Noel E. Monk - Runnin With the Devil: A Backstage Pass to the Wild Times, Loud Rock, and the Down and Dirty Truth Behind the Making of Van Halen

This book is dedicated to Bill Graham, who put me on this path and encouraged me to take the first steps on this amazing, whirlwind of a journey. Thanks, man. I owe you one, wherever you are.

A s the boys in the band descend from their limo, the smell of sex hangs in the air.

It grabs them by the nose, by the crotch, and yanks them forward, through a throbbing crowd of early arrivals, young girls mostly (but not exclusively), screaming and pleading, doing anything to get noticed and, perhaps, later in the night when the show is over, gain access to the inner sanctum where the real party begins. The boys pretend not to noticeby this point, roughly four years into a spectacular seven-year run during which they will evolve into the most popular band in rocktheyve become accustomed to the adulation, and the perks that come with it. For David Lee Roth, brothers Edward Van Halen and Alex Van Halen, and Michael Anthonya quartet of Southern California buddies who started out as a backyard party band before ascending to multiplatinum superstar status as Van Halen, purveyors of a particularly palatable brand of pop-savvy heavy metalthis is as good as it gets. Right here, right now. In the midst of a tour that will take them across the Americas, to Europe, and eventually to East Asia, pushing an album that isnt even one of their best, artistically or commercially. But maybe the definition of success isnt just talentmaybe, instead, its securing your place in history as one of the best live bands in the business, complete with a devoted following, strong record sales, and a veritable avalanche of merchandising revenue.

Sure, you could argue that the bands apex would come two years later, with the release of the brilliant LP 1984, and an accompanying megatour that made Van Halen a household name and among the first true superstars of the music video era. But I was there and I know differently. I was with the band when they started to breakfirst as their road manager and then as their managerand Id seen them through it all, enjoying the ride and loving just about every minute of it. By 84, Van Halen, the band I loved and helped guide to fruition, was on life support, though not many people realized it. They saw the sold-out arenas and the platinum-selling album (and singles) and presumed everything was okay. Diamond Dave could still jump off the drum riser and deliver high kicks like an Olympic gymnast; Eddie still had the fastest fretwork in the business, routinely burning through blistering guitar solos that begged comparisons to Hendrix and B. B. King and just about any other legendary guitar player whose name youd care to invoke. They had the world by the balls, these guys.

And then they loosened their grip.

Even as 1984 racked up sales and critical acclaim, and while the band was playing one sold-out show after another, the foundation on which the band had been constructed was beginning to come apart. Well, not really beginningit had been crumbling for some time. By the middle of 1984 (the year, as well as the tour), Van Halen was a band divideda victim of disputes both petty and legitimate. Long-simmering artistic differences (to say nothing of personality quirks) between Eddie and David had reached the boiling point.

Drug and alcohol use in the band had escalated into outright abuse. Love and brotherhood and the simple and time-honored adolescent dream of putting together a band with the hopes of getting laid and making a few bucks had been replaced by bitterness, complacency, and at times hatred. The tour itself was incredibly successfulwhich was a good thing, considering that we were otherwise hemorrhaging money. The fact was that we were trapped in a labyrinth of our own design, filled with tons of working parts, crew members, and flashy sets that threatened to swallow us whole, had it not been for one simple truth: Van Halen was fucking unsinkable. Or so we thought. Whatever we were, we were good. Not only did we break evenagainst all odds, we actually made money.

Being the life of the party isnt really worth it if youre not having a good time, thoughand that was the problem. By 84 the pleasurable days of soaking up life on the road, traveling the world, and living for the music were long gone. The band was still playing their hearts out to adoring fans, but once the show was over and the crowd began to dissipate, the truth set in: Van Halen wasnt having fun anymore. By mid-1984 Van Halen was a glossy but depressed replica of its former self, meeting contractual obligations with little joy, and its four members typically went their separate ways when the lights were dimmed and the trucks loaded up.

I was in the middle of all this, often serving as de facto referee, until eventually I was shown the door. So I know for a fact that while 1984 might seem like the greatest year in the life of Van Halen, it really wasnt. You want a snapshot of the peak, a backstage pass to when the boys were at their most hedonistic and creative? Well, then you have to go back a little further. Why not 82?

Lets say were arriving at the show. Theres an overall pungency to the backstage area, a weird concoction of smells that can be challenging to separate and identify. The first thing that hits you is fumes: its like walking into an auto repair shop or a gas station. Take the typical 15,000-seat arena in Portland or Pittsburgh, or the Checkerdome in St. Louis. It really doesnt mattertheyre all the same. At the back of each you will find a ramp for the loading and unloading of equipment. At the base of the ramp is a forty-four-foot semi... with a half dozen others right behind it, awaiting their turn, all belching noxious fumes into the stale air. A thick haze of smoke and exhaust settles over the entire area. It reminds one of flying into LAX on a nice day. You know how that goes. As you get closer to the ground, the sky thickens and changes hue, from clear blue to vaguely pink, and eventually to something resembling sludge when youre a couple thousand feet above it.

The backstage area on concert day is layered that way. Outside youve got the trucks and the sweat-covered roadies. And the groupies. Oh, yes, the tonic for the troops. The girls give off an overpowering scentnot just cheap perfume, but of sex, sweat, and need, as well. Its intangible, almost, but you can sense it nonetheless: the smell of desire, and the overpowering urge to let go. Drink a bottle of booze, pop a couple ludes, smoke a joint or two (or ten), and see where the night takes you. Maybe the road leads nowhere; maybe it leads to a glimpse behind the curtain, to an evening (or at least a few feverish sweat-soaked minutes) of carnal pleasure with a member of the band. Failing that, you settle for a member of the crew or support staff. Maybe you even go home to your boyfriend and climb into the sack while visions of David Lee Roth dance in your head. At a Van Halen concert, the yearning is palpable, and it comes across as an intoxicating smell, like patchouli oil, drifting through the doors and into the backstage area itself.