INTRO

It seems preposterous that I should have to make an introduction to this piece, a “disclaimer of lame,” if you will, but being as humanity is now, as it always has been, dominated by idiom, these sorts of needless interjections are the rote. We, as a species, and as individuals, tend to adapt habits, be they tangible or spiritual, beneficial or destructive to the self, and unwittingly, without merit or righteousness, act upon a desperate sort of loyalty to said paradigms until the day we die. One of the more repugnant of these said spiritual paradigms which affects far too large a percentage of the populace as of late is the unchallenged and generally accepted “truth” (as in: “The Earth is flat”) that VAN HALEN SUCKS. 

“Sucks” is the operative word there. It’s the key which will open up a treasure chest of false hope and delusion. Not “Van Halen were poor songwriters,” or “Van Halen’s musicianship leaves much to be desired,” or “Van Halen’s albums haven’t dated well over the past quarter century,” no, none of these will you hear hurled from the husks of soulless non-believers, fore any of these would be statements which could, and hence would need to be backed up with specific examples or comparisons to other various proposed musical/cultural antitheses. Instead, “Van Halen sucks,” and it’s left at that: unquestioned, unopposed, and undefended. How about uninformed? Unheard? Under a big pile of bullshit? 

I could go on and talk about a chemistry more volatile than nitroglycerine OR the Velvet Underground, or perhaps who fits into what perennial lineage descending from where, but see, I’m not out to convert nonbelievers today. For those who are strangers to the id, and are chained like Prometheus to a superego of you own design, this isn’t for you. Go bird watching. This is for all those itsy bitsy little dots out there that actually CARE, and can QUESTION, and come to LOGICAL CONCLUSIONS about their rock and roll. 

Being a pessimist in general (again: PARADIGMS), I don’t actually believe there are any of you out there, but still I write, and am but a humble servant to you insignificant shadows of specters.

Oh yes, and for a society swamped in “SUCKS” and idle shrieks of dissension, I’m no stranger to idiom-to-idiom combat: “If you don’t like Van Halen, YOU’RE WRONG!”

EAT ‘EM AND SMILE

1986’s Eat ‘Em and Smile was David Lee Roth’s first solo venture after the previous year’s kitsch-laden Crazy From The Heat ep, ostensibly the proverbial “straw that broke the camel’s back” in the Van Halen camp in regards to DLR’s departure from the group. Truth be told, though, the REAL reason Diamond Dave ditched the Halens (let the subsequent discographies of each respective artist [please, never the sales charts] serve as the only proof you need in regards to WHO FUCKED WHO) goes back to Apollo and Dionysus, the mind and the heart, the engineer and the artist. Artist? That’s right, motherfuckers: D. L. aRtist! 

Dave was an artist, the rest of Van Halen were engineers, it’s as simple as that. Of course they were arguably some of the best engineers of the musical variety since someone like Beethoven, or whoever the fuck dead highbrow asshole you’re supposed to bring up to give thud rock legitimacy, but still, engineers nonetheless. Why do you think Eddie was able to give up the drink so easily? He just turned off the “alcoholic” program just as easy as he’d play “Eruption” note-for-note live. Dave, on the other hand, like I said, is an artist. No programs, no toggles and no attention span. You can’t ask Dave to make another 1984 any easier than you could ask Man Ray to pick a medium, Jackson Pollock to faithfully replicate any of his pieces, or a child to make the same finger painting twice. But, well, we all have mansions to pay upkeep on, fleets of Rolls Royces to service and Mt. Everests to climb, and hence the oogenesis of Eat ‘Em and Smile: the artist playing engineer.

Or at least puppeteer. On Eat ‘Em And Smile Roth assembled one freaking SMOKING band, including Billy Sheehan as Michael Anthony, Gregg Bissonette as Alex and none other than Steve Vai as Eddie Himself, and, as one might have guessed, these cats, with assistance by long time VH producer Ted Templeman, do a GREAT job at imitating Van Halen, even better than Van Halen did at imitating Van Halen post-Roth. 

Of course there are certain idiosyncrasies on Eat ‘Em And Smile which you’d NEVER find on a Van Halen disc, such as the over the top (a bass player friend of mine even says tasteless) bass styling of future Mr.Big (hold vomit, please) figurehead Billy Sheehan, and it’s QUITE unlikely that the two lounge numbers, “I’m Easy” and “That’s Life” would have passed with, you know, OLD MAN EDDIE. Speaking of which, Steve Vai, while doing an impeccable job at imitating Eddie’s style, is still undeniably imitating, whereas Eddie never imitates, only channels, and hence Vai’s work is a bit less exciting in comparison. Plus, you gotta figure with a band of this nature, that is to say a backing band for a singer/songwriter, the chemistry and history of the players that made classic VH cuts like “Unchained” so ethereal AREN’T gonna be in effect, to say the least. Like I said, this is not 1984 pt.II (despite the, ugh, SYNTHESIZERS), but it’s also not 5150, and is above all, a great rock album.

The opening cut, “Yankee Rose” is as close to perfection as one could ask in song of this nature. The song opens with that familiar and heavenly “girl friendly” guitar sound sculpted by Ted Templeman and played by Vai, which interacts with Dave’s relatively dry (relative to, again, the standard set on “Unchained”) dialogue in which Dave does his best Jonathan Richman impression. Following that urgent reminder that this is in fact The Diamond One you’re listening to, the hook, the melodies, the choruses all fall right where they should, and all is well, just as DLR has designed, and you may think to yourself “now this is the kind of song I want to wake me up in the morning, or perhaps serve as the soundtrack for some sort of Venice Beach montage, the kind you’d see in the opening scene of a film with lots of neon clothing in it,” and of course you’d be right, which is just what Dave wants you to be. 

The rest of the album is a much more solid affair than you might imagine. For every saccharine lounge number there’s a heavy rocker, for every obnoxious synthesizer harmony there’s a killer solo, and for every other fault you may want to pin on the album, there’s Dave with enough charm to win over anyone who hath reckoning. 

Of course the numbers of those who would reckon with Dave’s Technicolor vision of the world and the way it should be were dwindling by ’86. A much darker vision, namely G’N’R’s Appetite For Destruction would soon win over the hard rock masses, and would shortly fall itself to the melodrama and introspection of the pop music nadir known as the early-90s. DLR’s “turn the world on with my smile and maybe some dancing girls with long legs” chutzpah would soon be as arcane an art form as vaudeville, which is probably the medium the Diamond One would prefer to be remembered as operating in anyways. “That’s Life” indeed.