doing a lot
of the cool tunes that night, like ‘Down in Flames,’ ‘Show No Mercy,’ and
‘Here’s Just What You Wanted.’ They only played that last one a couple of
times.” Whether the songs were familiar or unfamiliar, the crowd roared.
Guitarist Greg Leon says, “Me and some friends ended up seeing them at the
Whisky when they were playing a New Year’s Eve show. That was a pretty
fantastic night.” Broderick agrees and adds, “It was a rocking! That was one of
my favorite nights.”

While it’s long been believed that the band played a final pair of dates at the
Whisky in February (they didn’t), it turns out that the band’s last gig before their
album’s release didn’t even take place in Los Angeles. Rather, on January 27, the
quartet played at the Snow Crest Lodge in the ski town of Mount Baldy, located
northeast of Pasadena in the San Gabriel Mountains. As Tracy G. remembers it,
“They had one more local gig at this very small place. Mount Baldy and the
mountains are about an hour away from where I live, so I’m begging my friend
to take me up there. So we go, and since it’s winter, it’s snowing. It was right
before they took off for the big time.”
Janice Pirre Francis made it a point to see this gig too, even though getting
to the lodge from the parking lot was no easy feat: “What a scene that was. To
get to the lodge you had to ride a ski lift. Imagine now, all of us girls in tight
little mini-dresses and high heels having to get off the ski lift without breaking
our necks or without having our skirts around our waists!”
Tracy says that he soon spotted Van Halen and their entourage. “When I
was walking up to the gig to go in the place,” he says, “you walk by the restaurant
windows. The Van Halen guys were sitting at the table with their roadies, eating
and drinking. I was thinking, Those guys are like a fucking gang! I was so envious
and jealous. I wanted a band like that, just like a gang, where it would be us
against the fucking world. But to get all the right members in a band, that’s
tough. And there they were, just drinking and getting ready to go on a world
tour. The truth is, I was looking at rock royalty, but I was too young to realize it.
I just couldn’t imagine that they were going to take over the world.”
That night, after the openers’ gear was struck from the stage, fans started
chanting and screaming for the headliner. Tracy looked around, wondering how
Van Halen planned to make their entrance. He says, “There’s no backstage.
There’s nothing behind the stage but the wall of the club. So I’m like, Where are
they?”
Just then an exit door on an adjoining wall flew open. As snow billowed into
the room, Van Halen appeared. “They come in from like two degrees outside,
and they’re wearing their guitars. Everybody’s screaming. It was a great show. I
could have reached out and touched Eddie’s guitar. I was right there.”
After this triumphant performance, Van Halen set out to have a night of
bacchanalian insanity that would serve as a dress rehearsal for the excesses of
their world tour. Tom Broderick remembers that after the band repaired to a
handful of ski cabins where they had planned to spend the night, they raged:
“There was a really crazy all-night party after that gig with all the skiers and
everything; that was an epic party. That night they destroyed the place where
they stayed … Dave flooded the bathroom and the room he was staying in. I
don’t know if he was sticking towels in the toilet or what, but there was just
mischief everywhere. It was Keith Moon–worthy stuff.”
As the band prepared to hit the road, they wrestled with an issue that seemed to
threaten Van Halen’s chances of success. By this time, Alex’s drinking had
became a cause for concern in a group whose modus operandi centered on
partying. Gary Ostby says, “At that time, Alex was the drunk of the group. He
used to drink Schlitz Malt Liquor in the tall cans all the time. A lot of the
contention between Eddie and Alex was because Alex would drink too many
beers and start screwing up on the drums.”
To be sure, Alex’s excessive drinking was not a new development. Kilgore
explains that when he went over to the Van Halen home in the early 1970s, “by
10 o’clock in the morning their mom would come in with two of those big
Schlitz sixteens. That’s half a quart of malt liquor. They’d guzzle a couple of
them down before noon. I’d have been just lying on the bed after that.”
As the years progressed, Alex apparently took to this kind of drinking in a
way his brother hadn’t — yet. According to Broderick, “He would go through
cases of Schlitz Malt at a party or rehearsal.”[ 603 ] This seems plausible when
Alex’s gig preparations are considered. John Nyman, Eulogy’s drummer,
remembers what he saw before a 1976 Civic gig: “I remember Alex came in
there, and he had a floor tom case he was carrying around. I remember thinking,
That’s weird. Why doesn’t he leave it down with all the gear? He probably had a
sixteen-by-sixteen or -eighteen floor tom case. So he plops it down and opens it
and pulls out a cooler full of Schlitz.”
His drinking continued when the band performed. Nyman adds that at the
Golden West, “I remember Alex talking to me about drum soloing. He said he
gets so into it that he doesn’t even remember what he played. He did a drum
solo [and] he was all sweaty and he poured beer over his own head, which is kind
of show biz and very rock and roll, but then he said he didn’t remember doing it.
He was ascribing it to his intensity in the moment, but as I got a little older I
thought, Well maybe he was just really drunk so he doesn’t remember. He sure played
well for someone really drunk. He played really well.”
Ostby remembers that this blackout drinking led to a band meeting. “In late
1977, early 1978, they had a band intervention with him, because he was
drinking too much. It got to be bad, because he was just fucking up so much.
They were really getting pissed. They finally just sat him down, and said, ‘Hey
Alex, you better cool it, or you’re out of the band.’ He agreed to cool it and so he
kind of calmed down for a little while.”
But neither Broderick nor Anthony, who didn’t deeply involve himself in
this matter, thought that it was anything more than a bluff. Broderick, who saw
this whole episode transpire, explained, “They’d never boot Al.”[ 604 ] Anthony
adds, “I don’t remember us ever threatening to kick Alex out of the band. We
may have sat him down once or twice, but it was never a serious thing. That was
probably Eddie more than anyone else who dealt with Alex like that.”

These distractions put aside, Van Halen practiced night and day. Broderick
recalls, “They rehearsed in Dave’s basement for the tour.” Right before the band
left town, Edward focused on getting the “space echo effect for his solo” just
right while the band as a whole “worked on the set they were going to play.”
Songs were added and crossed off the list, and the band worked to craft a set that
would last little more than thirty minutes.
As March loomed, pressure built. The way Broderick remembers it, “I think
on one of the last rehearsal days, I had a friend who I had to get out of jail. I
thought it wouldn’t take that long, but it took forever and I ended up being a
half an hour late for this rehearsal. Dave got in my face and read me the riot act
about how serious this is and how this is top priority. I said, ‘Okay, okay!’ He
yelled, ‘Next time, leave your friend in jail!’”
At the tail end of February, trucks arrived at the Roth home to haul the
band’s equipment to Chicago. The band spent the last night in the basement,
thinking about the road ahead. The next day the band, their management team,
and their small crew would fly from Los Angeles to Chicago. Gary Nissley, who
popped into the basement with Pete Dougherty, remembers, “We were all
hanging out in the basement at the Roth mansion the night before they all left.
They were all getting ready to go, and they were all kind of looking at each other
like, Is this going to work or not?” They’d soon find out.
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN: UNLEASHED
In the spring of 1978, heavy metal superstars Black Sabbath planned their tenth
anniversary world tour, which would support their upcoming LP, Never Say Die.
Sabbath singer Ozzy Osbourne, who’d spent his days in a drink-and-drug-
induced stupor, suddenly became focused when it came time to choose an
opening act. He reminded Sabbath’s management and his bandmates about how
an upstart KISS had stolen the show when they’d opened for Sabbath back in
1975. He insisted that this time Sabbath book an act weak enough that most
audience members would spend their time buying beer and Sabbath T-shirts
while the opener performed. As per Ozzy’s advice, Sabbath handed down a
directive to the band’s booking agency: hire “a bar band from Los Angeles” as
support.
Sabbath’s management dutifully followed those instructions. On May 16,
Osbourne, bassist Geezer Butler, drummer Bill Ward, and guitarist Tony Iommi
stood backstage at Sheffield City Hall, preparing for the first show of their
month-long UK tour. Out of curiosity, Ozzy and the others made their way to
the side of the stage to take in the end of their opener’s set. They arrived just in
time to catch the guitarist’s solo spot, a withering sonic assault that dropped jaws
all over the venue. The Sabs then watched in stunned silence as Van Halen, as
powerful as a Sherman tank, rumbled through “You Really Got Me.”
Back in the dressing room, the four Birmingham natives sat together,
exchanging concerned looks. As Ozzy later explained to keyboardist Don Airey,
“We were just too stunned to speak. We sat there, going, ‘That was incredible.’”
Soon after, “there was a knock on the door and the best-looking man in the
world walked in and said hello.” He introduced himself as Dave Roth. At that
moment, Sabbath knew they were in deep trouble.[ 605 ]

On February 28, Van Halen, the band’s management, and crew flew east from
sun-drenched Los Angeles and landed in the Windy City. When they stepped
outside the airport, icy winds buffeted them. They all pulled up the hoods of
their military surplus band-issued parkas and shivered. They’d arrived in the
Midwest in the midst of the coldest winter on record.
The tour itself, which would begin on March 3, was a classic ’70s billing of
diverse acts. After Van Halen performed, Ronnie Montrose would take the
stage. Montrose was promoting his first solo album, Open Fire. It marked an
evolution in sound, as Montrose abandoned mainstream hard rock for Jeff Beck–
style fusion. Headlining would be Journey, whose Infinity album had come out
in January. Like Ronnie Montrose, Journey was also in a transition period that
saw the group evolve from a fusion act to a mainstream rock band, thanks in no
small part to the recent addition of singer Steve Perry.
Van Halen’s status as national newcomers meant that they’d be afforded few
privileges. They’d start their set at 7:30, a time when many audience members
would not have entered the hall. They’d get minimal stage lighting and almost
no opportunities to soundcheck. And in light of the band’s elaborate contract
rider demands on future tours (No brown M&Ms!), the lack of backstage
amenities seems ludicrous in retrospect. As Edward explained to Steven Rosen,
“Our backstage rider [in March 1978] consisted of four towels.”[ 606 ]
That night, Van Halen stepped onto the stage, waiting to be introduced. “It
was scary walking up there for the first time,” Edward remembered, especially
since Van Halen only had a half hour to win over the audience. But after the
opening number in Chicago, the butterflies subsided and the cheers began.
Edward said, “After the first song people liked us,” and, in fact, by the end of the
night, “everybody loved us.” With that, the Van Halen tour was underway.
[ 607 ]
Less than a week into the tour, the band got thrown a curveball. On March
6, they learned they’d have an off night the following day in Madison,
Wisconsin, because the Orpheum Theater’s stage couldn’t accommodate three
bands. After a few phone calls, Berle and Monk found a local nightclub, the
Shuffle Inn, which was happy to book a band whose debut single, “You Really
Got Me,” was making its way into the Top 40 on Billboard’s Hot 100 singles
chart.[ 608 ] By showtime, the gig was sold out.
While some managers might have shied away from allowing an ascendant
act like Van Halen to perform in a dive like the Shuffle, Berle says that he
thought such opportunities played to Van Halen’s strengths. He explains,
“Wherever we could get a job, I took it, no matter how much money it cost for
us to go there. My formula for success was that this was not a recording artist;
this was a live rock and roll band. The more people you put Van Halen in front
of, the better. They then became your PR. They’d say to other people, ‘Oh man,
I just saw the greatest band!’ So I took everything I could get.”
Things followed that script at the Shuffle. Van Halen, who were no
strangers to club gigs, laid waste to the venue and left the local rock critic duly
impressed. The Emerald City Chronicle reported, “The band mounted the stage
and launched a full-tilt assault … A rough-edged, rowdy, and raw set, Van
Halen made no pretense of being the ‘hot new national act’ that doesn’t play
clubs anymore. Quite to the contrary, this group grew up in bars and feeds off
the energy exchange best found in a close-up crowd.” After the band’s two
encores, Roth baptized the crowd with geysers of champagne as Van Halen left
the stage.[ 609 ]
Even though the show was over, Van Halen’s fun was just beginning. Over
the next two nights, the band and its crew set out to destroy the seventh floor of
the Madison Sheraton. Tom Broderick told the The Inside that the mayhem
began with the band members “chasing each other around with fire
extinguishers. It was pure madness.”[ 610 ]
Things got more fun when Van Halen started testing gravity. Berle, relaxing
in his room, happened to be looking out the window as a television set flashed by
on its way to the ground.[ 611 ] “In Madison,” he laughs, “I was three or four
floors down. They threw shit out the window, like TV sets. But hey, they were
kids having a good time.” Alex then attempted to toss a table out the window,
but before he succeeded, Journey’s Steve Perry cautioned him that he’d end up
paying for everything he destroyed. Even though the drummer heeded Perry’s
warning, Van Halen still got to know Madison’s finest, who paid them a number
of visits during their stay in Mad City.[ 612 ]

With the tour’s first week behind them, Van Halen focused on converting fans
and becoming the bill’s main attraction. Roth recalled, “When Van Halen first
started out, we opened for Journey. In fact, they were the first act that we ever
opened for on any kind of national tour with our first record. And when you first
start out on the road like that, then you’re very competitive. You’re trying to
make your mark, you know.”[ 613 ] Making a mark entailed performing the
perfect set list, one that would grab the audience by the throat and not let go.
“As a third-billed band,” Roth explained in the spring of 1978, “every song has
got to be an opener. As long as we’re doing a short set we’re going to have to
keep going slam-bam-damn!”[ 614 ]
 Postcard sent by the Van Halen brothers to their old friend Brian Box at the very beginning of the
band’s tour in support of Van Halen, March 1978. BRIAN BOX

Journey, which at first had shown little interest in Van Halen’s

performances, paid more attention as the tour progressed. Berle recalled, “I
remember three of the guys from Journey would stand on Edward’s side of the
stage. They would only come out of their dressing rooms when Edward would
do his guitar solos, and every night he would do something different. And they
would sit there and crack up in the wings, just being blown away by this young
upstart.”[ 615 ]
By the time the tour arrived in Louisville on March 17, Van Halen had
started to gain traction with audiences as well. Berle recalls that as word started
to spread about Van Halen, fans started showing up early enough to see the
opener. Broderick remembers noticing that some of the guys in Journey seemed
put off by Van Halen’s meteoric performance and the enthusiastic response
they’d generated. “Journey,” Broderick says, “became officially frightened of Van
Halen at [the Louisville] show.”
Journey, hoping to send the ascendant Van Halen tumbling back to earth,
started to undermine the Pasadena quartet. Broderick remarks, “Journey started
to turn against Van Halen after they saw they were getting blown away. They
started sabotaging the PA, and there was nothing I could do. I didn’t have a
headset, so I couldn’t say to someone backstage, ‘Look in the backline,
something’s unplugged.’ We were really just screwed and that was it.”
 But like Roth’s idol Muhammad Ali, Van Halen knew how to take a body
blow before counterpunching. “They fucked with us,” Edward declared. “They
gave us a hard time, so we gave them a hard time back.” Alex added, “When
Journey would be onstage playing, we used to go into their dressing room, eat all
their food, mess around with their old ladies.”[ 616 ] Edward’s girlfriend Kim
Miller offers confirmation: “They would try to get Steve Perry to come into their
dressing room, just to mess with him. It was Alex and the others’ goal to try and
make him cry! But Edward seemed to like Neal Schon. We would hang out with
him and his wife at the hotel.”[ 617 ]
By the time the three bands arrived at Philadelphia’s Tower Theater on
March 24, Van Halen had regained its footing. They played a tight, dynamic
thirty-five minute set to an audience of hard-to-please rock fans who’d think
nothing of booing Santa Claus on Christmas morning. To top things off, they
performed a toe-tapping “Ice Cream Man” before leaving to sustained applause.
Rock critic Fred Trietsch of Drummer came away astonished, telling his readers:
“Judging from the audience reaction, it won’t be long before Van Halen tops the
charts.”[ 618 ]
Despite the bravura performance in Philadelphia, the next night in New
York proved to be a humbling experience. An audience recording documents
that most of the crowd was underwhelmed by the band’s efforts. As Edward told
Steven Rosen about the Journey tour, “Either the people liked us or hated
us.”[ 619 ] On this night, the response at the Palladium ranged much closer to
the latter, with some vocal fans heckling and booing Journey’s support act.
After the show, things didn’t improve. Roth sat for an interview with a
snarky Rob Patterson of Creem, who later mocked Van Halen as the offspring of
heavy metal dinosaurs like Deep Purple and Sabbath. “Face the facts, kiddos,”
Patterson wrote in the July issue, “when it comes to heavy rock and roll —
y’know, the kind of stuff that sounds like a herd of dinosaurs engaging in some
prehistoric S&M — a little bit of calculated outrageousness goes a long way. So
along come Van Halen, led by two Dutch siblings on guitar and drums who
grew up in Pasadena and fronted by one David Roth, whose struts and screeches
emit a crotch-splitting intensity the likes of which haven’t been seen since Jim
Dandy Mangrum invented his now passé cock-walk.” His message couldn’t have
been clearer: Van Halen played a contrived form of rock — heavy metal —
making the quartet a member of an endangered species, which would soon die
off in the face of a new generation of punk and new wave groups.[ 620 ]
Despite the tough night in the Big Apple, the album was moving units. Anthony
remembered that in the spring of 1978, “the album started taking off. It didn’t
skyrocket, but it was steady.”[ 621 ] Their single, too, was getting many spins. A
West Coast radio executive told Circus that within a week of its release, Van
Halen had become rock radio’s most added album: “The single hit thirty-five
radio stations the first week, reached another twenty-six the second. After a
month, Van Halen was getting airplay on 145 stations across the country.” This
airplay would prompt Radio and Records to label “You Really Got Me” as a No. 1
progressive single for several weeks in the spring.[ 622 ]
This radio and chart action led newspaper and magazine reviewers to weigh
in about Van Halen. To be sure, some did recommend the LP for its power and
volume. In the UK, Melody Maker sang the band’s praises, saying, “It’s all there
in abundance: screaming guitar solos, thundering riffs, a pounding rhythm
section, and tough vocals … outstanding and thoroughly recommended.” Sounds
concurred by calling Van Halen “brand new heavy metal heroes” who’d produced
“a magnificent debut. If Van Halen can keep the adrenaline flowing for a second
album, then Warners have a winner on their hands.”[ 623 ] Back in Los
Angeles, the Orange County Register called the album “a hard rock jewel,” which
was “overflowing with ambitious energy.”[ 624 ]
Still, the majority of critics came away less than impressed, with most
labeling Van Halen recyclers of obsolete heavy metal–cum–cock rock. The punk-
loving, UK-based NME took a flamethrower to Van Halen, calling it only
“vaguely bearable in places” and excoriating it for its “same old HM
excess.”[ 625 ] On the other side of the Atlantic, Hit Parader mocked Van Halen
by writing, “With a little practice they just might become the next Uriah Heep.
And with another day’s practice they could become Arthur Brown or Black Oak
Arkansas. But listen to their version of ‘You Really Got Me’ and you can bet
they’ll never become the Kinks.”[ 626 ]
The Los Angeles Times and Rolling Stone offered more of a mixed message.
In the former, Terry Atkinson praised their debut as an “impressive start,” before
singling out Roth as the band’s key defect: “The album’s weakness is singer
David Roth. His vocals are serviceable but humdrum, resembling too much the
screamy kind of singing that has bogged down groups like Uriah Heep. His
lyrics, too, are mundane.”[ 627 ] In the latter, Charles M. Young damned the
quartet with faint praise: “Van Halen’s secret is not doing anything that’s original
while having the hormones to do it better than all those bands that have become
fat and self-indulgent and disgusting … These guys also have the good sense not
to cut their hair or sing about destroying a hopelessly corrupt society on their
first album. That way, hopelessly corrupt radio programmers will play their
music.” Towards that end, Warner Bros. released “Runnin’ with the Devil” in
April as the band’s second single.[ 628 ]

By that month, the tour had wended its way into the Southwest. In Austin, two
reviewers who caught the show on April 12 applauded Van Halen’s songs and
stagecraft. While she’d call Journey “superb,” Margaret Moser of the Austin Sun
was effusive in her praise of the warm-up act. “Van Halen opened the show with
a blast of adrenaline. Brothers Alex and Edward Van Halen, drums and lead
guitar respectively, laid out the backbone of their hard, and I mean hard, rock.
Though their set was too short to get any true feel of their style, they displayed a
massive amount of power and drive, not the least of which was shown by lead
singer Dave Roth. Roth, in low black leather pants and open shirt, played most
prominently to the female portion of the audience, getting down on his knees
and kissing hands, accepting a flower and placing it strategically above his
zipper.”[ 629 ]
John Bryant of the Austin American-Statesman went further by asserting that
Van Halen were the night’s real stars. He wrote, “The group had just crammed
all the quality and tricks of a headliner show into their thirty-five minutes. Alex
did a magnificent drum solo, his brother Edward Van Halen had a lead guitar
solo, and Michael Anthony matched anybody’s bass solo. Lead singer Dave Lee
Roth was all over the stage, leading the league in sweaty, exposed hairy chests
and finishing close second in low-riding britches only to a cast member from Oh
Calcutta … The only thing that kept them from stealing Wednesday night’s
Municipal Auditorium show entirely was the rock concert phenomena that calls
for young fans to wander around the lobby during the opening act.”[ 630 ]
With the album selling and audiences enthusiastic, Van Halen’s handlers
began angling to move the band onto a bigger tour. For the time being, however,
Van Halen said no. Anthony explains, “Our first tour after the Van Halen album
was only supposed to be six weeks, opening for Journey and [Ronnie] Montrose.
But the album was selling better and better. Warner Bros. and Premier Talent
wanted to put us right in the big halls when the album started catching.” But in
order to make sure they had their feet under them, the band chose, in Anthony’s
words, to “play the smaller places first.”[ 631 ]
This decision did nothing to reduce the tension between Journey and Van
Halen. When Van Halen upturned catering tables after setting a crowd afire,
Journey’s management gave representatives of Premier Talent and Warner Bros.
an earful, saying that Van Halen was one more mistake away from oblivion. But
the axe never fell. The way Leiren remembered it, “Journey management would
scold us and threaten us weekly that we’re off the tour — ‘This is it!’ Well this
went on for a while and we finally asked, ‘Are we on double secret probation
now? Why aren’t we getting kicked off this tour?’ And we finally realized:
Journey’s album is up on the charts a little bit, and ticket sales are going pretty
good too. Since we’re selling albums, the shows are selling better. The local radio
stations were getting lots of requests for Van Halen. People were coming down
and they’re screaming, ‘Van Halen!’ So it became very apparent that the majority
of the people were coming to see Van Halen.”
Still, Van Halen’s time with Journey and Ronnie Montrose did wrap up by
the end of April. For Neal Schon, who got on well with Edward but found it
difficult to perform in the wake of the young virtuoso, this parting came none to
soon. “It was like getting your ass kicked every night by the best sword-swinging
sushi chef in the land,” he’d tell Guitar Player. “Ronnie Montrose was
supporting, and he hated being in the middle slot. I would tell him, ‘Man, I’m
glad you have to follow that and not me!’”[ 632 ] Montrose, too, would later
praise Edward’s playing by observing, “The only guy who’s really doing
something new and different is Eddie Van Halen. He’s taken a very basic
Stratocaster sound and added a lot of coloration and harmonics to his style. He’s
one of the only new guitarists who’s managed to get past the tremolo bar and
feedback tricks that a lot of post-Hendrix guitarists have got caught up
in.”[ 633 ]

After a short transatlantic headlining run, Van Halen hooked up with Black
Sabbath on May 16 in Sheffield. Edward and Alex, who’d cut their teeth on
Sabbath, surely felt the weight of history on that first night of the Sabbath tour.
But all of those thoughts faded after the quartet opened their set with a one-two
punch of “On Fire” and “I’m the One.” Right in the middle of their second song,
however, disaster struck. Edward’s guitar went dead for some minutes, bringing
the set to a halt. The band would recover and finish on a strong note, but they
undoubtedly remained frustrated and embarrassed that technical difficulties had
disrupted their Sabbath debut.[ 634 ]
Despite this golden opportunity, Sabbath failed to capitalize on Van Halen’s
misfortunes. Author Paul Wilkinson recalled that Sabbath’s set “ended
disastrously: the PA broke down after an hour, following periodic blips
throughout the earlier part of the set. Bill Ward manfully treated us to an un-
amplified and spontaneous drum solo, while the other members sheepishly
trudged offstage. I was right at the front, and I could hear Bill shout ‘Fuck it!’ as
he dumped his sticks and trounced off to join them. There was a long pause, and
then the house lights came up; someone made an apologetic announcement, and
two thousand Sabbath fans were left to make their way dejectedly home.”
Wilkinson, who loved Sabbath, remembered departing audience members
speculating that Van Halen “had sabotaged the PA.” But, he writes, “Most of us
realized that such a step was hardly necessary. Van Halen were incandescent;
Sabbath were merely in decline.”[ 635 ]
Sheffield set the tone for the rest of this leg of the tour. While Sabbath
logged good performances over the twenty-plus UK dates, fans and journalists
soon recognized that Van Halen were stars on the rise. While the NME’s Tom
Noble grumbled that Van Halen was “nothing special,” he reported that
Newcastle fans went mad for the band: “Before Van Halen had even groped the
torchlit way onto the stage, the audience were, to a man, on their feet.”[ 636 ]
Steve Gett, writing in Record Mirror about the Bristol show, observed, “Van
Halen’s success supporting Black Sabbath has been phenomenal, with at least
one encore every night … Midway through their UK tour Van Halen is doing
very well, increasing in confidence and gaining a lot of fans on the way.”[ 637 ]
And in Aberdeen, the band received some fantastic news from Warner Bros.
Van Halen had gone gold. After years of hard work, and in the midst of a
musical environment that was anything but hospitable to their kind of music,
Van Halen had achieved a pinnacle of success that only a handful of acts ever
attain. Of course, this called for revelry worthy of the occasion. Roth recalled,
“We celebrated our first gold record in Aberdeen, Scotland, in the lobby of the
hotel.” Edward, in a drunken effort to commemorate the band’s achievement,
tracked down some gold paint and set out to redecorate the hallway walls. The
rest of the band then added flourishes to some portraits with shoe polish pulled
from a vending machine. Needless to say, as Roth recounted, police “escorted”
the band out of the country, saying, “Don’t ever come back!”[ 638 ]
 A second postcard sent by the Van Halen brothers to Brian Box at the outset of Van Halen’s May 1978
UK jaunt with Black Sabbath. In it, they note that Van Halen was nearly “kicked off the tour” twice. BRIAN
BOX

In mid-June, Van Halen temporarily parted ways with the masters of metal and
headed for Japan. Van Halen played eight dates in the Land of the Rising Sun,
including four in Tokyo, performing in front of subdued but large crowds in
theater-sized venues.
Around this time, the Van Halen camp could see momentum building on a
global scale. By late June, the album had cracked the Top 30 in Australia,
France, and Japan, and “You Really Got Me” had hit the Top 20 in France,
Holland, and New Zealand. Back in the States, Van Halen had taken its place
alongside debut LPs by stars like Foreigner and Boston to become one of the
fastest-selling first albums in history.[ 639 ] Warner Bros., to keep the album
flying off the racks, released “Jamie’s Cryin’” in July as the band’s third single.
Berle and Premier Talent moved to capitalize on Van Halen’s growing
success by booking a stretch of summertime American dates. Coupled with a
tour with Sabbath starting on August 22 in Milwaukee, in July and August Van
Halen would perform everywhere from the cavernous Superdome, as an opening
act for the Rolling Stones, to the intimate Armadillo World Headquarters in
Austin, Texas. An American tour that was expected to last six weeks had turned
into a world vacation.
On June 28, Van Halen prepared to depart Japan. The band’s next
destination was Dallas, where the quartet would perform on July 1 at the massive
Texxas Music Festival alongside platinum-selling acts like Heart, Ted Nugent,
and Aerosmith. With the promoters expecting upwards of eighty thousand fans
in the Cotton Bowl, this show would take place in front of the largest audience
to this point in Van Halen history. Van Halen’s crew packed up the band’s
equipment, cleared customs, and then jumped on a 747 with the rest of the
band.
After Van Halen and its entourage arrived in the Lone Star state, they got
some very bad news. “When we were in Japan,” Berle says, “we shipped the
equipment to Dallas and there was a problem. The equipment never showed up.”
After some frantic phone calls, the band discovered on June 30 that its gear had
ended up in Chicago. Berle remembers that while Edward “had [some of] his
guitars, because we could carry those on the plane,” almost every other piece of
gear the band used was stuck in the Windy City.
With the show happening the following day, Van Halen couldn’t count on
the airline to miraculously deliver their gear in time for the gig. The band had no
other choice than to quickly get substitute equipment. “Eddie was really pissed,”
Berle says, “because he’d have to rent effects and amps! He had nothing.”
On July 1, a blood-red sun rose and began roasting Dallas. Temperatures
that day would top out at over 100 degrees, and Van Halen, who’d appear near
the bottom of the bill, would hit the stage in the mid-afternoon, the hottest part
of the day. By the early afternoon, the gates opened and tens of thousands of
fans began filling the stadium, all looking like, according to Mike Simmons of
the Deer Park Progress, “a herd of Thanksgiving turkeys being paraded into a
giant oven.” On the Astroturf field, ambient temperatures hit 120–130 degrees,
which led scores to faint from the blistering heat.[ 640 ]
Backstage, Van Halen stood ready, resigned to the fact that the show must
go on, even though, as Leiren recalled, “everybody was totally burned out” from
the whirlwind of the past few days.[ 641 ] As Alex explained on the radio show
Profiles in Rock, “It’s 1:00, it’s 120 degrees. We’re getting down to do some
business, and I’ve got a [rental] drum set that comes to my knees.”[ 642 ]
Still, Van Halen turned up the heat on the Texas crowd. Mike Simmons
reported, “Van Halen won over the vast majority of the fans with an exciting
forty-five-minute set featuring songs off their great debut album. Lead vocalist
David Roth did little prodding to get the fans to respond to such hits as ‘Runnin’
with the Devil’ and ‘You Really Got Me.’”[ 643 ] The band agreed with this
assessment. Edward recalled, “We played in front of eighty-two thousand people
on rented equipment and we still blazed!” Roth added, “That was what really
made us down in Texas. It was one of our very best shows, and the crowd went
nuts.”[ 644 ]
Offstage, Berle watched in amazement. He calls it “one of the greatest
shows I ever saw.” In his view, the band’s guitarist particularly rose to the
occasion: “Eddie was understandably upset at the prospect of playing in front of
his contemporary musicians for the first time without the amps and the effects
that he felt contributed to his signature sound. But in spite of that … Eddie still
pulled it off to a standing ovation.”[ 645 ]
Van Halen’s incendiary set so burned out the crowd that the rest of the
undercard had no chance to make any headway among the thousands on hand.
“Other bands that played during the first nine hours simply did not move the
audience,” Simmons wrote, “partly due to the heat and, in some cases, due to
lackluster performances … Head East, the band who had to follow Van Halen’s
dynamite set, was the low point of the concert. They tried endlessly to get fans
on their feet but were virtually ignored. Not until their unwarranted encore,
‘Never Been Any Reason,’ did the fans seem to care. Without a question, Van
Halen owned the first nine hours of the show.”[ 646 ] Only when Heart came
onstage hours later did the audience come back to life. On this day, Van Halen
went from being a breakthrough act to rock superstars.
Before Van Halen left Dallas, Leiren headed to the airport in the early
morning of July 2 to retrieve the band’s equipment, which had finally arrived
from Chicago. He recounted to Steven Rosen that the band had lustily
celebrated their Texas triumph, and so when he met with the customs agents, he
took their word for it that all of the band’s gear was on hand. A foggy-headed
Leiren then signed the paperwork and took possession of the equipment.
Out in the parking lot, he and the band’s driver started putting everything
into the truck. Only then did Leiren make a terrible discovery. “We started
loading,” he remembered, “and I realized, ‘Hey wait a minute. Where’s the
bomb?’ We had [Edward’s] big World War II bomb we used to carry. It turned
out there were like four pieces missing.” One of the missing items was a three-
head road case that contained Edward’s prized Marshall amplifier, the one he’d
bought in the early 1970s and used on Van Halen.
 Edward Van Halen solos in front of an arena crowd in southern California, July 1978. NEIL ZLOZOWER

Over the following weeks, Edward’s bomb and two other items did make
their way back to the band. But Edward’s “baby,” the Marshall, was gone. “Well
they found everything but the three-amp head case,” Leiren remembered. When
Edward heard the news, he was “very, very, upset” about the disappearance of
perhaps the single most irreplaceable weapon in his arsenal. “Boy I tell you
what,” Leiren said, “it was like the loss of a good friend, every minute he was
devastated.”[ 647 ]

After cobbling together an array of substitute amps, Edward and the rest of the
band headed to the West Coast. They’d first play a headlining show at San
Diego’s Sports Arena before returning to the City of Angels to play at the Long
Beach Arena on July 8. Berle, wanting to guarantee a sellout, first considered
booking the band at the three-thousand-seat Santa Monica Civic, or perhaps
playing a “scaled-down, 5,500–seat” setup of the Long Beach Arena. But with
album sales going strong and an army of hometown fans itching to see Van
Halen, Berle and Premier Talent decided to roll the dice and book the full nine-
thousand-seat arena.
Almost as soon as tickets went on sale, it was clear that their gamble had
paid off. A nervous Berle called the promoter and learned that within an hour,
six thousand tickets had been sold. By the second hour, the concert was sold out.
An exuberant Roth told the Los Angeles Times, “This is really special. We haven’t
played L.A. since New Year’s Eve at the Whisky. It’s like our homecoming.
We’ve been on the road since February and now we’ve got our first gold record.
What better place to celebrate?”[ 648 ]
Onstage that night at the Long Beach Arena, Van Halen greeted their
raucous fans in explosive fashion. Treating the show like a giant backyard party,
they stunned the crowd with an opening barrage of smoke pots, which were just
one part of the twenty thousand dollars in “special effects and equipment ordered
by the band to give the evening an added spark.”[ 649 ] Dave Shelton
remembers, “To see them at that big of a venue and that big of a sound system
was great. They always played great. They were a tight band. It was like, wow,
Van Halen were our local boys who made it.”
The quartet finished their show up with three encores while the audience
“roared its approval,” according to Robert Hilburn of the Los Angeles Times. This
frenzied response prompted him to mention Van Halen alongside some rock
legends from the City of Angels: “While many bands do well after moving to
L.A., it has been years since a homegrown rock group moved on to national
attention. Some feel Van Halen could be the biggest L.A.-spun outfit since the
Doors a decade ago.”[ 650 ]
After the show, pandemonium reigned by the arena’s backstage door.
Hundreds of friends and fans, including Steve Tortomasi, congregated in hopes
of partying with Van Halen. He recalls, “There were a bunch of groupie chicks
and probably three hundred other people trying to get backstage. And they had
two security guards there with a rope. I feel this tap on my shoulder. I turn
around, and it’s Mike [Anthony] Sobolewski’s dad. He smiles and goes, ‘Steve, I
can’t get backstage, and if you can’t get backstage, I know I’m not getting
backstage!’”
David Lee Roth and Edward Van Halen perform “Ice Cream Man” in southern California, July 1978. NEIL
ZLOZOWER

While the pair spoke, Edward appeared at the door. Tortomasi says,
“Everyone’s saying, ‘Hey Ed! Let us back!’ So he grabs me by the shirt and he
grabs Mike’s dad by the shirt and pulls us to go backstage. But the security
guards didn’t know who he was. This punk ass security guy grabbed him by the
neck threw him on the ground. Hard. The guy choked him. It was brutal. He
grabbed him and threw him on the ground because he was trying to pull us
backstage. People were screaming, ‘Hey man! You don’t know what you’re
doing!’ It startled Ed. It really hurt him. Ed got up and said, ‘You haven’t heard
the end of this!’ He was pissed!”
Dave Shelton saw what happened next. “So we were backstage hanging out,”
he says. “We had lost Eddie for a little bit. He comes back and he’s all pissed off.
He comes walking past us and he must have management with him and security.
Apparently what had happened is that he had gone out to the bus or his car or
something to get a camera, and coming back in one of the security guys grabbed
him by the throat and put him on the ground, not knowing who he was. Eddie
comes back with these guys and he’s livid. ‘That’s the motherfucker RIGHT
THERE!’ and pointed at this security guard who had put him on the ground.
Eddie was not happy about that.”
As Edward nursed his sore neck, Van Halen traveled to the Big Easy to open for
their labelmates the Doobie Brothers and “The World’s Greatest Rock and Roll
Band,” the Rolling Stones. Naturally, putting a gang of professional drinkers like
Van Halen and its road crew in New Orleans, the drunkest city in America,
made for an orgy of intoxication. Alex rented a Cadillac, which he drove with
abandon. Back at the hotel, he and his drum tech Gregg Emerson ran wild.
Michael Anthony explains with a laugh, “Alex and Gregg loved to drink back
then. Gregg was one of those guys who was always up for doing something
crazy. He and Alex would say, ‘Let’s do [something nuts]!’ I’d say, ‘Ah, no, I’m
not doing that.’”
The bassist adds, “When we were in New Orleans on the first tour, I
remember the crew kept bringing back all of these girls, who were actually guys,
to the hotel. When we got up that morning, Gregg had two black eyes and was
looking rough. He said he got in a fight, but it was just as likely that he walked
into his hotel door while he was drunk.” Unfortunately for Emerson, this
transpired right before he made the acquaintance of rock royalty. Ross Velasco
adds, “Gregg was so excited about meeting Mick Jagger, but he ended up with
two black eyes right before he met him!”
On the afternoon of July 13, Van Halen got a surprise onstage visitor.
Anthony says, “I couldn’t believe it when Mick Jagger walked onstage when we
were soundchecking at the Superdome. My jaw hit the floor.” Jagger looked
warily at Van Halen’s equipment. As Edward later told Rafael Marti, Jagger
pointed at his rig and said to him, “Ah wut’s this bomb thing?” A starstruck
Edward explained that he kept some of his guitar effects inside the bombshell.
Jagger, refusing to give Van Halen a chance to upstage the Stones, sniffed and
said, “Well, we won’t be needing it onstage.”
Backstage, the band got ready. Roth later explained that after performing so
many gigs in front of so many big crowds, the band felt “more anticipation than
nervousness” for a gig like the Superdome show. “I mean, we know the tunes, we
know we can do them well. Hey, we’ve been doing all those songs since way
back. We can read comic books onstage while we play, because we know them
that well.”[ 651 ]
Outside the venue, tens of thousands of fans holding general admission
tickets lined up near the entrances despite the oppressive heat. Naturally, those
hoping to secure prime locations to see the show, and to escape the stifling New
Orleans climate, flooded into the air-conditioned arena as soon as the gates
opened at 5:30. For Van Halen, this meant they’d perform in front of a packed
house of eighty thousand fans.[ 652 ]
Even though a Times-Picayune critic thought little of Van Halen, the crowd
embraced the band.[ 653 ] Roth remembered, “That was incredible. Standing up
in front of eighty-three thousand people and asking them a yes question, and
hearing eighty-three thousand go Yessss! The sound almost blew us over
backwards. It sounded like a jet plane taking off!”[ 654 ] In September, Roth
and Anthony would point to this show as the tour’s high point, especially since
Van Halen got to return to the stage for an encore at the behest of a screaming
crowd.[ 655 ]
The next day, Roth asked Alex when he’d be returning his rented Cadillac.
Roth explained to DJ Jim Ladd what happened next: “The next morning around
breakfast time, I said to him, ‘You best call the rental place.’
“He said, ‘Yeah, I better.’
“So he called up the rental place. He said, ‘Hey man, you’ve got to come
down and pick this car up yourself. I ain’t even driving it back into the shop.’
“Guy goes, ‘What’s the matter?’
“‘The right mirror’s out of adjustment, the right turn indicator don’t work,
and the right door don’t even open!’
“Guy said, ‘Right door doesn’t open? I checked that car out myself right
before you took it out. Why won’t the right door open?’
“Al goes, ‘Car’s lying on it.’”[ 656 ]

Despite Van Halen’s growing success, the band still operated within a difficult
musical environment. In a reflection of disco’s popularity, the Saturday Night
Fever soundtrack stood like an immovable object at the top reaches of the
Billboard album chart. And when it came to rock, Van Halen’s approach seemed
out of step with the industry’s dominant trends. Soft rock aside, the Pasadena
quartet sounded little like the smooth AOR of Boston, Foreigner, Heart, and
Styx, and even less like new wave/punk acts like Blondie and the Ramones.
Many critics concluded that a loud, hard, and heavy band like Van Halen
was an outlier, one that offered nothing more than a repackaging of the obsolete
heavy metal sounds of the dusty past. High Fidelity dismissed Van Halen in just
this manner by declaring: “Van Halen’s heavy metal is smooth and ordinary —
sort of a Black Sabbath with middle-class Californian professionalism.”[ 657 ]
Anthony remembered that journalists thought nothing of asking the band in
1978, “What do you think now that heavy metal is dead?”[ 658 ] Naturally, that
question came easy after Van Halen toured with Black Sabbath, a seminal heavy
metal act that appeared to be on the decline.
By mid-July, Van Halen — particularly Roth — parried these attacks by
offering up a new term to describe their music. In this formulation, Van Halen
played neither hard rock nor heavy metal. Instead, Van Halen played “big
rock.”[ 659 ] As Roth told a Houston scribe, “In fact, Van Halen is big rock.
We’re not a heavy metal band, even though we’ve been called that.”[ 660 ] In
many an interview, Van Halen’s singer went to pains to explain the difference
between heavy metal and big rock. “This is the new generation, man,” he told
the Dallas Morning News. “The ’80s are here and Van Halen is young and
writing that way … we call it big rock and it’s different from hard rock or heavy
metal. We play songs, man. I think in terms of three minutes whether I want to
or not.”[ 661 ]
Of course Van Halen’s emphasis on short, punchy songs — tunes that
featured the aesthetics of heavy metal played with a pop sensibility — had its
roots in Roth’s efforts to streamline Van Halen’s songs when he’d first joined the
band. While it took some time, by 1976 or so, he’d cultivated a culture of radio-
friendly songcraft within the band, one that bore little resemblance to the
expansive, jam-heavy sound of acts like Grand Funk and Black Sabbath.
While almost all critics — eager to dismiss anything resembling heavy metal
— missed this aspect of Van Halen’s sound, one observant and influential
journalist highlighted this key distinction between the past and the present.
Robert Hilburn of the Los Angeles Times noted that while Van Halen and Led
Zeppelin’s music might seem similar, in fact “Van Halen’s sound is much more
compact than Zeppelin’s.”[ 662 ]

During the month of July, Van Halen offered up their big rock sound to
hundreds of thousands of fans at a number of huge rock festivals. They logged
one memorable performance on a sultry afternoon at the Mississippi River Jam
on Credit Island, near Davenport, Iowa, alongside Journey, the Atlanta Rhythm
Section, and the Doobie Brothers.
After the start of their warm-up set was pushed back, Van Halen set out to
make the most of their time, as they’d have less than thirty minutes to make
their case to the audience. According to the Quad City Times, Roth immediately
focused on firing up the crowd of twenty-thousand-plus fans by saying, “Get
your mind off of the heat and put it on the beat!”[ 663 ] Douglas Guenther, who
was attending his first concert, recalls, “Van Halen hit the stage and blew me
away! Roth was front and center, commanding everyone’s attention with his
vocals, moves, and rock-god presence. That day was the first time thousands of
people there experienced the Van Halen mojo. Eddie was incredible. I couldn’t
believe what I was seeing and hearing. It gave me goosebumps. I was
underwhelmed with Atlanta Rhythm Section, Journey, and the Doobie Brothers
when they followed with their full sets. Van Halen stole the show.”[ 664 ] Asked
later that afternoon about what had delayed their set, the ever-quotable Roth
shrugged off the question, telling the reporter with a laugh: “My department is
sex, drugs, and rock and roll.”[ 665 ]
The next big show on the itinerary was a rock institution. The Day on the
Green Festival, which would be held at the Oakland Coliseum on July 23, would
see Van Halen support Aerosmith, Foreigner, and Pat Travers. Despite this
roster of heavyweights, the biggest test Van Halen faced was taking the stage
after Australian upstarts AC/DC. The way Edward remembered it, “AC/DC
was probably one of the most powerful live bands I’ve ever seen in my life. The
energy … they were unstoppable … I was standing on the side of the stage
thinking, ‘We have to follow these motherfuckers?’”
But in another demonstration of Van Halen’s mettle and talent, Van Halen
stood toe-to-toe with the quintet from Down Under. Edward added, “They
were so fuckin’ powerful, but I remember feeling that we held our own. I was
really happy. It blew my mind. I didn’t think anybody could follow them.”[ 666 ]
Photographer Neil Zlozower, who’d just started shooting the band, thought that
Van Halen more than held their own: “The band took the stage and devastated
every other band that played on the bill that day.”[ 667 ] Still, dissent came from
a San Francisco Chronicle reporter, who, in spite of his disdain for Van Halen,
made one dead-on-accurate prediction: “Van Halen purveys rock at its lowest
common denominator — and probably will be very big before long.”[ 668 ]

Although the Sabbath tour was about to resume, Van Halen kept working. On
August 12, they traveled to Maryland to do a one-off arena performance opening
for Ted Nugent at the Capital Centre. That night, they put on their show in
front of 20,476 rock fans.[ 669 ] Henry Rollins, who later achieved fame as
Black Flag’s singer, was in the audience. He recalled that he rarely paid attention
to opening acts “but this time it was a band called Van Halen. I remember they
hit the stage and went into ‘Runnin’ with the Devil’ after Diamond Dave made
his drum riser leap.”[ 670 ]
A few songs into the set, Roth paused to say hello to the packed house.
Rollins recounted, “This singer starts talking. He seems to be like a peroxided
Mark Twain. He can really turn a phrase. And it becomes evident that the singer
in this band doesn’t seem to understand that we’re not all there to see him. He
doesn’t seem to know that he’s in the opening band; it seems as he’s in the
headlining band. ‘It’s nice to be back in Largo, Maryland!’ Nice to be back? He’s
never been here before! What the fuck is he talking about? But it was
awesome.”[ 671 ]
According to Rollins, the crowd so got behind Van Halen that they
continued to chant the opener’s name even after the headliner’s set was
underway, leading the Motor City Madman to say “Fuck Van Halen!” to the
audience.[ 672 ] In later years, Nugent conceded that Van Halen had outshone
him that night, declaring, “I don’t ever want Van Halen on the same bill as
me!”[ 673 ]

On August 22, Sabbath began its tour of America with Van Halen in support.
After wending their way through the upper Midwest, the two acts were set to
appear at New York’s legendary Madison Square Garden on August 27.
Although this would be Van Halen’s third New York appearance (after opening
for Journey at the Palladium on March 25, Van Halen had headlined the
Palladium on April 28), Roth, perhaps recalling his struggles at SIR Studios
back in November 1976, conceded that playing New York made him uneasy,
telling the Aquarian, “New York gives me the jitters.”[ 674 ]
In point of fact, Roth probably didn’t have to worry. Interviews conducted
by Circus on the day of the Garden show provided more evidence that the careers
of Sabbath and Van Halen were headed in different directions. Ozzy sounded
exhausted and paranoid, complaining about a virulent virus that was “wiping
[him] out” and about audience members who gave him the “evil eye,” an
experience he found “frightening.” After informing the reporter that he felt
“bored to shit” on the road, he conceded that Van Halen “are so good they ought
to be headlining the tour.”[ 675 ]
Roth, in contrast, struck a confident pose. He declared his admiration for
fellow motormouth Muhammad Ali and fast food magnate Ray Kroc. He also
told the reporter that Van Halen and its crew resembled Attila the Hun’s hordes,
because both comprised “a group of barbarians who are sweeping around the
world non-stop and have a few basic goals in mind and when it’s done have a
good old barbarian party — after each city is conquered.”
Along those very lines, Roth provided Circus’s readers with irrefutable
evidence that Van Halen’s campaign for world domination was succeeding:
“They told us New York City, the Big Apple, was the hardest one to crack and
in a short space of time we’ve gone from the three-thousand-seater to the
twenty-thousand-seater.”[ 676 ] The fact that many of those who’d fill the
Garden that evening would be there to check out the opening act wasn’t lost on
the Sabbath camp. Two Sabbath crew members would later write: “Van Halen’s
presence had a major influence on ticket sales since they were a much bigger
draw at home than they were in the UK.”[ 677 ]
After wowing fans at the Garden, Van Halen got more good news when the
band arrived in Philadelphia on August 29. Leiren was backstage at the
Spectrum when he was told he had a phone call. As he explained to Steven
Rosen, “I go running back and this house guy points to this phone on the wall
there at the gig. ‘Hello? Yeah.’ Well it was Karen calling from the [Van Halen]
office. They found the amps. I was jumping up and down! I couldn’t believe it! I
had to call the hotel immediately to tell Ed. Well they had already left to come
over for soundcheck. When he got there I had this big shit-eating grin on my
face. Whenever something’s up, he always goes, ‘What?’ I told him they found
the amp! That was it. Hip hip hooray!” After the miraculous return of his priceless
Marshall, Edward would retire it from the road because, as his then-tech
explained in 1985, “If it’s lost we will never be able to replace it.”[ 678 ]

By late September, the wheels had started to come off the bus for Sabbath.
Sounds writer Sylvie Simmons, who caught up with the tour in Fresno on
September 22, recalled that Ozzy looked “gray and bloated, eyes dead” when she
saw him offstage, even though he hadn’t hit thirty yet. Perhaps if Simmons had
spent a few more days with him, she’d have been surprised that the Prince of
Darkness even ambulated at all. The band’s tour manager, Albert Chapman,
recalled that his workdays often included attempts to rouse a comatose Ozzy:
“I’d be kicking doors off hotel rooms to get him out of bed. I mean physically
kicking the door down and paying the damages, because it was cheaper than
missing a flight and canceling a gig.”[ 679 ]
Roth, in contrast, seemed fit as an Olympic athlete to Simmons despite his
steady diet of drink, drugs, and fast food. The reporter, who watched Roth
entertaining a crowd of admirers in a hotel room, remembered the remarkable
“contrast between the vitality, energy, and single-mindedness of the support act
and the shambolic disunity of the headliners … Van Halen looked young,
Sabbath looked past it; Van Halen were clearly on the way up, Sabbath were
going down.”[ 680 ]
Things wouldn’t get any better for Sabbath when both bands performed at
Anaheim Stadium in Los Angeles on September 23 with headliner Boston and
an opening act of future Van Halen lead singer Sammy Hagar. Weeks earlier,
Berle and Roth had started cooking up a scheme to steal the show from the
other bands on the bill. In the middle of the afternoon, while the other bands
partied backstage, Van Halen put their plan into motion. They slipped away and
hid inside a cargo van. There they sat for hours, drinking, smoking, and pissing
in a coffee can, waiting for their big moment.[ 681 ]
These cloak-and-dagger tactics were all part of the larger plan. Berle
explains that he’d hired four skydivers and bought four wigs, two sets of identical
jumpsuits, and two sets of matching helmets. “I had a van there,” he recalls, “and
the band was inside the van wearing the same jumpsuits. We didn’t tell anyone
what we were doing. Backstage nobody knew what the fuck was going on.”
Soon after Hagar departed from the stage, a plane began circling high above
the stadium, an occurrence initially noticed by almost nobody except Van
Halen’s management and crew. Then out of the airplane tumbled the four
parachutists. They deployed their chutes and drifted downward. As they
approached the ground, some people began to point and cheer, as they saw that
the parachutes were emblazoned with Van Halen logos. Right on cue, a voice
blared out of the PA system: “From out of the sky, Van Halen is coming into the
stadium!”
Somewhere in the sea of people, all with eyes turned skyward, sat Tracy G.
“As they got closer,” he says with a smile, “you can see they’ve got the big VH on
their fucking parachutes. They got closer and closer and the whole fucking place
was roaring. I’m like, There’s no fucking way. Talk about getting the crowd before
they even walk on! Now I don’t think it was them, but it didn’t fucking matter,
because everybody thought it was. They landed in the backstage area, and then
they came running out in parachute outfits. I’m like fuck me! They rip off the
jumpsuits and they’ve got their fucking rock star clothes on. They throw Eddie
his guitar and that’s it. I’m like fuck it; they had everything, and they thought of
everything!”
Berle explains how they pulled off this sleight of hand. “They landed right
behind the stage. We did the switch in the van because the real jumpers got in
the van. The van pulled up to the stage and they got out with their jumpsuits on.
So it was kind of believable,” he chuckles.
Of course, reporters began asking Van Halen’s manager if it was really Van
Halen who had dropped out of the California sky. Like a magician who won’t
reveal his secrets, he played along by insisting to the Los Angeles Times: “The
group had practiced for months for the spectacular entrance.” To the band’s
credit, the caper worked so smoothly that Robert Hilburn refused to make a
definitive statement about who actually parachuted, writing that whomever “it
was who landed, it was Van Halen that raced arm-in-arm onto the stage in
parachute outfits and drew the day’s biggest applause.” Van Halen, he asserted,
was “hard to resist” and was an act that “could well be the heir apparent to
Aerosmith’s hard-rock American crown.”[ 682 ]

More tangible evidence of Van Halen’s rise to the heights of the rock world
came almost immediately after the Anaheim Stadium show. In early September,
the band had gotten word that they’d sold more than nine hundred thousand
copies of Van Halen in the United States.[ 683 ] Then, at the end of the month,
it was official. Van Halen, a band that couldn’t get a record deal back in 1976,
had gone platinum. In the September 30 issue of Billboard, Warner Bros.
Records announced that the quartet had sold one million copies of their LP via a
full-page ad.[ 684 ] Berle, to commemorate the occasion, surprised all four
musicians with Van Halen logo necklaces made of platinum. Warner Bros., to
keep the momentum going, released a fourth single from Van Halen, “Ain’t
Talkin’ ’Bout Love,” in October.
This success came at almost the exact moment that Sabbath’s long-delayed
Warner Bros. Records album, Never Say Die, appeared in record stores.
Unfortunately for Sabbath, Van Halen’s newfound status as the label’s darlings
helped make Sabbath an afterthought in Burbank. Geezer Butler recalled,
“Warner Bros. was losing interest in us as well. They were putting all this money
into Van Halen and completely ignored us. Warner Bros. had this party for us
for when Never Say Die was coming out. We got to the party, and nobody knows
who we are. They weren’t going to let us in at first. We got in, and they were
playing Bob Marley, because nobody liked Sabbath.” Ozzy summed things up by
saying: “The record company didn’t give a damn for us.”[ 685 ]
Meanwhile, Van Halen built on their success by winning over audiences,
night after night. Van Halen “supported” Sabbath by playing for as long as fifty-
five minutes, which allowed them to perform most of Van Halen, along with a
couple of tracks slated for their next album. All three instrumentalists took a turn
in the spotlight by playing brief but intense solos: Anthony’s bass notes rumbled
out of the speaker like an avalanche, which he punctuated by stomping on a
wah-wah pedal. Alex flailed away within a flashing strobe light before appearing
to be playing in a ring of fire, courtesy of blazing drumsticks dipped in tiki-torch
fluid. Edward, during his frenzied and mind-boggling renditions of “Eruption,”
wowed audiences by fucking his amps, Hendrix style, while feedback poured
from the speakers.
Roth, too, had raised his game. While he’d started the tour wearing black
leather biker pants and platforms onstage, by July he’d begun performing in tight
striped pants and Capezios, all the better to allow him to conduct his death-
defying aerial leaps and Russian toe-touches from the drum riser. In the last few
minutes of the set, they’d launch into an extended jam during “You Really Got
Me,” which saw all the band members banging on Alex’s drums. Roth then
wrapped things up by spraying champagne into the crowd before dumping it
over his own head.[ 686 ] Pete Angelus, who worked with Roth to script the
show, comments, “Dave’s intention was to throw a big party every night, and
that’s exactly what they did.”
This kind of showmanship started to wear on Sabbath. Somewhere on tour,
Iommi talked Osbourne into dressing down the Pasadena quartet for their over-
the-top stage show. After a wasted Osbourne cornered them, they inquired,
“Why are you yelling at us?” The addled Osbourne had no answer, since he
couldn’t recollect the conversation he’d just had with Iommi.[ 687 ]
The Van Halen camp, like the members of Sabbath, understood that the
balance of power had shifted. Edward recalled, “That was our first tour. We
were doing anything and everything we’d ever read about and then some. We
were kind of a double-edged sword to them I guess. We forced them to have to
rise to the occasion to follow us.”[ 688 ] Berle’s take is that by the fall, a spent
Sabbath couldn’t rise to the occasion. “The Sabbath tour was great. All those
shows were just phenomenal. Eventually no band wanted Van Halen to open for
them, because they couldn’t follow Van Halen.”

A few weeks later, Sabbath and Van Halen found themselves trudging through
the American South. Back at the hotel after the November 8 show in
Birmingham, Roth and Ozzy stayed up all night in a fifteenth floor room,
snorting enough cocaine to stop the hearts of a half-dozen men. The next
morning, they were still at it, almost up to the moment they needed to leave to
travel to Nashville. Roth and Ozzy declared an armistice in their “Krell War,” as
Roth dubbed it in his autobiography, around 9:30 a.m. and climbed aboard their
respective buses.[ 689 ]
Once they’d arrived in the Music City, a red-eyed Ozzy staggered off
Sabbath’s bus with the key from the previous night’s hotel room still in hand.
After glancing at the tag, he headed for the fifteenth floor. Ozzy explained, “I’d
been on a run for about three or four days of not sleeping … I put my hand in
my pocket and I pulled out the key … I look at this number on the key ring, and
the maid’s just coming out. I go in.”[ 690 ] Ozzy slammed the door and
collapsed on the bed. Down on the sixth floor, Ozzy’s actual hotel room
remained unoccupied.
As the bands prepared for the night’s performance, everyone began asking
about Ozzy. “So we’re supposed to do soundcheck,” Edward recollected, “and
nobody could find him.”[ 691 ] Angelus says, “I actually remember seeing him
get off the bus and wander across the street to the hotel. I thought, He’s going to
get something to eat, because everyone scatters when they get off the bus.” No one
else had seen him since.
In the meantime, a sold-out crowd of 9,800 fans began filing into the arena.
[ 692 ] By now, Nashville police detectives had begun searching for Ozzy,
fearing that he might have been kidnapped or become “the victim of some other
form of foul play.”[ 693 ] Angelus says, “What I remember is all the commotion.
Where is he? What are we going to do? We were just in a holding pattern. Did we
find him? Are we going onstage?” Eventually, Van Halen went on, not knowing if
Sabbath would follow them.
When Van Halen finished, two members of Sabbath appeared in the
dressing room, asking Roth if he might consider substituting for Osbourne.
Roth demurred, saying that he didn’t know Sabbath’s lyrics.[ 694 ]
 After an hour, some poor soul appeared onstage and announced that
Sabbath wouldn’t play and that the show would be rescheduled for the coming
Sunday, November 12, which had been an off-day. Nathan Craddock, who was
in the audience, recollects that this didn’t go over well: “Needless to say, the
place went fairly well apeshit. You must remember, this was not a canceled
Pavarotti show. Somebody threw a fire extinguisher at one of the drum sets;
people were chucking implements at the glass that surrounded the entire arena. I
remember one guy kicking a trash can down the hallway, yelling and screaming,
seriously pissed off.”[ 695 ]
Early the next morning, Ozzy rejoined the living. “Next thing I know,” he
explained in 2010, “I wake up and I’m going, ‘Wow, that was a good
[sleep.]’”[ 696 ] When he finally reappeared, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Angelus recollects, “I remember everyone saying, ‘They found Ozzy! He’s alive!
He’s alive!’”

In the last few weeks of the tour, Van Halen shined as Sabbath faded away.
Ozzy explained the effect this dynamic had on his band: “They did a whole
world tour with us and we were very demoralized in ourselves because they were
so good every night.”[ 697 ] Butler’s take was that his band was in the process of
“just dying” after years of success.[ 698 ] Ozzy, to his credit, makes no excuses
about how Sabbath’s run with Van Halen actually played out: “They blew us off
the stage every night. It was so embarrassing. We were having a lot of trouble
with drugs and didn’t have the fire anymore. Those guys were young and
hungry. They kicked our asses, but it convinced me of two things: my days with
Black Sabbath were over, and Van Halen was going to be a very successful
band.”[ 699 ]

On December 3, Van Halen’s nine-month tour in support of their debut album

came to an end in San Diego. During that stretch of time they’d performed
approximately 180 shows in eight different countries, in front of crowds as small
as a few hundred people to as large as eighty-thousand-plus. They’d also seen
their career fortunes radically transformed. On the first night of the tour back in
March, almost nobody in Chicago had heard of Van Halen. When they got back
to Pasadena in early December, they’d become international stars.
Perhaps the best indicator of that success came in the form of record sales.
After peaking at No. 19 on the Billboard Top LP & Tape chart, Van Halen
remained among the two hundred bestselling albums for an astounding 169
straight weeks. Along with earning platinum status in America, Van Halen had
sold two million albums worldwide by November.[ 700 ]
While the cocky Roth may have had no doubts that Van Halen would
succeed, Edward recalled his surprise at Van Halen’s breakout, explaining to
Steven Rosen that “with the first one” he “had no idea” that it would be a hit.
[ 701 ] But as the album gained traction, Van Halen’s whirlwind tour and
growing commercial triumph made things a hell of a lot of fun. Edward told the
Dayton Daily News in 1995 that he remembered feeling “very excited” and “a lot
of energy” as the band climbed the ladder of success. He summarized the course
of events by saying, “Songs that we’ve been playing in the clubs for years —
finally got ’em on a record, and had no idea what was gonna happen. Just went
out and toured the world for eleven months, and came back and had a double-
platinum record!”[ 702 ]
 Edward Van Halen visits the Velasco home in Pasadena, California, 1979. JAN VELASCO KOSHAREK

Still, not all the news was good. After looking over the band’s books, the
four musicians learned that they owed Warner Bros. Records a huge sum of
money, this despite selling over two million records and gigging incessantly.
Edward explained that Van Halen had “toured the world. We did twenty-five
shows in twenty-six days in England and we were still owing Warner Brothers a
million bucks.”[ 703 ] What the band apparently didn’t understand until after
the tour was over was that Warner Bros. had been advancing the band money for
tour support. However unfair the terms of the arrangement, Warner Bros.
Records had bankrolled Van Halen’s year of success, and now it was time for the
band to start paying the company back.
From the standpoint of history, of course, the liabilities Van Halen had accrued
to their record label in support of their debut delivered a huge return to the
band. They’d made millions of fans all over the world thanks to their explosive
stage show. They’d also made the smart decision to hold on to the publishing
rights for their songs, which would help to make them all rich down the road.
Indeed, the royalties for Van Halen have been anything but insignificant, as the
album has sold more than ten million copies since its release. In the final
analysis, Van Halen — arguably the greatest debut in rock history — laid a
foundation for success that would make David Lee Roth and Edward Van Halen
household names and make their band one of the biggest in rock history. Who
wouldn’t take that in exchange for a 1.2-million-dollar loan?
 AFTERWORD
After Van Halen returned to Los Angeles, there was no rest for the weary. Just a
week after the last date of their 1978 tour, the Pasadena quartet once again
entered Sunset Sound Studios to record their second album. With a 1.2-million-
dollar debt in the balance, Warner Bros. Records now had the leverage to keep
Van Halen on a relentless “album-tour” cycle, one that would continue for the
original lineup through 1984.
Despite the band’s abundance of original material, Edward worried about
following up their platinum debut. “I was very scared at the end of 1978,” he told
Circus. “We were sitting in England near the end of the tour, and I’m saying,
‘Hey guys, we’ve got another album to do when we get home.’ And they’re
saying, ‘Aww, don’t worry about it.’ And I’m sitting there, knowing that I’ve
gotta write the goddamn music. I’m going, Oh my God, how am I going to do
it?”[ 704 ]

In the end, Edward and the others delivered. Spearheaded by the Top 20 pop-
metal smash “Dance the Night Away,” Van Halen II rocketed to gold status two
weeks after its March 1979 release and went platinum by the end of May.[ 705 ]
The band, eager to build on the momentum they’d generated on the road in
1978, supported the LP with another triumphant, barnstorming world tour.
Van Halen’s success continued in the years that followed. The band’s next
three albums — Women and Children First (1980), Fair Warning (1981), and
Diver Down (1982) — also went platinum, thanks in no small part to Van
Halen’s spectacular and successful arena tours.
But the apex of the original lineup’s success came in 1984. 1984 topped out
at No. 2 on the Billboard album chart. It sold four million copies by October of
that year, and every date on the group’s North American tour sold out.[ 706 ]
Van Halen proved to be a band capable of writing a timeless pop hit as well,
after the synth-driven “Jump” hit No. 1 in the spring of 1984. That album’s
success encouraged their new fans to seek out Van Halen’s older releases, which
propelled the band’s debut back into the Billboard Top 200 albums six years after
its release. In total, their album-catalog sales numbered twelve million by the
time the year came to a close.[ 707 ]
 The quartet had also hit their peak cultural influence. With Van Halen
videos in heavy MTV rotation and Van Halen music topping the charts, David
Lee Roth and Edward Van Halen achieved a level of fame that few rock
musicians ever experience. Roth became rock’s ultimate frontman, flamboyant
and funny, athletic and charismatic. Likewise, Edward’s virtuosity and creativity
made him the world’s most admired rock guitarist. After years of work,
stretching back to their backyard party days, 1984 was Van Halen’s moment.

Van Halen’s enormous success went far in guaranteeing that the band’s influence
on heavy metal would be deep and wide. The band’s lead singer never tired of
observing how Van Halen had changed the rules of the metal game in 1978. He
said, “We were one of the first to pioneer the short song in heavy rock … At the
time we started making records, everybody was blasting off on ten-minute guitar
excursions, then sing another verse, then have your organ solo. That was your
traditional heavy metal.”[ 708 ] Roth’s enthusiasm for revisiting this point, no
doubt, grew out of his awareness that he was the driving force in shaping this
aspect of the band’s sound.
Still, what Roth referred to as traditional heavy metal, after being left for
dead in the late 1970s, soon enjoyed a rebirth. Denim and leather, power and
volume, and arena-sized spectacle, all powered by razor-sharp riffs and
thunderous beats, came back into vogue by 1980.
Notably, bands that had fallen short of chart success in 1978 finally broke
through. For example, AC/DC followed up the Top 20 Highway to Hell (1979)
with the blockbuster Back in Black (1980), an album that would sell five million
copies by the end of 1984.[ 709 ] The Scorpions, likewise, achieved gold and
platinum success with Blackout (1982) and Love at First Sting (1984).[ 710 ] And
after scoring a hit with British Steel in 1980, Judas Priest posted back-to-back
Top 20 albums with Screaming for Vengeance (1982) and Defenders of the Faith
(1984).[ 711 ]
As the genre’s cultural power grew, Van Halen’s guitarist and singer went to
pains to argue that their band differed from these metal acts. “I don’t consider us
to be heavy metal,” Edward noted. “The people who do obviously can’t get
beyond the trappings. They don’t go beyond the volume and listen to what’s
really happening … when I think of heavy metal, I think of AC/DC and Judas
Priest and Black Sabbath. I just can’t see where we fit into that slot.”[ 712 ] Roth,
too, observed that while Van Halen’s acrobatic guitar lines, pounding bottom
end, and scream-punctuated vocals mirrored elements offered up by metal bands,
Van Halen wasn’t such an act. “If you have long hair and wear tight pants,” he
added, “you’re qualified heavy metal.”[ 713 ]
To be sure, Van Halen wasn’t a traditional heavy metal band in this sense.
But Van Halen’s “big rock” formula, as laid out on the band’s debut and the five
LPs that followed, provided a roadmap to pop-metal success in the 1980s.
Indeed, an entire generation of MTV-ready “glam rock” bands (Mötley Crüe,
White Lion, Ratt, Poison, Autograph, Loudness, Warrant, Quiet Riot,
BulletBoys, and Dokken, just to name a few) borrowed heavily from Van Halen
in bids to top the Billboard charts and become video superstars. Whether it was
Dokken’s Van Halen–styled harmonies (“In My Dreams”), Ratt’s recycled
Edward-riffs (“Round and Round”), or Autograph’s Van Halen–inspired lead
vocal and lead guitar performances (“Turn Up the Radio”), Van Halen–animated
songcraft proved to be the secret of success for these bands.
In an even starker demonstration of Van Halen’s influence, even 1970s
heavy metal pioneers — Roth’s traditionalists — followed the Van Halen recipe
to one degree or another in the 1980s. Consider Teutonic metal masters Accept.
In an effort to break big in America, Accept offered up the radio-friendly Metal
Heart in 1985. On the album’s title track, guitarist Wolf Hoffmann paid tribute
to “Eruption” via a storming, unaccompanied solo piece. Accept also gave
listeners “Screaming for a Love Bite,” a song with a hook that sounds straight
out of the Edward Van Halen playbook.
Not to be outdone, in 1986 Judas Priest released Turbo, an album that saw
the guitar-centric band follow in Van Halen’s footsteps by adding synthesizers to
their instrumental attack. Synths aside, listen to Priest’s “Parental Guidance”
with an ear for Van Halen. It’s a song that shamelessly borrows Edward’s pre-
chorus and outro guitar riffs from “Jump.”
Then there’s KISS, which, in an effort to stay relevant, produced one of the
decade’s most egregious examples of Van Halen plagiarism (an accomplishment
that should not be minimized) on 1987’s Crazy Nights. On “No, No, No,” Bruce
Kulick introduces the track by mimicking “Eruption.” His speedy licks segue
into a “Hot for Teacher”–style shuffle, featuring a Gene Simmons vocal
performance that’s reminiscent of the distinctive style of a singer he’d
“discovered” back in 1976.
In another sign of Van Halen’s influence, Edward’s innovative playing
became an aspirational standard for guitar heroes in training. After his incredible
fretwork sent shock waves through the guitar world, tens of thousands of players
hunkered down with Van Halen on their turntables in an effort to bring their
playing up to par, a sequence repeated with the release of each successive Van
Halen album. By 1984, there was an army of rock guitarists wielding Edward
Van Halen–styled guitars and playing Edward Van Halen–inspired riffs.
By the early 1980s, this type of adulation and inspiration manifested itself in
shred guitar, a lead guitar style wholly centered upon the technical mastery of the
instrument. Luminaries who attempted to take up Edward’s gauntlet included
L.A. guitarist Randy Rhoads (who was tragically killed in a plane crash in 1982
while playing in Ozzy Osbourne’s band), Swedish neo-classicist Yngwie
Malmsteen, and the Grammy-nominated Joe Satriani. Not surprisingly, David
Lee Roth, the individual perhaps most aware of the scale of Edward’s heroics,
hired two of shred’s most talented players, Steve Vai and Jason Becker, for some
of his most successful post–Van Halen solo albums.
In fact, Edward’s distinctive playing became so influential in the 1980s that
it even caught the attention of musicians and producers working outside of the
rock genre. This trend began in 1982 when R&B/pop megastar Michael Jackson
and producer Quincy Jones invited Edward to lay down a guitar solo on
Jackson’s “Beat It.” The song’s massive success and significant crossover appeal
encouraged other artists to follow the King of Pop’s lead, and soon acrobatic
guitar solos — formerly the sole province of heavy rock — came to be heard on
tunes like Michael Sembello’s 1983 hit “Maniac” and Janet Jackson’s 1990 smash
“Black Cat.” In sum, “guitar solo” had become shorthand for “Edward Van
Halen–style guitar solo,” even on pop and R&B songs.

Ultimately, Van Halen’s place in rock history had been carved in stone long
before the band entered its fifth decade of existence. Since 1978, Van Halen —
in all its iterations — has sold more than 80 million records worldwide. This
accomplishment includes two albums with Roth (Van Halen and 1984) that have
sold 10 million copies each in the US alone, a feat matched by only four other
rock acts. And A Different Kind of Truth, which saw Roth sing for Van Halen
once again, has sold more than half a million copies worldwide since its February
2012 release, a remarkably strong performance in an era when album sales have
collapsed across the industry.[ 714 ]
Still, no one should forget that this monumental success and lasting
influence grew from the band’s unparalleled work ethic and growing self-
confidence during its years as an unsigned act. In the face of smug dismissals of
their talent and marketability, Van Halen persevered. Explaining how the band
stayed self-assured in the face of criticism, Edward summarized: “Especially in
our dues-paying days, when people would say we were undisciplined and had no
commercial potential, a lot of club owners wouldn’t touch us with a ten-foot
pole. But our attitude was, ‘Fuck you, we’re good and we know it.’”[ 715 ]
But in the end, what made Van Halen not just good, but great, was the
synergism that made the whole greater than the sum of its parts. Without David
Lee Roth, Alex and Edward Van Halen might have become the world’s most
gifted heavy metal musicians, but then again, they might never have transcended
the San Gabriel Valley music scene. Roth, too, might have become a great song-
and-dance man, but without Edward’s songwriting and virtuosity, it’s unlikely
that he would have become a rock legend. Without Michael Anthony’s
spectacular background vocals, it’s difficult to imagine that Van Halen, in
whatever form the band might have taken, would have developed the classic Van
Halen sound, with its undeniable pop appeal.
In the final analysis, it’s self-evident that the four original members gave rise
to a band that by 1978 was capable of producing greatness both onstage and on
vinyl. But the seeds of that greatness stem from a time long before the band
played arenas and produced platinum records. They took root in places like
Hamilton Park and John Muir High School, in backyards and biker bars, in
improvised concert halls and Sunset Strip hotspots. They sprouted out of
practice sessions filled with everything from Black Sabbath and James Brown
covers to proto-metal originals and future Van Halen hit singles. They
flourished in the face of spectacular audition failures and apparent career dead
ends. And yet, Van Halen had grown into something magical long before
anyone outside of Los Angeles had been let in on the secret. But today every
rock fan knows: You can’t get this stuff no more.
 AUTHOR INTERVIEWS

Larry Abajian Jeff Austin Addison Art Agajanian

Mark Algorri Tom Allen Dana Anderson

Doug Anderson Lorraine Anderson Rusty Anderson

Pete Angelus Michael Anthony Gary Baca

Nicky Beat Ric Bennewate Marshall Berle

Joe Berman Iris Berry Lisa Berryman

Paul Blomeyer Bobby Blotzer Victor Bornia

Brian Box Rob Broderick Tom Broderick

Steve Bruen Jim Burger Peter Burke

Carol Doupe' Patti Fujii

Jeff Burkhardt
Canterbury Carberry

Vincent Carberry Joe Carducci Dennis Catron

Dean Chamberlain Nancy Christensen Lori Cifarelli

Billy Cioffi Holly Clearman Mike Cochrane

Hernando
Dave Connor Harry Conway
Courtright

George Courville, Jr. Myles Crawley John Crooymans

Mike Crowley Renee Cummings

 Beverly Daugherty

Rodney Davey Martha Davis Audie Desbrow

Dave DiMartino Pete Dougherty John Driscoll

Richard M. Ealy Bruce Fernandez Scott Finnell

Janice Pirre
Kim Fowley Jackie Fox
Francis

Taylor Freeland Paul Fry Kevin Gallagher

Richard Garbaccio Mary Garson Mike Gillin

Tommy Girvin Lisa Christine Glave Joni Gleason

Susan Schops Gliedman Juliana Gondek Tracy “G” Grijalva

Doug Guenther Lee Gutenberg Charlie Gwyn

Carl Haasis Rob Haerr Steve Hall

Greg Hardin Mike Harker Bobby Hatch

Leonard Haze Eric Hensel Tom Hensley

Bill Hermes Dan Hernandez Jeff Hershey

Chris Holmes Sonny Hughes Jose Hurtado

Debbie Imler
Denis Imler Karen Imler
McDermott

Cary Irwin Bob James Craig Jameson

Michael Jensen Freddie Johnson Randy Jones

Michael Kelley Mark Kendall David Kiles

Shiloh
Terry Kilgore Bruce Kim
Kleinschmit

Chris Koenig Miles Komora Richard Kymala

Jon Laidig Donn Landee Allen Lane

Scott Lasken Roni Lee Chris Legg

Greg Leon Randy Linscott Larry Logsdon

Debbie Hannaford
Steve Loucks George Lynch
Lorenz

Dana MacDuff Dave Macias Matt Marquisee

Rafael Marti Bill Matsumoto Bill Maxwell

Marsha Maxwell Michael McCarthy Forrest McDonald

Tim McGovern Richard McKernan Kim Miller

Mario Miranda Loren Molinare Ann Moorman

Ron Morgan Doug Morris Jim Mosley

Dennis Neugebauer Mike Nichols Gary Nissley

Valerie Evans Noel John Nyman Kevin O’Hagan

Susan Okuno Wally Olney Gary Ostby

Nicky Panicci Maria Parkinson George Perez

David Perry Brent Pettit Jim Pewsey

Matt Phillips Steve Plunkett Jim Poore

Mark Poynter Gloria Prosper Gary Putman

Joe Ramsey Randy Rand George Rangel

Scott Reese Roger Renick Joanne Resnick

Angelo Roman, Jr. Don Ross Janet Ross

Allison Roth Scott McLean Rowe Ben Rushing

Tim Ryerson Werner Schuchner Tony Scott

David Shelton Drake Shining Dan Simcox

Donny Simmons Jeff Simons Emmitt Siniard

Patti Smith Sutlick Dana Spoonerow Jim Steinwedell

Nancy Stout Steve Sturgis Danny Sullivan

David Swanson David Swantek Stanley Swantek

Mark Swenston Fred Taccone Brian Tannehill

Gary Taylor Dan Teckenoff Ted Templeman

Steven Tetsch Steve Tortomasi Jeff Touchie

Dennis Travis Tim Tullio Bill Urkopina

Jack Van Furche' Dirk Van Tatenhove Bill Velasco

Jan Velasco Ross Velasco Terry Vilsack

Robert Vogel Chuck Wada Scott Waller

Leslie Ward-Speers John Warren Dave Weiderman

Cheri Whitaker Michael White Fred Whittlesey

Liz Dollar Wiley Joe Wilson Peter Wilson

Dave Wittman Mike Wolf Alan Wood

Jim Wright Taylor Yewell Cindy Yrigollen

Neil Zlozower Monte Zufelt

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 ENDNOTES

INTRODUCTION
[ 1.] Steven Traiman and Robert Roth, “Wall Street: Mixed Music View,”
Billboard, 8 October 1977, 8.
[ 2.] Richard Robinson, “Punk Rock at the Edge of Commercial
Breakthrough,” Valley News (Van Nuys, CA), 20 November 1977.
[ 3.] Peter Shapiro, Turn the Beat Around: The Secret History of Disco (New
York: Faber and Faber, 2005), 214; Alice Echols, Hot Stuff: Disco and the
Remaking of American Culture (New York: W.W. Norton, 2010), 195–198.
[ 4.] Mark Mehler, “Will Disco Be the Death of Rock?” Circus, 16 January
1979, 34.
[ 5.] Brett Ermilio and Josh Levine, Going Platinum: KISS, Donna Summer,
and How Neil Bogart Built Casablanca Records (London: Rowman & Littlefield,
2014), 139–140.
[ 6.] Rick Johnson, “Is Heavy Metal Dead?” Creem, October 1979, 42–46.
[ 7.] Robert Smith, “Will Heavy Metal Survive the Seventies?” Circus, 11 May
1978, 27–28; David Fricke, “Why Are Rockers Going Disco?” Circus, 13
March 1979, 31.
[ 8.] Sylvie Simmons, “The California Jam Festival,” Sounds, 8 April 1978,
accessed 14 October 2014 (login required),
http://www.rocksbackpages.com/Library/Article/the-california-jam-festival.
[ 9.] Lester Bangs, “Heavy Metal: The Sinal Folution,” Hit Parader, March
1978, 57.
[ 10.] John Shearlaw, Van Halen: Jumpin’ for the Dollar (Port Chester, N.Y.:
Cherry Lane Books, 1984), 17.
[ 11.] Robert Hilburn, “Homegrown Punk-Rock Blossoming,” Los Angeles
Times, 4 January 1977.
[ 12.] “Van Halen Has Enthusiasm,” Salina (Kansas) Journal, 28 May 1978.
[ 13.] Robert Christgau, “Van Halen,” Robert Christgau, accessed 16 October
2014, http://robertchristgau.com/get_artist.php?id=1646&name=Van+Halen.
[ 14.] Richard Riegel, “Van Halen,” Creem, June 1978, 61.
[ 15.] Steve Esmedina, “This Week’s Concerts,” San Diego Reader, 6 July 1978.
[ 16.] “Van Halen,” Allmusic, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.allmusic.com/artist/van-halen-mn0000260206/awards.
[ 17.] “Billboard Top LP & Tape,” Billboard, 18 March 1978, 90–92.
[ 18.] Joe Bonomo, Highway to Hell (London: Continuum International
Publishing, 2010), 4; “Powerage,” RIAA Searchable Database, accessed 14
October 2014, http://www.riaa.com/goldandplatinumdata.php?
table=SEARCH.
[ 19.] Emily White, “Judas Priest Debut at No. 1 on Top Rock Albums,
Billboard, 18 July 2014, http://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/chart-
beat/6165345/judas-priest-debut-no-1-top-rock-albums; “Stained Class,”
RIAA Searchable Database, accessed 14 October 2014,
http://www.riaa.com/goldandplatinumdata.php?table=SEARCH.
[ 20.] “Scorpions,” RIAA Searchable Database, accessed 14 October 2014,
http://www.riaa.com/goldandplatinumdata.php?table=SEARCH.
[ 21.] Richard E. Caves, Creative Industries: Contracts Between Art and
Commerce (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001), 61–62.
CHAPTER ONE: BEGINNINGS
[ 22.] John Albert, “Running with the Devil: A Lifetime of Van Halen,” Slake
Los Angeles, accessed 22 June 2013, http://slake.la/features/running-with-the-
devil-a-lifetime-of-van-halen.
[ 23.] Jan Van Halen Certificate of Death, in author’s possession; “Alex Van
Halen,” Drummerworld, accessed 16 May 2012,
http://www.drummerworld.com/drummers/Alex_Van_Halen.html.
[ 24.] Debby Miller, “Van Halen’s Split Personality,” Rolling Stone, 21 June
1984, 28; Ian Christe, Everybody Wants Some: The Van Halen Saga (Hoboken,
N.J., John Wiley & Sons, 2007), 7.
[ 25.] Jas Obrecht, “The Van Halen Tapes: Early Eddie, 1978–1982,” Best of
Guitar Player: Van Halen, March 1993, 8.
[ 26.] Van Halen, “Van Halen Interviews,” YouTube, 8 July 2015,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfW4O0IKM_U.
[ 27.] Obrecht, “The Van Halen Tapes,” 8; Van Halen, “Van Halen
Interviews.”
[ 28.] Mike Boehm, “No Method to Their Madness,” Los Angeles Times, 5
September 1991.
[ 29.] Mark Rowland, “Twilight of the Guitar Gods?” Musician, March 1995,
45.
[ 30.] Christe, Everybody Wants Some, 8.
[ 31.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Dan Hedges, Eddie Van Halen (New
York: Vintage Books, 1986), 17.
[ 32.] Alex Van Halen quoted in Gordon Matthews, Van Halen (New York:
Ballantine Books, 1984), 11.
[ 33.] “Alex Van Halen,” Drummerworld; Chris Gill, “Cast a Giant Shadow,”
Guitar World, Anniversary Issue 2010, 50.
[ 34.] “Alex Van Halen,” Drummerworld; Kevin Starr, California: A History
(New York: Modern Library, 2007), 242; Kirse Granat May, Golden State,
Golden Youth: The California Image in Popular Culture, 1955–1966 (Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2002), 12.
[ 35.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 18.
[ 36.] Pasadena City Directories, 1962–1968, Pasadena Public Library,
Pasadena, California, research courtesy of Michael Kelley; Peter B. King,
“Eddie Van Halen is Obsessed With His Art,” Doylestown (Pennsylvania)
Intelligencer, 28 July 1988.
[ 37.] Pasadena City Directories, 1962–1968.
[ 38.] King, “Eddie Van Halen.”
[ 39.] King, “Eddie Van Halen.”
[ 40.] King, “Eddie Van Halen.”
[ 41.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 17.
[ 42.] Boehm, “No Method to Their Madness.”
[ 43.] Pasadena City Directories, 1962 and 1963; Michael Kelley, email to
author, 18 February 2010.
[ 44.] Boehm, “No Method to Their Madness.”
[ 45.] Boehm, “No Method to Their Madness.”
[ 46.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Kevin Dodds, Edward Van Halen: A
Definitive Biography (Bloomington, Indiana: iUniverse), 9.
[ 47.] Jan and Eugenia Van Halen Joint Tenancy Grant Deed, in author’s
possession; Title Information, 1881 Las Lunas Street, in author’s possession.
[ 48.] Brad Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen (Milwaukee:
Backbeat Books, 2010), 86.
[ 49.] Boehm, “No Method to Their Madness.”
[ 50.] Jas Obrecht, ed., Masters of Heavy Metal (New York: Quill, 1984), 150.
[ 51.] F. C. Anderson, “People Talk,” Long Beach Independent, 28 January
1976.
[ 52.] Carl Matthes, email to Michael Kelley, 15 February 2010.
[ 53.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 87.
[ 54.] Alex Van Halen quoted in J. D. Considine, Van Halen! (New York:
Quill, 1985), 22.
[ 55.] Steven Rosen, “The True Beginnings,” Classic Rock, December 2005, 44.
[ 56.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 18.
[ 57.] Alex Van Halen quoted in Philip Bashe, Heavy Metal Thunder: The
Music, Its History, Its Heroes (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1985), 131.
[ 58.] Alex Van Halen quoted in Considine, Van Halen!, 23.
[ 59.] Steve Baltin, “Eddie Van Halen Dismisses Jimi Hendrix Comparisons,”
Spinner, 16 March 2009, archived copy accessed 9 July 2015,
http://www.vhnd.com/2009/03/17/eddie-van-halen-dismisses-jimi-hendrix-
comparisons/.
[ 60.] Matthews, Van Halen, 12.
[ 61.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Considine, Van Halen!, 29.
[ 62.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession. Leiren
recalled that the band he saw at Marshall was Genesis. But at the time, Leiren
was in seventh grade. Edward, a year older than Leiren, was in eighth grade.
Edward’s eighth-grade year stretched from 1968 to 1969, approximately two
years before Genesis formed.
[ 63.] Gill, “Cast a Giant Shadow,” 50.
[ 64.] Miller, “Van Halen’s Split Personality,” 28.
[ 65.] Christe, Everybody Wants Some, 12.
[ 66.] David Lee Roth, Crazy from the Heat (New York: Hyperion, 1997), 27.
[ 67.] Nancy Collins, “David Lee Roth: The Rolling Stone Interview,” Rolling
Stone, 11 April 1985, 24.
[ 68.] Charles M. Young, “Van Halen,” Musician, June 1984, 50.
[ 69.] Collins, “David Lee Roth,” 24.
[ 70.] Van Halen, “The Van Halen Interview (Full Length),” YouTube, 8
March 2012, accessed 8 July 2015, http://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=UOTidtqG-Ko; Fred Trietsch, “Van Halen, Short and Sweet,” The
Drummer (Philadelphia), 4 April 1978.
[ 71.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 29.
[ 72.] David Lee Roth quoted in Christe, Everybody Wants Some, 14.
[ 73.] Matthews, Van Halen, 15; Redbeard, “In the Studio: 20th Anniversary
of Van Halen,” In the Studio with Redbeard, 1998, in author’s possession; Tim
Ingham, “David Lee Roth,” Metro, 27 October 2009, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://metro.co.uk/2009/10/27/david-lee-roth-636705/.
[ 74.] Jane Rocca, “What I Know About Women,” Brisbane Times, 7 April
2013, accessed 8 July 2015, http://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/lifestyle/what-i-
know-about-women-20130403-2h66p.html.
[ 75.] Rocca, “What I Know About Women.”
[ 76.] Van Halen, “Van Halen Interviews.”
[ 77.] Ann Scheid Lund, Historic Pasadena: An Illustrated History (San
Antonio: Historical Publishing Network, 1999), 179; Carter Barber, “Pasadena
Busing Improves,” (Pasadena) Star-News, 15 September 1970; Vincent
Carberry, email to author, 16 September 2014.
[ 78.] Considine, Van Halen!, 27–28.
[ 79.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 27.
[ 80.] Sandra Gurvis, “‘Diamond Dave’: Rock ’n’ Roll’s Jester,” Providence
Journal, 16 January 1987.
[ 81.] Dennis Travis, email to Michael Kelley, 26 July 2010.
[ 82.] Dennis Travis, email to Michael Kelley, 26 July 2010.
[ 83.] Jeff Hausman, “Growing Up with the Van Halens,” The Inside, spring
1995, 10.
[ 84.] Dennis Travis, email to author, 12 September 2014.
[ 85.] For more on Jan’s accident, see Eddie Van Halen, “How Eddie Van
Halen Hacks a Guitar,” Popular Mechanics, 19 May 2015,
http://www.popularmechanics.com/technology/a15615/how-eddie-van-halen-
hacks-a-guitar/.
[ 86.] Bill Maxwell, interview by author.
[ 87.] Music for Everyone receipt, 15 August 1969, in author’s possession.
[ 88.] Dennis Travis, email to author, 12 September 2014.
[ 89.] Dennis Travis, email to Michael Kelley, 26 July 2010.
[ 90.] Dennis Travis, email to author, 12 September 2014.
[ 91.] Don Ross, emails to author, 11 January 2010 and 27 July 2011.
[ 92.] Sleazegrinder, “Desert Rats,” Classic Rock, October 2006, 55.
CHAPTER TWO: THE GENESIS OF MAMMOTH
[ 93.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 92.
[ 94.] Mark Stone, interview by Michael Kelley, 6 June 2010, in author’s
possession; Cheri Whitaker, interview by author; John Driscoll, email to
author, 28 January 2010.
[ 95.] Mark Stone, interview by Michael Kelley, in author’s possession.
[ 96.] Doug Fox, “15 Years On: Eddie Van Halen Interview Revisited,” Van
Halen News Desk, 8 July 2013, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.vhnd.com/2013/07/08/15-years-on-eddie-van-halen-interview-
revisted/.
[ 97.] Steven Rosen, “On Fire,” Guitar World, March 2003, 60.
[ 98.] “Talent in Action,” Billboard, 19 February 1972, 16; Paul Fry, interview
by author.
[ 99.] John Driscoll, “Tales from Old Pasadena,” The Inside, summer 1997, 8.
[ 100.] Paul Fry, interview by author.
[ 101.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
CHAPTER THREE: THE ADVENTURES OF RED BALL JET
[ 102.] David Wild, “Balancing Act,” Rolling Stone, 6 April 1995, 46.
[ 103.] Wild, “Balancing Act,” 46.
[ 104.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 46.
[ 105.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 46.
[ 106.] Dana Anderson, email to author, 22 February 2010.
[ 107.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 46.
[ 108.] Andy Secher, “The Wild Bunch,” Hit Parader, September 1981, 4.
[ 109.] Young, “Van Halen,” 50.
[ 110.] Kristopher Doe, “Van Halen Announces Tour,”
You Know You Are from Old School Pasadena When, Facebook, 31 December
2011, accessed 8 July 2015,
https://facebook.com/groups/113883598710531/180945635337660/?
comment_id=183246871774203&offset=0&total_comments=57#_=_.
[ 111.] David Fricke, “Van Halen Hosts Rock’s Biggest Party of ’79, and
You’re Invited,” Circus, 24 July 1979, 32.
[ 112.] Gary Taylor, interview by author.
[ 113.] Miles Komora, email to author, 7 June 2012.
[ 114.] Jim Pewsey, interview by author.
[ 115.] George Perez, interview by author.
[ 116.] Mel Serrano, “You Know You’re a Sierra Madre Kid When,”
Facebook, 27 November 2009, accessed 8 July 2015,
https://www.facebook.com/groups/2204894695/permalink/101502178
30199696/?
comment_id=10150217830574696&offset=0&total_comments=8&comment_track
ing=%7B%22tn%22%3A%22R%22%7D.
[ 117.] Eliot Sekuler, “Van Halen Wild and Wonderful,” Hit Parader,
September 1982, 7.
[ 118.] Ron Hunt, “Van Halen: Too Hot to Handle,” Hit Parader, August
1984, 16.
[ 119.] Philip Bashe, “Van Halen’s Teen Hearts,” Circus, 31 July 1981, 45.
[ 120.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 60–61.
[ 121.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 60.
[ 122.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 61.
[ 123.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 124.] Fricke, “Van Halen Hosts Rock’s Biggest Party,” 32.
[ 125.] Sonny Hughes, interview by author.
[ 126.] Dan Hernandez, interview by author; Miles Komora, interview by
author; Gary Taylor, interview by author.
[ 127.] Roth, who was an Alice Cooper fan, was likely inspired here by a
spring 1972 publicity stunt cooked up by Cooper and his manager, Shep
Gordon. During the run up to Cooper’s June 30 show in London, a flatbed
truck hauling a billboard of Cooper, naked except for a snake wrapped his
torso, “broke down” in Piccadilly Circus. See Ruth Blatt, “When Compassion
And Profit Go Together: The Case Of Alice Cooper’s Manager
Shep Gordon,” Forbes, 13 June 2014,
http://www.forbes.com/sites/ruthblatt/2014/06/13/when-compassion-and-
profit-go-together-the-case-of-alice-coopers-manager-shep-gordon/.
[ 128.] Gary Taylor, interview by author.
[ 129.] Miles Komora, interview by author.
[ 130.] “Altadena Rock Fest Cancelled,” (Pasadena) Star-News, 25 August
1972.
[ 131.] Bobby Hatch, interview by author.
[ 132.] “Van Halen — Toronto — 2007 — Ice Cream Man,” YouTube, 13
October 2007, accessed 8 July 2015, http://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=lQtijtfRoFM.
[ 133.] Elizabeth Wiley, email to author, 24 June 2012.
[ 134.] Dan Hernandez, interview by author.
[ 135.] “Carlton Johnson, 52, Film Choreographer and Tap Dancer, Dies,” Los
Angeles Times, 31 December 1986, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://articles.latimes.com/1986-12-31/local/me-1211_1_carlton-johnson.
[ 136.] Gerard Van Der Leun, “David Lee Roth,” Penthouse, January 1987, 66;
Young, “Van Halen,” 50; Elizabeth Wiley, Could This Be Magic: Van Halen
before 1978 (Bloomington: Ind.: Trafford Publishing, 2012), 38; Roth, Crazy
from the Heat, 28.
[ 137.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 35.
[ 138.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 139.] Barney Hoskyns, “The Rock’s Backpages Flashback: David Lee Roth
and the Secret of Van Halen’s Excess,” Rock’s BackPages Archives, 3 January
2012, accessed 8 July 2015, http://music.yahoo.com/blogs/rocks-
backpages/rock-backpages-flashback-david-lee-roth-secret-van-
162040845.html.
CHAPTER FOUR: DAVID LEE ROTH JOINS VAN HALEN
[ 140.] Collins, “David Lee Roth,” 24.
[ 141.] Wild, “Balancing Act,” 46,
[ 142.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 46.
[ 143.] Dan Aquilante, “Return of Diamond Dave,” New York Post, 26
February 2012, accessed 8 July 2015, http://nypost.com/2012/02/26/return-of-
diamond-dave/.
[ 144.] Prentiss Findlay, “Roth Barnstorming ‘The Entire World,’” Post and
Courier (Charleston), 28 July 1994.
[ 145.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 48.
[ 146.] Van Halen, “Van Halen Interviews 5,” Vimeo, 19 June 2012, accessed 8
July 2015, http://vimeo.com/42240360.
[ 147.] Dodds, Edward Van Halen, 23.
[ 148.] Obrecht, “The Van Halen Tapes,” 9.
[ 149.] Nicky Panicci, interview by author.
[ 150.] Brent Pettit, interview by author.
[ 151.] The Van Halen Story: The Early Years, directed by Eduardo Eguia
Dibildox (North Hollywood: Passport Video, 2003), DVD; Wild, “Balancing
Act,” 46.
[ 152.] The Van Halen Story: The Early Years.
[ 153.] Wild, “Balancing Act,” 46.
[ 154.] Eric Hensel, interview by author; Jim Pewsey, interview by author;
Mark Stone, interview by Michael Kelley, in author’s possession.
[ 155.] Lee Gutenberg, interview by author.
[ 156.] Mark Stone, interview by Michael Kelley, in author’s possession; Jim
Pewsey, interview by author.
[ 157.] Steven Rosen, “Diver Down Leaves No Sinking Feeling,” Record
Review, August 1982, 13.
[ 158.] Mark Stone, interview by Michael Kelley, in author’s possession.
[ 159.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 68.
[ 160.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 68.
[ 161.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 60–61.
[ 162.] Mark Stone, interview by Michael Kelley, in author’s possession.
[ 163.] Rafael Marti, interview by author.
[ 164.] Chris Legg, interview by author.
[ 165.] Rafael Marti, interview by author.
[ 166.] Rafael Marti, interview by author.
[ 167.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 61.
[ 168.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 57, 63; Keith Phipps, “David Lee Roth,”
A.V. Club, 19 June 2002, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.avclub.com/articles/david-lee-roth13772; Michael Hann, “David
Lee Roth,” The Guardian, 2 February 2012, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2012/feb/02/david-lee-roth-van-halen.
[ 169.] Wild, “Balancing Act,” 46.
[ 170.] “Busing Controversy Unsettled,” Boca Raton News, 12 March 1972.
[ 171.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Considine, Van Halen!, 28.
[ 172.] Jose Hurtado, email to author, 7 July 2012.
[ 173.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 75.
[ 174.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 73.
[ 175.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 73–75.
[ 176.] Mikal Gilmore, Night Beat: A Shadow History of Rock & Roll (New
York: Doubleday, 1998), 201–202.
[ 177.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 66.
[ 178.] Jane Scott, “Van Halen: You Can Keep That Cosmic Stuff,” Cleveland
Plain Dealer, 16 March 1978.
[ 179.] Jeff Hausman, “Tom Broderick,” The Inside, summer 1997, 14.
[ 180.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 181.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 59–60.
[ 182.] Angelo Roman Jr., email to author, 25 January 2010.
[ 183.] Angelo Roman Jr., “Ebay Listing of Van Halen Recording from 1973,”
15 October 2004, document in author’s possession.
[ 184.] Gill, “Cast a Giant Shadow,” 50.
[ 185.] Angelo Roman Jr., email to author, 25 January 2010.
[ 186.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 185.
[ 187.] Gill, “Cast a Giant Shadow,” 50.
[ 188.] Gill, “Cast a Giant Shadow,” 50.
[ 189.] Gill, “Cast a Giant Shadow,” 50.
[ 190.] Angelo Roman Jr., interview by author.
[ 191.] Michael Kelley, email to author, 22 November 2009; see ad in Los
Angeles Free Press, 26 April 1974.
[ 192.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 61.
[ 193.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 35; Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 61.
[ 194.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 61.
[ 195.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 17.
[ 196.] Van Halen, “Van Halen Interviews 4,” Vimeo, 20 April 2012, accessed
8 July 2015, http://vimeo.com/40734476.
[ 197.] Rosen, “Diver Down,” 12.
[ 198.] Rosen, “Diver Down,” 12.
[ 199.] David Curcurito, “Eddie Van Halen: The Esquire Interview,” Esquire,
17 April 2012, accessed 8 July 2015, http://www.esquire.com/the-
side/music/eddie-van-halen-interview-2012-8147775.
[ 200.] Obrecht, Masters of Heavy Metal, 161.
[ 201.] Obrecht, Masters of Heavy Metal, 146.
[ 202.] Considine, Van Halen!, 30.
[ 203.] Rosen, “Diver Down,” 13.
CHAPTER FIVE: BREAKTHROUGH
[ 204.] Battle of the Bands research courtesy of Michael Kelley.
[ 205.] “41 Years Ago Today — Van Halen Hits the Sunset Strip,” Van Halen
News Desk, 4 April 2014, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.vhnd.com/2014/04/04/40-years-ago-today-van-halen-hits-the-
sunset-strip.
[ 206.] Keith Murray, “Pasadena Party Erupts in Violence,” (Pasadena) Star-
News, 24 December 1973; “Shooting Suspect Arrested,” (Pasadena) Star-News,
13 January 1974.
[ 207.] Tom Livingston, “One More Dance,” (Pasadena) Star-News, 30
January 1974.
[ 208.] “Street Dance Highlights Pasadena’s Centennial,” (Pasadena) Star-
News, 23 January 1974.
[ 209.] Livingston, “One More Dance.”
[ 210.] Livingston, “One More Dance.”
[ 211.] Wild, “Balancing Act,” 46.
[ 212.] “Police Quiet Van Gathering in Pasadena,” San Marino Tribune, 14
March 1974.
[ 213.] Janice Pirre Francis, interview by author.
[ 214.] “Copter Aids Police in Surveillance Role,” Courier (Pasadena City
College), 4 May 1973.
[ 215.] “Police Quiet Van Gathering,” San Marino Tribune.
[ 216.] “Police Quiet Van Gathering,” San Marino Tribune.
[ 217.] Redbeard, “In the Studio: 20th Anniversary of Van Halen.”
[ 218.] Redbeard, “In the Studio: 20th Anniversary of Van Halen.”
[ 219.] Mark Algorri, interview by author.
[ 220.] Wiley, Could This Be Magic, 31.
[ 221.] Terry Kilgore, “Alex on His Original Ludwig Kit,” Facebook, 7 July
2012, accessed 8 July 2015, https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?
fbid=4171377133901&set=a.1531548979847.2076546
.1568434049&type=1&comment_id=2414580&offset=0&total_comments=5.
[ 222.] Wiley, Could This Be Magic, 35; Elizabeth Wiley, interview by author.
[ 223.] Wild, “Balancing Act,” 48.
[ 224.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 185.
[ 225.] Peter S. Greenberg, “Clockwork Rodney’s,” Newsweek, 7 January 1974,
48.
[ 226.] Mick Farren, “Rodney Bingenheimer’s English Discotheque
Revisited,” New Musical Express, 28 December 1974.
[ 227.] Rosen, “Diver Down,” 12.
[ 228.] Mark Algorri, interview by author.
[ 229.] Bill Urkopina, interview by author.
[ 230.] Bill Urkopina, interview by author.
[ 231.] Robyn McDonald, email to author, 10 August 2011.
[ 232.] Mark Stone, interview by Michael Kelley, in author’s possession.
[ 233.] Mark Algorri, interview by author.
[ 234.] Mary J. Edrei, ed., Top Rockers of the 80s (Cresskill, N.J.: Sharon
Publications, 1985), 186.
[ 235.] Wild, “Balancing Act,” 46.
[ 236.] Proud Bird Advertisement, in author’s possession.
[ 237.] Wiley, Could This Be Magic, 35.
[ 238.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 193–194.
[ 239.] Young, “Van Halen,” 54.
[ 240.] “Michael Anthony Biography,” Van Halen: The Official Website,
accessed 8 July 2015, http://web.archive.org/web/*/http://van-
halen.com/newsite/mikebio.html.
[ 241.] Joe Ramsey, “Garage Band,” Facebook, 25 July 2009, accessed 8 July
2015, https://www.facebook.com/note.php?_rdr=p&note_id=112786957270.
[ 242.] Redbeard, “In the Studio: 20th Anniversary of Van Halen.”
[ 243.] Considine, Van Halen!, 37; John Stix, “Michael Anthony: The Last of
the Pre–Van Halen Bands,” Guitar for the Practicing Musician, December 1987,
17.
[ 244.] Redbeard, “In the Studio: 20th Anniversary of Van Halen.”
[ 245.] Brad Tolinski, “Iron Mike,” Guitar World, September 1991, 99.
[ 246.] Obrecht, “The Van Halen Tapes,” 9.
[ 247.] Richard Garbaccio, “Van Halen Rocks Students,” Pasadena (High
School) Chronicle, 10 May 1974.
[ 248.] Christopher Buttner, “Michael Anthony of Van Halen,” PRThatRocks,
2004, http://www.prthatrocks.com/interviews/michael.html.
[ 249.] Considine, Van Halen!, 37.
[ 250.] “Carmine Appice: Eddie Van Halen Seems to Be Out of His Tree
Right Now,” Blabbermouth, 6 October 2006, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.blabbermouth.net/news/carmine-appice-eddie-van-halen-seems-
to-be-out-of-his-tree-right-now/.
[ 251.] Mark Algorri, interview by author.
[ 252.] Buttner, “Michael Anthony of Van Halen”; Redbeard, “In the Studio:
20th Anniversary of Van Halen.”
[ 253.] Stix, “Michael Anthony: The Last of the Pre–Van Halen Bands,” 17.
[ 254.] Jonathan Laidig, interview by author.
[ 255.] Steven Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” Guitar World Presents Van Halen: 40 Years
of the Great American Rock Band, July 2012, 63.
[ 256.] Redbeard, “In the Studio: 20th Anniversary of Van Halen”; Considine,
Van Halen!, 37.
[ 257.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 63.
[ 258.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 63.
[ 259.] Tolinski, “Iron Mike,” 99; Stix, “Michael Anthony: The Last of the
Pre–Van Halen Bands,” 17.
[ 260.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 63.
[ 261.] The Van Halen Story: The Early Years.
[ 262.] The Van Halen Story: The Early Years.
[ 263.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 264.] Christe, Everybody Wants Some, 25; The Van Halen Story: The Early
Years.
CHAPTER SIX: THE BATTLE OF PASADENA
[ 265.] Debbie Imler McDermott, interview by author.
[ 266.] Andy Secher, “Van Halen Blasts Apart Myth of Mellow California
Sound,” (Omaha) Sunday World Herald Magazine, 17 August 1980.
[ 267.] Jeff Touchie, interview by author.
[ 268.] Hausman, “Tom Broderick,” 22; Miller, “Van Halen’s Split
Personality,” 77.
[ 269.] Michael Anthony, interview by author; Miller, “Van Halen’s Split
Personality,” 77.
[ 270.] Debbie Imler McDermott, interview by author.
[ 271.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 79.
[ 272.] Debbie Imler McDermott, email to author, 11 June 2014.
[ 273.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 274.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 82.
[ 275.] Tim Tullio, “TT … tell us what you think,” Vintage Amps Forum, 29
April 2003, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.vintageamps.com/plexiboard/viewtopic.php?
p=148352&sid=05c2d070c7bfa4ec2c674a93ea3dd98e#p148352.
[ 276.] Jeff Touchie, interview by author.
[ 277.] Ross Velasco, interview by author.
[ 278.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 76.
[ 279.] “21 Arrested in Pasadena Party Melee,” (Pasadena) Star-News, 11
November 1974.
[ 280.] “21 Arrested in Pasadena Party Melee.”
[ 281.] Debbie Imler McDermott, interview by author.
[ 282.] Jeff Touchie, interview by author.
[ 283.] Hausman, “Tom Broderick,” 14.
[ 284.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 75.
[ 285.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 76.
[ 286.] Debbie Imler McDermott, interview by author.
[ 287.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 76–77.
[ 288.] “21 Arrested in Pasadena Party Melee.”
[ 289.] “21 Arrested in Pasadena Party Melee.”
[ 290.] Debbie Imler McDermott, interview by author.
[ 291.] “Van Halen Has Enthusiasm.”
[ 292.] Van der Leun, “David Lee Roth,” 188.
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE CONTEST
[ 293.] Dan Warfield, “Van Halen: From the Starwood to Offenbach,”
European Stars and Stripes, 24 October 1978.
[ 294.] Considine, Van Halen!, 39.
[ 295.] Pete Oppel, “Van Halen’s ‘Big Rock’ Ready To Sweep Across the
Land,” Dallas Morning News, 25 November 1978.
[ 296.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 297.] Dan Forte, “Van Halen’s Stylish Raunch,” Record, June 1982, 14.
[ 298.] Robert Hilburn, “Pasadena’s Van Halen: Slow Start, Strong Finish,”
Los Angeles Times, 11 July 1978; Art Fein, “Club Notes,” Los Angeles Free Press,
12 March 1976.
[ 299.] Shearlaw, Van Halen, 18.
[ 300.] Terry Atkinson, “Van Halen’s Big Rock,” Rolling Stone, 14 June 1979,
14.
[ 301.] Andy Doerschuk, “Alex Van Halen,” in Playing from the Heart: Great
Musicians Talk About Their Craft, ed. Robert L. Doerschuk (San Francisco:
Backbeat Books, 2002), 258.
[ 302.] Goddess, “David Lee Roth w/Steven Rosen in 1982,” Van Halen —
The Band We Love, 31 January 2012, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://vanhalen12.blogspot.com/2012/01/david-lee-roth-interview-w-steven-
rosen.html.
[ 303.] “David Lee Roth and Alex Van Halen,” UK radio interview, 7 June
1978, in author’s possession.
[ 304.] Jeff Simons, interview by author.
[ 305.] Fein, “Club Notes.”
[ 306.] Kim Miller, email to author, 22 July 2014.
[ 307.] Chris Gill, “Everybody Wants Some,” Guitar World, November 2014,
74.
[ 308.] Gill, “Everybody Wants Some,” 74.
[ 309.] “The Snake’s Biography,” Harvey “The Snake” Mandel, accessed 29
September 2014, www.harveymandel.com/biography.html.
[ 310.] Abel Sharp, Van Halen 101 (Bloomington, Indiana: Author House,
2005), 200.
[ 311.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 65.
[ 312.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 92.
[ 313.] Curcurito, “Eddie Van Halen: The Esquire Interview.”
[ 314.] Jay Kumar, “Exclusive: Recollections about EVH’s Early Setup,”
WoodyTone, 24 June 2009, accessed 8 July 2015,
www.woodytone.com/2009/06/24/exclusive-recollections-about-evhs-early-
setup/.
[ 315.] Obrecht, Masters of Heavy Metal, 156; Obrecht, “Van Halen Tapes,”
10.
[ 316.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 85.
[ 317.] Tom Broderick, email to author, 13 February 2010.
[ 318.] General Telephone Company of California, City of Pomona, Street
Address Directory for Pomona, Chino, Claremont, Diamond Bar, La Verne, San
Dimas, Walnut, and Portions of Montclair (Los Alamitos: GTE Directories
Corp, 1975), 73, Special Collections, Pomona Public Library, Pomona,
California.
[ 319.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 320.] Charlie Gwyn, email to author, 17 February 2010; Charlie Gwyn,
email to author, 20 February 2010.
[ 321.] John Stix, “The Fountain,” Guitar Classics 8, June 1994, 100.
[ 322.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 85.
[ 323.] Laurie Bereskin, “Van Halen’s Invitation: Come Down and Party,”
BAM, July 1977, 52.
[ 324.] “Running with Van Halen,” radio show, circa fall 1978, in author’s
possession.
[ 325.] Robyn Flans, “Alex Van Halen,” Modern Drummer, October 1983, 11.
[ 326.] Hilburn, “Pasadena’s Van Halen.”
[ 327.] Alex Van Halen quoted in Christe, Everybody Wants Some, 26.
[ 328.] John Stix, “In the Eye of the Storm,” Guitar for the Practicing Musician,
July 1991, 90.
[ 329.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 85.
[ 330.] Terry Atkinson, “Breaking Out of Bar-Band Gigs,” Los Angeles Times,
27 December 1977.
[ 331.] Rusty Hamilton and Diana Clapton, “David Lee Roth and the Van
Halen Gang: Preening Prophets of Post-Cube Punkpop,” Oui, November
1981, 20.
[ 332.] Hamilton and Clapton, “David Lee Roth,” 20.
[ 333.] “Rock Scene,” (Van Nuys) Valley News, 3 September 1976; Jeff Simons,
interview by author.
[ 334.] Richard Cromelin, “Van Halen: From Tahiti to the 7-11,” Los Angeles
Times, 10 September 1982.
[ 335.] “David Lee Roth TV interview with Martha Quinn, 1982,” YouTube,
13 February 2012, accessed 8 July 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=UkKwIm8M6D4.
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE GOLDEN WEST
[ 336.] This account is based on author interviews with Jeff Burkhardt, Steve
Hall, Janice Pirre Francis, Dan Teckenoff, Rodney Davey, and Steven Rosen’s
interview with Rudy Leiren.
[ 337.] Richie Unterberger, Music USA: The Rough Guide (London: Rough
Guides, 1999), 395–398.
[ 338.] Bereskin, “Van Halen’s Invitation,” 52.
[ 339.] Ken Tucker quoted in Considine, Van Halen!, 33.
[ 340.] Atkinson, “Breaking Out of Bar-Band Gigs.”
[ 341.] Golden West Ballroom Ledger, 11 April 1976, in author’s possession.
Special thanks to Janice Pirre Francis for this source.
[ 342.] Barney Hoskyns, Waiting for the Sun: A Rock and Roll History of Los
Angeles (1996; reprint, New York: Backbeat Books, 2003), 268–271; Harvey
Kubernik, Canyon of Dreams: The Magic and Music of Laurel Canyon (New
York: Sterling Publishing, 2009), 298–303.
[ 343.] Considine, Van Halen!, 35.
[ 344.] Mike Cochrane, interview by author.
[ 345.] Gary Putman, interview by author.
[ 346.] Victor Bornia, interview by author.
[ 347.] John Nyman, interview by author.
[ 348.] Neil Zlozower, Van Halen (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2008), 17.
[ 349.] Zlozower, Van Halen, 17.
[ 350.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 64; Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 48.
[ 351.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 63–64.
[ 352.] “House History,” Pasadena Showcase House of Design Brochure, circa
1984, in author’s possession; Kim Miller, email to author, 27 July 2014.
[ 353.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 88.
[ 354.] “Film & Rock Concert,” Los Angeles Free Press, 20 June 1975.
[ 355.] Bereskin, “Van Halen’s Invitation,” 52.
[ 356.] Hilburn, “Pasadena’s Van Halen.”
[ 357.] Michael Kelley, email to author, 7 December 2009.
[ 358.] Golden West Ballroom receipt for UFO/Van Halen gig, in author’s
possession. Special thanks to Janice Pirre Francis for this source.
[ 359.] Dennis Catron, “Review of the UFO/Van Halen Golden West Show,”
in author’s possession.
[ 360.] Catron, “Review,” in author’s possession.
[ 361.] Dennis Catron, “Excerpt from an interview with the late, great Rick
Gagnon/Mentone Music Month regarding The Golden West,” in author’s
possession.
[ 362.] The Van Halen Story: The Early Years.
[ 363.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 364.] Catron, “Excerpt,” in author’s possession.
[ 365.] Catron, “Review,” in author’s possession.
[ 366.] Catron, “Review,” in author’s possession.
[ 367.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 368.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 369.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Christe, Everybody Wants Some, 23.
Edward recalls that he overdosed in 1972, but all eyewitnesses agree it took
place years later.
[ 370.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
CHAPTER NINE: NO COMMERCIAL POTENTIAL
[ 371.] C. K. Lendt, Kiss and Sell: The Making of a Supergroup (New York:
Billboard Books, 1997), 153.
[ 372.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 91; Steven Blush, “Runnin’ with the Devil,”
Seconds, 1994, 36.
[ 373.] Hilburn, “Homegrown Punk-Rock Blossoming.”
[ 374.] Paul Elliott, “Kiss Unmasked,” Classic Rock, August 2013, 64.
[ 375.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 39.
[ 376.] “Gazzarri’s,” (Pasadena City College) Courier, 22 October 1976.
[ 377.] Jackie Fox, interview by author.
[ 378.] Michael Kelley, interview by author, 16 June 2014.
[ 379.] John Stix, “George Lynch: Van Halen School Dropout,” Guitar for the
Practicing Musician, July 1986, 48.
[ 380.] Michael Kelley, email to author, 16 June 2014.
[ 381.] Michael Kelley, email to author, 22 November 2009.
[ 382.] Michael Kelley, email to author, 16 June 2014.
[ 383.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 39.
[ 384.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 48–49.
[ 385.] Elliott, “Kiss Unmasked,” 64.
[ 386.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 41–42.
[ 387.] Wayne Robins, “David Lee Roth and the Pursuit of Happiness,”
Newsday, 16 February 1986.
[ 388.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 40–41.
[ 389.] Paul Stanley, Face the Music: A Life Exposed (New York: Harper One,
2014), 221.
[ 390.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 48–49.
[ 391.] Steven Rosen, “California Dreamin’,” Guitar World Presents Van Halen:
40 Years of the Great American Rock Band, July 2012, 20.
[ 392.] Gene Simmons, Kiss and Make Up (New York: Three Rivers Press,
2002), 131–132.
[ 393.] John Stix, “Eddie Van Halen,” Guitar for the Practicing Musician, April
1985, 75.
[ 394.] Tolinski, “Iron Mike,” 103.
[ 395.] Stix, “Eddie Van Halen,” 74–75.
[ 396.] Hedges, Van Halen, 42–43.
[ 397.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 48–49.
[ 398.] Hedges, Van Halen, 48.
[ 399.] John Stix, “The Fountain,” Guitar Classics 8, June 1994, 100.
[ 400.] Mark Strigl and John Ostronomy, “Episode 234: Bill Aucoin Special,”
Talking Metal Podcast, 18 October 2008, accessed 15 July 2014,
http://podbay.fm/show/78833595/e/1224313200.
[ 401.] Strigl and Ostronomy, Talking Metal Podcast, episode 234.
[ 402.] Strigl and Ostronomy, Talking Metal Podcast, episode 234.
[ 403.] “Rock and Roll Over,” Wikipedia, accessed 1 October 2014,
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rock_and_Roll_Over.
[ 404.] “‘Rock and Roll Over’ Tour,” KISSMonster, accessed 1 October 2014,
http://kissmonster.com/reference/inyourface7.php.
[ 405.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 100.
[ 406.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 100.
[ 407.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 43.
[ 408.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 100.
[ 409.] “Eddie on the Record,” Guitar World Presents Guitar Legends, April
1992, 39.
[ 410.] Guitar World Staff, “Prime Cuts: Eddie Van Halen Breaks Down 10
Van Halen Classics from ‘Eruption’ to ‘Right Now,’” Guitar World, 13
November 2013, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.guitarworld.com/article/eddie_van_halen_prime_cuts.
[ 411.] “Eddie on the Record,” 39.
[ 412.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 100.
[ 413.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 100.
[ 414.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 100.
[ 415.] Guitar World Staff, “Prime Cuts.”
[ 416.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 101.
[ 417.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 100–101.
[ 418.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 48–49.
[ 419.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 48–49.
[ 420.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 421.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 101.
[ 422.] Stix, “Eddie Van Halen,” 75.
[ 423.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 101.
[ 424.] Stix, “Eddie Van Halen,” 75.
[ 425.] Strigl and Ostronomy, Talking Metal Podcast, episode 234.
[ 426.] “Bill Aucoin interview on ‘The Rock and Roll Geek Show,’ 11.8.2007,”
YouTube, accessed 8 July 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=bGj7p_04lDM.
[ 427.] Stanley, Face the Music, 221–222.
[ 428.] Stanley, Face the Music, 223.
[ 429.] Guitar World Staff, “Prime Cuts.”
[ 430.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 92.
[ 431.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 44.
[ 432.] Simmons, Kiss and Make Up, 132.
[ 433.] “Gene Simmons Comments on Van Halen Demos, 12.28.2001, Eddie
Trunk,” YouTube, 21 April 2012, accessed 8 July 2015,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgcVjurMwm0.
[ 434.] Simmons, Kiss and Make Up, 44.
[ 435.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 45.
[ 436.] Elliott, “Kiss Unmasked,” 64.
[ 437.] Stix, “The Fountain,” 1994, 101.
[ 438.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 92.
[ 439.] Simmons, Kiss and Make Up, 131–132.
[ 440.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 39–45.
[ 441.] Guitar World Staff, “Prime Cuts.”
[ 442.] Guitar World Staff, “Prime Cuts.”
[ 443.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 37.
[ 444.] “Van Halen Rare Interview & First Radio Play 1976,” YouTube, 2 July
2013, accessed 8 July 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=cmz_yEkyaDA.
[ 445.] David Leaf and Ken Sharp, Kiss Behind the Mask: The Official
Authorized Biography (New York: Warner Books, 2003), 287; Jeff Kitts,
Kisstory (Los Angeles: Kisstory, 1994), 223. Thanks to Nik Browning for
tracking down the latter source.
[ 446.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 92.
[ 447.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 448.] Jeff Hausman, “The Inside Interviews Wally ‘Cartoon’ Olney,” The
Inside, summer 1997, 24.
[ 449.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 92.
[ 450.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 451.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 54–55.
[ 452.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 453.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 454.] Kitts, Kisstory, 223.
[ 455.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 456.] Kim Miller, email to the author, 22 July 2014.
[ 457.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 92–93.
[ 458.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 459.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
CHAPTER TEN: RIGHT OUT OF THE MOVIES
[ 460.] Steve Gett, “Get Van Halenized,” Record Mirror, 3 June 1978.
[ 461.] Jas Obrecht, “Eddie Van Halen: The Complete 1978 Interviews,” Jas
Obrecht Music Archives, accessed 29 June 2015,
http://web.archive.org/web/20150216183941/http://jasobrecht.com/eddie-
van-halen-complete-1978-interviews/.
[ 462.] Michael Segell, “Van Halen’s Party Gets a Whole Lot Better,” Rolling
Stone, 18 May 1978, 20; Atkinson, “Breaking Out of Bar-Band Gigs.”
[ 463.] “Van Halen Warner Bros. media information,” November 1977, in
author’s possession.
[ 464.] Kevin Merrill, “A Day in the Life of Kim Fowley,” Billboard, 8 October
1977, 64–65.
[ 465.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 62; Kim Fowley, interview by author.
[ 466.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 62; Kim Fowley, interview by author.
[ 467.] Brian Hiatt, “Secrets of the Guitar Heroes: Eddie Van Halen,” Rolling
Stone, 12 June 2008, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://web.archive.org/web/20080602005114/http://www.rollingstone
.com/news/story/20979938/secrets_of_the_guitar_heroes_eddie_van_halen?.
[ 468.] Dennis Hunt, “Whisky, on the Rocks, to Become Disco,” Los Angeles
Times, 23 March 1975; Hilburn, “Homegrown Punk-Rock Blossoming.”
[ 469.] Nat Freedland, “Punk Rock Due at L.A. Whisky,” Billboard, 20
November 1976, 32.
[ 470.] Kim Fowley, interview by author.
[ 471.] Neil Zlozower, Eddie Van Halen (San Francisco: Chronicle Books,
2011), 21; Kim Fowley, interview by author.
[ 472.] Zlozower, Eddie Van Halen, 21.
[ 473.] Hausman, “Tom Broderick,” 22.
[ 474.] Dave Meniketti, “Y&T/VH at the Starwood,” Y&T/Meniketti Forums,
16 June 2008, transcript in author’s possession.
[ 475.] Richard Cromelin, “Spreading Out from Punk Rock,” Los Angeles
Times, 24 December 1976.
[ 476.] Richard Cromelin, “Van Halen Keeps Asserting Itself,” Los Angeles
Times, 29 January 1977.
[ 477.] Hilburn, “Homegrown Punk-Rock Blossoming.”
[ 478.] Buttner, “Michael Anthony of Van Halen”; Rob Broderick, interview
by author.
[ 479.] Tim Grobaty, “Santana Older, But No Better,” Long Beach
Independent-Press Telegram, 1 February 1977.
[ 480.] Considine, Van Halen!, 41–42.
[ 481.] Marshall Berle, interview by author.
[ 482.] Robins, “David Lee Roth.”
[ 483.] Warren Zanes, Revolutions in Sound: Warner Bros. Records, The First
Fifty Years (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2008), 185.
[ 484.] Considine, Van Halen!, 41.
[ 485.] Iain Blair, Rock Video Superstars: Van Halen, March 1985, 10.
[ 486.] Paul Grein, “Pop Eye,” Los Angeles Times, 27 August 1989.
[ 487.] Jas Obrecht, “Eddie Van Halen: The Complete 1978 Interviews.”
[ 488.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 489.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 66.
[ 490.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 66.
[ 491.] Rosen, “California Dreamin’,” 21
[ 492.] Blair, Rock Video Superstars, 4
[ 493.] Marshall Berle, interview by author.
[ 494.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 495.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 66.
[ 496.] Blair, Rock Video Superstars, 4
[ 497.] Warfield, “Van Halen: From the Starwood to Offenbach.”
[ 498.] Considine, Van Halen!, 41.
[ 499.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 500.] Rudy Leiren, interview by Steven Rosen, in author’s possession.
[ 501.] Marshall Berle, interview by author.
[ 502.] Michael Anthony, “Michael Anthony of Van Halen & Chickenfoot
Shares His Favorite Songs,” AOL Radio Blog, 10 March 2010, accessed 8 July
2015, http://aolradioblog.com/2010/03/10/michael-anthony-van-halen-
chickenfoot-shares-favorite-songs.
[ 503.] Zanes, Revolutions in Sound, 129.
[ 504.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 38.
[ 505.] “The Hunter,” Los Angeles Free Press, 11 February 1977.
[ 506.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 99.
[ 507.] “Our History,” Sunset Sound Recording Studio, accessed 4 October 2014,
http://www.sunsetsound.com/?page_id=68.
[ 508.] Dave Simons, “Tales From the Top,” BMI, 5 September 2008,
accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.bmi.com/news/entry/Tales_From_the_Top_Van_Halens_Van_Halen_1978
[ 509.] Gary Nissley, interview by author.
[ 510.] Donn Landee, interview by author; Simons, “Tales from the Top.”
[ 511.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 98.
[ 512.] Richard McKernan, interview by author.
[ 513.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 66.
[ 514.] Howard Pearson, “Paul Williams — He’s Tall on Talent,” Deseret News
(Salt Lake City, Utah), 29 July 1982; “Majors, Fawcett File for Divorce,”
Victoria (Texas) Advocate, 30 May 1980.
[ 515.] Young, “Van Halen,” 54.
[ 516.] George Courville, interview by author.
[ 517.] George Courville, email to author, 22 August 2013.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: VAN HALEN
[ 518.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 66.
[ 519.] David Gans, “Ted Templeman,” BAM, 9 October 1981, accessed 8 July
2015, http://dgans.com/writings/templeman/.
[ 520.] Mark Dery, “David Lee Roth Takes Off His Warpaint,” Winner,
November 1986, accessed 17 July 2014 (login required),
http://www.rocksbackpages.com/Library/Article/david-lee-roth-takes-off-his-
warpaint.
[ 521.] Gloria Prosper, interview by author.
[ 522.] Redbeard, “In the Studio for Van Halen II,” In the Studio with
Redbeard, accessed 4 October 2014, http://www.inthestudio.net/redbeards-
blog/van-halen-2-35th-anniversary.
[ 523.] Gett, “Get Van Halenized”; Obrecht, Masters of Heavy Metal, 155;
Steven Rosen, “Unchained Melodies,” Guitar World Presents Van Halen: 40
Years of the Great American Rock Band, July 2012, 106; Tolinski, ed., Guitar
World Presents Van Halen, 97.
[ 524.] David Gans, “Ted Templeman.”
[ 525.] Redbeard, “In the Studio: 20th Anniversary of Van Halen.”
[ 526.] Brad Tolinski, “Whipper Snapper,” Guitar World, September 1991, 92.
[ 527.] Gene Santoro, “Edward’s Producer on the Brown Sound,” Guitar
World, July 1985, 57.
[ 528.] Buttner, “Michael Anthony of Van Halen.”
[ 529.] Gerry Ganaden, “The Return of the Hot Rod Guitar,” Premier Guitar,
February 2009, 119.
[ 530.] Jas Obrecht, “An Appreciation,” Positively Van Halen, winter 1986, 4.
[ 531.] Edward and George met on this night in December 1976 because Van
Halen was gigging on the other nights Canned Heat played the Starwood.
[ 532.] The Starwood advertisement for this date specifically notes that
Mandel would be guesting with Canned Heat. See “Starwood,” Los Angeles
Times, 19 December 1976.
[ 533.] Randy Cody, “Rocket Interviews George Lynch,” The Metal Den, 15
March 2009, accessed 8 July 2015, http://themetalden.com/index.php?p=198;
George Lynch, interview by author.
[ 534.] Hedges, Van Halen, 52.
[ 535.] Terry Kilgore, “The Last Word on the Ed clone thing,” Vintage Amps
Bulletin Board, 28 April 2004, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://vintageamps.com/plexiboard/viewtopic.php?
f=5&t=17153p=163983#p163983.
[ 536.] Anthony, “Michael Anthony of Van Halen & Chickenfoot Shares His
Favorite Songs.”
[ 537.] Chris Gill, “Home Improvement,” Guitar World, February 2014, 67.
[ 538.] Joe Bosso, “Michael Anthony: My 6 Career-Defining Records,” Music
Radar, 3 May 2010, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.musicradar.com/news/guitars/michael-anthony-my-6-career-
defining-records-249695/7.
[ 539.] Obrecht, Masters of Heavy Metal, 146.
[ 540.] Peggy McCreary, email to author, 12 September 2012.
[ 541.] Zanes, Revolutions in Sound, 185.
[ 542.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Considine, Van Halen!, 42.
[ 543.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 30–31; Jeff Hausman,
“New Kid on the Block,” The Inside, spring 1999, 28–29.
[ 544.] Santoro, “Edward’s Producer,” 57.
[ 545.] Stix, “In the Eye of the Storm,” 95.
[ 546.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 50; Rosen, “On Fire,” 68; Rosen, “Ace of
Bass,” 67–68.
[ 547.] Obrecht, Masters of Heavy Metal, 158; Sunset Sound tape boxes and
track sheets for Van Halen, in author’s possession, courtesy of Warner Music
Group.
[ 548.] Scott, “Van Halen: You Can Keep That Cosmic Stuff.”
[ 549.] Atkinson, “Van Halen’s Big Rock,” 12.
[ 550.] Scott, “Van Halen: You Can Keep that Cosmic Stuff.”
[ 551.] Gans, “Ted Templeman”; Santoro, “Edward’s Producer,” 57; Richard
McKernan, interview by author.
[ 552.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 50.
[ 553.] “High Energy Rockers,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, 26 April 1979.
[ 554.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 50.
[ 555.] “The Producers: Ted Templeman,” Rolling Stone’s Continuous History of
Rock and Roll Radio Show, 26 June 1983, in author’s possession.
[ 556.] Chris Gill, “A Different Kind of Trove,” Guitar Aficionado,
January/February 2013, 60.
[ 557.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 164.
[ 558.] “The Producers: Ted Templeman”; Ted Templeman, interview by
author.
[ 559.] Bruce Westbrook, “Rock Around the Clock,” Sunday Oklahoman, 6
August 1978.
[ 560.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 50.
[ 561.] Thank you to Bill Flanagan for his assistance with this paragraph.
[ 562.] Redbeard, “In the Studio: 20th Anniversary of Van Halen.”
[ 563.] Zlozower, Van Halen, 33.
[ 564.] Rosen, “Ace of Bass,” 66–67; Rosen, “On Fire,” 68.
[ 565.] Rosen, “On Fire,” 68.
[ 566.] Steven Baltin, “David Lee Roth Vents About Van Halen’s Future,”
Rolling Stone, 12 February 2013, accessed 8 July 2015,
http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/q-a-david-lee-roth-vents-about-
van-halens-future-20130212.
[ 567.] Matthews, Van Halen, 31.
[ 568.] Dennis Hunt, “Van Halen’s Roth Likes Rock Rough,” Los Angeles
Times, 1 April 1979.
[ 569.] Sylvie Simmons, “Van Halen,” Sounds, 7 April 1979, accessed 8 July
2015 (login required), http://www.rocksbackpages.com/Library/Article/van-
halen-2.
[ 570.] Hann, “David Lee Roth.”
[ 571.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 115.
[ 572.] Scott, “Van Halen: You Can Keep That Cosmic Stuff.”
[ 573.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Jeff Kitts and Brad Tolinski, eds., Guitar
World Presents the 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time (Milwaukee: Hal Leonard,
2002), 121.
[ 574.] Rosen, “Unchained Melodies,” 107.
[ 575.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 97.
[ 576.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 97.
[ 577.] Edward Van Halen quoted in Kitts and Tolinski, eds., Guitar World
Presents the 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time, 121.
[ 578.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 97.
[ 579.] Robert Vosgien, email to author, 25 July 2014. Thanks to Robert for
explaining this process to me.
[ 580.] Simons, “Tales from the Top.”
[ 581.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 96–97.
[ 582.] Tolinski, ed., Guitar World Presents Van Halen, 34–35.
[ 583.] Harold Bronson, “This Man,” Penn State Daily Collegian, 5 October
1978; CPI Inflation Calculator, accessed 1 February 2015,
http://data.bls.gov/cgi-bin/cpicalc.pl.
[ 584.] Guitar World Staff, “Prime Cuts.”
[ 585.] Segell, “Van Halen’s Party,” 20.
[ 586.] Matthews, Van Halen, 32.
CHAPTER TWELVE: CALM BEFORE THE STORM
[ 587.] Quick Draw, “Van Halen: Today L.A., Tomorrow the Galaxy,” Raw
Power, October–November 1977, 35.
[ 588.] Paul Gargano, “David Lee Roth: Past, Present & Future,” Metal Edge,
November 1998, 12.
[ 589.] Stix, “In the Eye of the Storm,” 90.
[ 590.] Debi Fee and Linda Benjamin, “Van Halen’s David Lee Roth,” Tiger
Beat Super Special #3 Presents Rock!, June/July 1980, 18.
[ 591.] Stix, “In the Eye of the Storm,” 90.
[ 592.] Ted Templeman, interview by author; Tom Broderick, interview by
author; Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 84.
[ 593.] Roth, Crazy from the Heat, 83–84.
[ 594.] Rosen, “Unchained Melodies,” 107–108.
[ 595.] Michael Wilton, “Van Halen’s Babysitter,” L.A. Weekly, 1 June 2012,
accessed 8 July 2015, http://www.laweekly.com/music/van-halens-babysitter-
2175110.
[ 596.] Stix, “In the Eye of the Storm,” 90.
[ 597.] Rosen, “Unchained Melodies,” 107–108.
[ 598.] Considine, Van Halen!, 43.
[ 599.] Rosen, “True Beginnings,” 51.
[ 600.] Robert Hilburn, “Under the Rock, an Exciting Crop of Newcomers,”
Los Angeles Times, 27 November 1977.
[ 601.] Atkinson, “Breaking Out of Bar Band Gigs.”
[ 602.] Gargano, “David Lee Roth,” 110.
[ 603.] Hausman, “Tom Broderick,” 21.
[ 604.] Hausman, “Tom Broderick,” 21.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: UNLEASHED
[ 605.] Wolf Schneider, “Don Airey Revealed,” The Highway Star, 8 February
2004, accessed 8 July 2015, http://thehighwaystar.com/interviews/airey/da-
feb082004.html.
[ 606.] Rosen, “Diver Down,” 11.
[ 607.] Rosen, “Diver Down,” 11.
[ 608.] “Billboard Hot 100,” Billboard, 11 March 1978, 96.
[ 609.] Hausman, “Tom Broderick,” 16.
[ 610.] Michael St. John, “Runnin’ with Van Halen,” (Madison) Emerald City
Chronicle, 21 March 1978, 4.
[ 611.] David Konow, Bang Your Head: The Rise and Fall of Heavy Metal (New
York: Three Rivers Press, 2002), 93–94.
[ 612.] Susan Masino, “Going Mad in Wisconsin,” The Inside, spring 1999, 27.
[ 613.] The Van Halen Scrapbook (Cresskill, NJ: Sharon Publications, 1984),
51–52.
[ 614.] “Van Halen: Who Are These Guys and Why Are They So Famous,”
Hit Parader, December 1980, 10.
[ 615.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 52.
[ 616.] Edouard Dauphin, “He Ain’t Heavy! The Van Halen Boys Talk,”
Creem Close Up: Van Halen, summer 1984, 22.
[ 617.] Kim Miller, email to author, 5 August 2014.
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AFTERWORD
[ 704.] Richard Hogan, “Van Halen: Best Group, Best Guitar, Best Year
Ever,” Circus, 28 February 1985, 60.
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[ 715.] Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, 133.
 TRY ANOTHER GREAT READ FROM ECW PRESS...

THE TOP 500 HEAVY METAL

ALBUMS OF ALL TIME The result of an
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LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Renoff, Gregory J., 1969–, author
Van Halen rising : how a Southern California backyard party band saved heavy metal / written by Greg
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ISBN 978-1-77041-263-7 (pbk.)
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1. Van Halen (Musical group).2. Rock groups—United States—
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