By now everyone has heard – legendary guitarist Edward Van Halen has passed away at the age of 65. I can’t believe I’m actually talking about him in the past tense.
All my friends and family, most listeners, and anyone who’s read my books will know how much of a Van Halen fan I am and have been since the age of twelve. I heard the news yesterday, and I just kinda…froze. Everything stopped for a second. I knew a little bit about the recurring cancer thing, but I had no idea he was that sick. It’s such an awful sensation, that feeling of the floor dropping out from under you, those few ugly seconds that pass while your brain works really hard to make sense of something unthinkable, to get past the confusion. I imagine most of us felt a similar unsettling, stark vulnerability in finding out someone like Eddie Van Halen could have passed, just like that.
Situations like this one are so strange, because I look upon Edward Van Halen as a friend, as someone I’m close to – like I know him. Even though I didn’t know him at all. But without him knowing it, his music played a definitive role in who I would eventually become as a person. Without him being aware, we made memories together during some pretty formative years of my life. Memories that I access frequently, even before I received word of his passing.
I feel like Van Halen’s music was written for me. At a young age, Ed absolutely dazzled me. I immediately wanted to emotionally invest in Van Halen, and in Edward Van Halen. I was just so impressed by him and the band that I wanted to be part of the whole thing, and I wanted Van Halen to be part of me. Most Van Halen diehards remember where they were when they heard Van Halen for the first time. I was on summer vacation in the southern United States in 1981 when I bought Van Halen’s first record on cassette, at a roadside diner of all places, after seeing it in one of those rotating cassette tower rack things (millennials will have NO idea what I’m talking about here). Anyway, I have very vivid memories of listening to that cassette. And when I couldn’t be listening to it, thinking a lot about what I’d heard. When I got back home, I was exposed to what would become my favourite Van Halen record, and in my opinion, one of the greatest pure, raw, rock records in history, Women and Children First.
Ed was so cerebral and ahead of the curve musically that back when he was still playing classical piano pieces at recitals, he would add improvised notes to pieces by Mozart or Bach, thinking he was playing them correctly in their original form. His teachers would commend his interpretation, but he thought he was playing the pieces note-for-note. When I think about this, I recall something else I’d read about Eddie saying that he developed his sound as a result of not being able to actually completely copy his heroes, people like Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page. This forced him to come up with a style that was completely different, one that was all his own. He described his playing on more than one occasion as ‘reckless abandon’, despite being known for his precision and clarity. The reckless abandon idea likely applies to his focus on capturing the raw purity of the performance, something that shone through on the early Van Halen records. One of my favourite Eddie stories was when the band asked Ed’s father Jan Van Halen to play clarinet on “Big Bad Bill” from Diver Down. Jan had been a professional and experienced musician, but because he was out of his element and understandably nervous, he made mistakes. When Jan apologized and asked to replay his parts, Edward refused to allow it, saying to him, “Dad, don’t worry. The mistakes are what make the music real”.
I think that Ed’s recital performances and his experiences in trying to emulate Clapton and Page tell us a lot about Eddie Van Halen as a musician and maybe even as a person – that his greatest achievements ironically resulted from his own perceived failure. I feel like this idea forms the basis of what makes Van Halen’s music truly special – Edward didn’t follow obvious or established formats. He ignored convention; having a very clear idea in his head of the end result, he did what he thought he needed to do to achieve that result. And most of the time, what he did was completely unconventional. Including building entire guitars from an assortment of pieces of other guitars to achieve a sound and a vibe all his own.
For me, Eddie Van Halen was the most original and most exciting guitar player in all of rock. And he made it look so easy! He was a true virtuoso, and no other virtuoso had more fun than he did. Always with a big bright smile, like he was welcoming us in. I always loved that about him – he was the antithesis to the other guys who grimaced and made guitar playing look so painful. He always looked like he was having so much fun.
Ed was responsible for all kinds of six-string firsts, most notably the “Eruption” solo, which he came up with nonchalantly as a warmup exercise. On Van Halen II we have “Spanish Fly”, which was essentially just another noodling exercise, this time on an acoustic guitar. Then a few albums later on Diver Down, there was “Cathedral”. I’ve always said of Edward, yes, it’s one thing for someone to have learned how to play “Eruption”, or “Cathedral”, or “Spanish Fly” note for note. Great accomplishment. But what about actually WRITING this stuff? Creating this stuff?
Even without the fretboard tapping, the feel Ed had was unbelievable. He played fast, clean, fluid lines, but also had a very rhythmic, percussive, almost bouncy aspect in his playing. And on top of all of that, he was also responsible for little subtleties like the “Atomic Punk” intro riff. And seemingly insignificant things, like dragging his pick over the guitar strings behind the tuning nut right before the actual guitar comes in on “Runnin’ with the Devil”.
Some little things nobody else did, some big things nobody else could do, and all kinds of things that no one else thought to do. But most important of all, Ed’s playing featured all of this stuff and still had warmth. Sharp edges, round shapes, and a richness we’ll never ever hear again.
When I consider the whole of my experience as an Eddie Van Halen fan, from age twelve to now, I can’t help but think that we should be so lucky in life to have experienced something that thrilled us with such remarkable intensity. For me, Ed’s playing did just that. Still does. It’s a gift no one else can give.
There will never, ever be another Edward Van Halen, and I’m incredibly sad to say goodbye. But I’m certainly thankful for all of the memories he leaves behind.
Rest easy, Edward. You’ll never truly be gone.
