Forbidden love; or, Wherein wobs has his posting privileges summarily revoked

Craig had some awful nice things to say about me in his introductory post. I do like to think that I have a good ear for music and that my understanding of it has evolved past the Beavis & Butthead binary of "this rocks/this sucks." I think it's fair to say that my appreciation of music mirrors my appreciation for beer - I have a palate for all of the various incarnations, I have an understanding of the processes that go into producing each type, I can intelligently discuss the subtleties, and, of course, I can spend hours enjoying it.

And with music, as with beer, there is some (what some might term "sub-standard") b(r)and that led me down the path to a broader appreciation, a b(r)and to which I continually return - shamelessly - for reasons of nostalgia and because, quite frankly, I still like it. Ladies and gentlemen, David Lee Roth-era Van Halen is my PBR of music.

So what if the lyrical content never veers beyond your standard "beers & broads" hair band fare? I defy you to name a band that did it as well, or who did it in a way that withstands decades of listening. Over 30 years after its initial release, Van Halen still possess in its rawness and aggressiveness, in Roth's smirking delivery, in Eddie's pyrotechnic genius, and in Michael and Alex's unremarkable but competent rhythms, an undefinable joy that still draws me back years later. Their whole Diamond Dave-era output is worth revisiting, but honestly, there is one reason I will always return to this band: the opening drum solo and guitar licks of 1984's "Hot For Teacher" played at speaker-blowing volume. It's the equivalent of an ice-cold tall boy of PBR on a hot summer day.



Our musical tastes had to start somewhere. Mine started here with a band that never sucked (at least until Sammy Hagar showed up).