There is a reason that my phone rings to Eddie Van Halen’s guitar solo of Eruption when my brother Jim calls. Memories of Van Halen are inseparable from memories of brotherhood. Jim had a Van Halen poster on the bulletin board next to his bed, right next to a poster of a slam dunking Julius “Dr. J” Erving. The Van Halen logo was one of the last things I saw every night, and one of the first things each morning when I opened my eyes. Early memories of Van Halen involve a portable eight track tape player with Jim at Grafton Park beach. 

Van Halen was cool because Jim thought they were cool and Jim had unquestionably good taste. The only reason I can draw the Van Halen logo is because I thought doing so would impress my big brother. I wouldn’t be surprised if  “And the Cradle Will Rock” wasn’t the first track touched by the needle on teenage Jim’s new stereo. Thankfully there are no pictures of elementary school Kevin air guitaring to their music. 

Eddie Van Halen, was, possibly along with soccer player Pele, probably the first person that young Kevin could name as a virtuoso. I couldn’t have told you what made him the best guitarist, but I would have told you he was. I had no clue what obsessive practice would have gone into that excellence. I don’t have the gene that pushes me to explore improvement at any cost. My character is tuned to look down deep into the dark tunnel of greatness, and go get a snack. I admire the Eddie’s, the Pele’s, the Jim’s, the Dr. J’s of the world immensely. 

Like every other teenage boy I knew, I watched the little kid version of Eddie and band mates embody Hot for Teacher on MTV. By the time Van Halen put out 5150, named after Eddie’s desire to make music more to his own vision, I was listening to music more to my own taste, and I lost track of his work.