Eruption

1

CALIFORNIA DREAMING

IN 1982, VAN Halen was one of the largest rock bands in the world. Starting with their 1978 debut on Warner Bros., each of their first five albums went Platinum and peaked as high or higher on the Billboard 200 Albums chart than its immediate predecessor. Diver Down, released in 1982, produced their biggest Billboard Hot 100 hit, “(Oh) Pretty Woman,” thanks in large part to heavy airplay of its surprisingly quirky video on MTV, the experimental cable music channel launched just a few months earlier in 1981.

In the video, the band members appeared dressed as a samurai (bassist Michael Anthony), Tarzan (drummer Alex Van Halen), a cowboy gunslinger (guitarist Eddie Van Halen), and Napoleon (singer David Lee Roth). They are called upon by a hunchback to rescue a girl (played by transgender entertainer International Chrysis) held captive by a pair of dwarves, who fondle her against her will. Falling somewhere between a wacky episode of The Monkees and a perverse John Waters arthouse film, the video carefully gave equal time to each member of Van Halen, establishing their individual personas while depicting the band’s affability, chemistry, and off-the-wall humor.

The clip was ultimately banned from MTV for its depiction of two little people molesting a woman (actually a drag queen), but millions of fans saw it and loved it, as did hipsters who enjoyed the unexpectedly weird and edgy content. One thing was certain: Van Halen understood the promotional possibilities offered by the nascent MTV far better than most of their contemporaries. The “(Oh) Pretty Woman” video helped sell boatloads of records and placed the band at the vanguard of popular culture.

By the time Van Halen finished recording their next album two years later, their instincts about the cable channel had proved to be prophetic: MTV had become arguably the biggest driving force in the music industry.

Robert Lombard, who directed the “(Oh) Pretty Woman” video, remembered, “Once Van Halen got into MTV mode, they got into it. David Lee Roth was glued to the television. He threw something through his TV set one night because they’d dropped in rotation on MTV… they were obsessed. It was like a new drug.”¹

When it came time to film their next video to promote their new single “Jump,” there was some disagreement about its content. Singer Roth wanted to create another surreal, larger-than-life fantasy similar to the “(Oh) Pretty Woman” video. And why not? It worked once…

However, director Robert Lombard and Pete Angelus, the band’s road manager and lighting designer, had something different in mind. They wanted to buck the trend of big-budget videos produced at the time by artists like Madonna, Duran Duran, and Michael Jackson, envisioning something “more personal.” Perhaps a simple performance clip showing what the guys did best: play music in their charming, knockabout fashion.

There was something joyous and life-affirming—Beatles-like—about Van Halen. Their chummy stage chemistry and rainbow-colored clothing made people feel good. From the unbridled way Alex Van Halen attacked his drum kit, to Michael Anthony’s rowdy, everyman approach to playing bass, to David Lee Roth’s breathtaking jump splits and gregarious stage patter, there was no other band in the world that projected such excitement and good-natured bonhomie. That went double for their virtuoso guitarist, Eddie Van Halen, whose shaggy exuberance recalled the joy of a Labrador retriever chasing a Frisbee.

Lombard and Angelus understood the power of the group’s appeal perhaps better than Van Halen themselves, and they were determined to capture it in a simple performance video without any little people or clutter. But there was one thing they agreed would be essential: getting Eddie to smile.

Smiling was something Ed did naturally—and often—to great effect. Though he was unquestionably the most dynamic and innovative electric guitarist since Jimi Hendrix or Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page, Edward’s boyish grin was one of the things that distinguished Van Halen from other huge rock bands at the time, such as the menacing Judas Priest, Black Sabbath, and AC/DC. Unlike most guitar heroes who affected an anguished look during their solos, Ed performed his spellbindingly complex guitar parts while flashing that smile augmented with a hint of “gee whiz” bashfulness that made girls’ hearts melt and guys want to be his best friend.

Even one of rock’s most important guitarists and thoughtful observers, The Who’s Pete Townshend, commented on Eddie’s beatific countenance on more than a couple of occasions. “His smile was just classic,” he said. “A man in his rightful place, so happy to be doing what he did. The Great American Guitar Player. I was hoping he might be president one day.”

Released in January 1984, the music video for “Jump,” directed by Angelus and Lombard, was exactly what they’d envisioned—a brilliant song, performed by a charismatic band, with no special effects (except for the guitarist’s irresistible grin). “Jump” leaped up the charts and became Van Halen’s most successful single, reaching number one on the US Billboard Hot 100, while the album 1984 went on to sell over ten million copies.

An irony: genuine and heartwarming though Ed’s smile was, behind its brilliance lay a complicated life that was anything but joyous. You would never know it from watching his effervescent performance on “Jump,” but in the early eighties Ed was unhappy with many things, and because of this the band that appeared so brilliantly footloose before the cameras was actually dangling by a thread.

Yes, Ed was smiling through his problems. Then again, he was used to it—he’d been doing it for most of his life.

ALEX VAN HALEN WAS EIGHT years old and younger brother Eddie was seven when their father Jan announced that they were leaving their native Holland for California. The family had been struggling to make ends meet, and the boys’ mother, Eugenia, thought it would be a good idea to leave their home in the town of Nijmegen to join her relatives in “the land of opportunity.” But there were other reasons for their move to America.

Eugenia, who was of mixed Dutch and Southeast Asian ancestry, was considered a “half-breed” in the Netherlands, as were her children, and the prejudice against people of mixed descent was so strong that the Van Halens decided it would be better for their sons to leave the country and start fresh somewhere else.

It wasn’t the first time prejudice and discrimination would impact the Van Halen family, and it wouldn’t be the last.

JAN VAN HALEN WAS BORN in the Netherlands (informally, Holland) in 1920 and became obsessed with music at an early age. By the time he turned eighteen, he was playing saxophone and clarinet at a professional level and performing in jazz bands and orchestras throughout Europe. When World War II erupted in 1939, he enlisted in the Dutch Air Force and was assigned to play ceremonial and marching music in a military band.

However, when Germany invaded Holland in 1940, it conquered the small country in just five days and all Dutch soldiers were conscripted to fight for Germany. Those who resisted were shot on the spot. Jan was reassigned to play propaganda music for the Third Reich, which he detested, but it was preferable to taking a bullet in the head or fighting in the trenches for Hitler.

After the war ended, instead of returning home he traveled to Indonesia, a large Southeast Asian island nation that had been under Dutch colonial rule since 1815. Work for musicians was relatively plentiful there, and it was where he met and, on August 11, 1950, married Eugenia van Beers.

The couple attempted to make a home there, but once again geopolitics intervened. After World War II, the Netherlands attempted to reestablish colonial rule in Indonesia, but a bitter armed struggle ensued, ending in December 1949 when, in the face of international pressure, the Dutch formally recognized Indonesian independence.

Indonesians subsequently became increasingly hostile to any Dutch residents, which made it difficult for Jan to find work. He decided it was best for him and the pregnant Eugenia to return to Holland, and on March 4, 1953, they left for Amsterdam. Two months later, on May 8, Alexander Arthur (Alex) was born, followed by his brother, Edward Lodewijk (Eddie), on January 26, 1955.

But just as the family was regarded with great suspicion by Indonesian nationals for being Dutch, Eugenia felt the brutal sting of discrimination in Holland for being half Asian, and she worried that her young boys would be victimized by what she described as the same “horrifying” treatment. So, on March 9, 1962, despite knowing almost no English, the family packed their bags and moved to America on a jammed steamship, sleeping in the lowest, cheapest quarters.

In their possession were a few suitcases, seventy-five Dutch guilders (the equivalent of about fifteen dollars at the time), and a piano made by the Dutch-owned Rippen Company. Given their circumstances, it seems odd that they dragged a piano halfway around the world, but both Edward and Alexander had been taking lessons from the time each was six, and their parents had dreams that they would grow up to become respected classical musicians. So, the family made the difficult decision to bring the piano with them.

It was a nine-day boat ride, and to help pay their fare, Jan, Edward, and Alexander, the boys on piano, provided the ship’s musical entertainment. It would be nice to imagine their experience as something out of a quaint 1930s musical, but the Van Halens’ financial situation was dire, and Jan and the kids were busking for their very survival.

“We were like a kid freak show,” Eddie remembered. “Dad would pass the hat, and we’d make an extra twenty dollars.”

Once in New York, the family took a four-day train ride across the country to Pasadena, California, to be near relatives who’d emigrated before them. With the money they earned on the ship, Jan and Eugenia were able to afford a cramped house they shared with two other families until they could get on their feet.

Pasadena, located eleven miles northeast of Downtown Los Angeles, is perhaps best known for its Tournament of Roses Parade, an annual event that marks the start of the Rose Bowl college football game held on New Year’s Day. But when the Van Halens arrived, the city was also a major West Coast industrial hub after its transformation during World War II into a research and manufacturing center for scientific and electronic precision instruments, and by the time the fifties rolled around, almost four hundred such firms were headquartered in the city. Add the Arroyo Seco Parkway, which provided a fast and direct route to Los Angeles, and Pasadena was an inexpensive and attractive place to live for people who worked in LA.

During the postwar boom, newcomers flocked to the city in droves, and Pasadena saw a steady influx of African Americans from Texas and Louisiana, as well as a large immigrant community, particularly people from China, Japan, Indonesia, and other Southeast Asian countries.

But despite the opportunities afforded by what was a boomtown, work was difficult to come by for Jan and Eugenia, who barely spoke English. While Jan desperately searched for jobs as a musician, he often had to make do with janitorial work and washing dishes.

“My dad didn’t know the language and was unable to drive a car, because in Holland you rode bicycles,” said Ed. “He often had to walk six miles to work, because in the beginning we couldn’t even afford a bicycle.”

Whereas things were tough for their parents, Ed and Alex’s early days in America were almost as grim. “It was beyond frightening,” said Eddie. “We had to go to school, and Al and I didn’t know anything about anything. We were two outcasts, so we became best friends and learned to stick together.”

The first school the boys attended was segregated, with students of color relegated to one side of the playground and white kids on the other. Since they spoke no English, the Van Halens were grouped in with the black and brown kids.

As Ed confided in a 2004 interview, “My first friends in America were black. It was actually the white kids that bullied me. They would tear up my homework and papers, make me eat playground sand, all those things. The black kids stood up for me.”

Alex, the more extroverted of the two boys, made the best of a bad situation and worked hard to fit in. But his extremely sensitive younger brother retreated into his own world—the world of music. While words often failed him, as a child Edward expressed himself through the piano, which he studied with a strict Russian-born instructor, maintaining a rigorous practice schedule under the watchful eye of his mother. That discipline and the obvious fact that he’d inherited his father’s musical gifts led Eddie, at the age of nine, to defeat thousands of other kids in local classical music competitions.

A few short years later, at the age of twelve, he would apply the same diligence to learning the electric guitar, spending countless hours locked in his bedroom developing the technique that would help him become one of the greatest players in the world.

For all Ed’s later incredible success, the pain of those early years never left him, especially his discomfort in social situations and his fear of ridicule. But the things that helped him deal with his childhood difficulties—his unyielding determination, his belief in the power of family, and his unique ability to channel his emotions in his playing—also remained with him. Music and his family, said Ed, “saved us.” During this time, an inextricable bond with his brother also formed. “Our struggle to make it in America made us stronger, because you had to be.”

And though he had been traumatized in his youth, Ed learned to smile through it all. Perhaps David Lee Roth was thinking of the Van Halen brothers when he wrote “You got to roll with the punches to get to what’s real” in the buoyant “Jump.” It was certainly something Alex and Eddie could identify with, and it was that vibe the cameras captured in the song’s iconic video.

You started off on piano.

Alex and I both started playing at age six. We had to learn to play piano because that was the “respectable” instrument to play. It was my mom’s dream that if we were going to be musicians, at least be respectable. We were seriously being trained to be concert pianists, like Vladimir Horowitz, that type of deal.

When we moved to the States, my parents did their best to find a really happening concert pianist teacher. They found this older guy, Stasys Kalvaitis, who had studied at one of the top conservatories in Russia [the Imperial Conservatory in Saint Petersburg]. He didn’t speak a word of English, and he would just sit there with a ruler ready to smack us if we made a mistake. He would have us practice all year for this contest they had at Long Beach City College. I actually won first place three years in a row, but I hated it. I never learned how to read. I always fooled the teacher. He’d play the song for me first and I’d watch his fingers and learn the piece by ear. I could read a little, but never like Al.

So, you won the competitions by “faking it”?

Yeah, I guess I was blessed with good enough ears to pull it off. I won first prize out of two thousand kids, and the judges would make remarks like, “Hmm, very interesting interpretation of Mozart.” And I’d think, “Oh, shit, I thought I was playing it right!” But I guess they got off on the fact that I put myself into it.

An important part of playing classical music is the performer’s interpretation.

Oh, exactly. That’s why my favorite pianist was always Horowitz. He had such a great sense of humor in his playing—he always put his own spin on Bach or Chopin or whatever he was performing. Segovia was the same way. He created his own interpretations of the classics for guitar, and people who just copy his transcriptions note for note miss the point. You’re supposed to find your own voice.

I think that’s why when I found the guitar, I refused to take lessons. I was going to do my own thing and find my personal emotional release, and I didn’t want to be told how to approach the instrument.

What about the guitar appealed to you? Is it because on the guitar you can bend the strings and get in between those tempered notes found on the piano?

Absolutely. With a guitar you can bend or use vibrato to reach all those microtonal notes and those feelings that fall between the cracks on the piano. The same is true of any fretless stringed instrument, like the violin and the cello—just listen to Yo-Yo Ma play the Bach cello suites.

Actually, I’ve been playing a lot of cello lately—you’ll probably hear some on one of our albums in the future. And at this point, I’m finding it a little too easy to fall through those cracks—a lot more than I want to! (laughs)

But back to your point, the guitar is such an expressive instrument because, like being with a woman, your touch is everything. You can play it angry or you can massage it sexy—how it responds depends on your touch. There’s a touch involved in piano, but you’re not actually touching the strings. So, there’s an agent in between you and the strings—a middleman. On the other hand, I’m not sure I’d really want to hear somebody bend the strings on a piano, but it’d be fun to watch them try!

You also played violin.

Yeah, for about three years. Al did, too. That was at the end of elementary school and the beginning of junior high. It was school-based stuff. Al actually made All City Orchestra on violin. I never did. I didn’t like the music they made me play, so I just started messing around with it and lost interest.

You did smuggle a bit of Kreutzer’s famous Etude No. 2 for the violin into your solo in “Eruption.”

(laughs) It was a bit of a joke.

Music was an important part of your family.

Playing music is what saved