I knew going into last Thursday night’s Van Halen concert that, based solely on the size of the venue, I’d be fairly close to the stage … but I didn’t know I’d be THIS close:
No, seriously:
(I also didn't know that the band was picking up everyone's bar tab ... which is a shame, because, had I found that out prior to the end of the show, I'm certain I could have done a hell of a lot more damage than three bottles of Sam Adams. Just sayin'.)
One of the most awesome things about sitting this close to the stage while seeing Van Halen perform in a tiny little basement club in New York City … is being able to say that you were sitting this close to the stage while seeing Van Halen perform in a tiny little basement club in New York City.
In truth, the show was awesome, but the sound was pretty muddy — partly because the room was the size of a breath mint, and partly because I was sitting directly in front of Wolfgang Van Halen’s bass rig, the thunder emanating from which largely drowned out Eddie’s guitar and David Lee Roth’s vocals, and the concussive force of which I’m pretty sure damaged my internal organs.
All this shit right here was aimed at my head and torso.
That's Wolfgang playing his bass. I tried to strum a few chords, but he smacked my hand away. Killjoy.
Now, I was going to just show you some more pictures and be done with it, but then Type-A Jon said, “Hey, slacker: There’s a father-son angle here that you could write about — you know, seeing as how you are, after all, a so-called ‘Daddy Blogger’ — so howzabout, instead of just phoning it in, you actually put some fucking effort into it?” Type-A Jon is a real pain in my ass sometimes.
But, OK: Wolfgang Van Halen is guitarist Eddie Van Halen’s 20-year-old son. Eddie and his brother, drummer Alex Van Halen, unceremoniously dumped original bassist Michael Anthony a few years back, and replaced him with Wolfgang. (I’ve already talked about what a great guy Michael is here and here, so I won’t go thru that again, but suffice to say: I wish he was still in Van Halen.)
As I saw up-close (very, very close) last Thursday, Wolfgang has definitely inherited the musical gene that his father and uncle both carry. He is an outstanding musician who is totally capable of playing the bass lines for Van Halen. He also, however, is a 20-year-old kid who has taken the place of a dynamic, veteran rock star whose overall persona and inimitable background vocals were a huge part of Van Halen’s identity. Seeing a comparatively shy, inexperienced, extremely young-looking kid less than half my age standing in Michael’s place and sharing the stage with three rock-and-roll legends feels … odd. No two ways about it.
Having said all of that, here’s the thing: In my estimation, if not for Wolfgang Van Halen, the band Van Halen most likely no longer would exist, and Eddie Van Halen — who, by all accounts, has been clean and sober since just before going on tour with Wolfgang, Alex and David Lee Roth a few years ago — would be either a hermit or dead.
Instead, he’s making music and sharing the stage with his son … which, as you can see in these pictures (despite their shiterrific quality), is bringing him a great deal of joy and happiness.
What I failed to capture in that batch of crimes against the art of photography was Eddie planting a kiss on his son’s cheek while both played their guitars … which was a moment that made me think about how I, as a father, would feel in that situation.
As a lifelong Van Halen fan, I obviously would prefer to see the group’s original bassist instead of Eddie’s kid … but if I’m Eddie Van Halen, and I don’t actually need to work for a living, and I, for whatever reason, don’t care to have Michael Anthony in my band anymore, and I have a son who has both the interest and the talent to make music with me, and adding him to my band means I can experience the thrill of looking to my right every night and seeing my boy kicking ass on his bass guitar while we both play a bunch of songs that I wrote … well, then that’s what I’m gonna do. And, at this point in my life and my career, the lifelong Van Halen fans who might prefer otherwise can fucking deal with it.
So, with that in mind, I’m dealing with it.
The good news is: Wolf totally nailed it on the bass the other night. He’s come a long way since I first saw him perform with Van Halen four years ago, and I hope he’s having a ball. I’d want nothing less for my own son.
But enough with all the sappy-daddy bullshit. The important thing is: Van Halen kicked major ass in New York City the other night … and I was there.
If you’re a glutton for punishment or a lover of really bad photography — or both — you can suffer the rest of the shots I took by clicking here, and/or by watching the slideshow below.
So there’s that whole thing with me and Van Halen, right? Well, the band is about to release its first new album with original singer David Lee Roth in 28 years, and to drum up some excitement, the boys are playing a private show Thursday night in New York City at a little hole-in-the-wall place that holds only a couple hundred people. It’s about as big as my kitchen. (Background info: My kitchen = Not so big.)
Two years ago today, while hurtling headlong toward a depression-induced midlife crisis (or a midlife-crisis-induced depression; either way), I had the audacity to tell 2010 I was going to kick its ass. Those of you who’ve been here for a while now know how well that worked out. (SPOILER: Really shitty!)
Last night, we bid farewell to the delightfully milquetoast 2011 by taking the kids to a super-nice, ridiculously pricey restaurant that they had absolutely no ability to appreciate (another of my stellar ideas!), after which we returned home, donned party hats, poured a couple drinks and watched the kids run apeshit around the yard while blowing kazoos as loud as kazoos can be blown — and documented it all with some terrible flash photography:
Girl reveler
Boy reveler
Moderately inebriated middle-aged male reveler, expertly photographed in mid-blink by moderately inebriated wife.
In closing: 2011 was a year for catching my breath and recovering after being battered about the head in 2010 … but I’m hoping to make 2012 a bit more noteworthy … and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.
Caught cackling like a loon because the photographer shook the little jingle toy that he uses for capturing the attention of babies and toddlers ... and slow-witted, 41-year-old bloggers.
The annual Scratches Family Christmas* card. Brought to you by … Photoshop.
Thank you, Photoshop, for your heavenly glow, which allows me to spare the world from the increasingly severe and frightful lines in my face.
I figure I’m about a year or two away from this:
Barely noticeable touch-up.
Have I told you the story behind our Santa-photo tradition? [I just went back and checked, and it turns out that, yes, I have told you the story behind our Santa-photo tradition. Lucky you! You get to hear it again!] Well, you see, when Zan was six months old, he sat on Santa’s lap without hesitation. But when Zan was one-and-a-half years old, he said “Fuck that noise.” Which, really, I can’t blame him. In fact, I’m kind of glad his instincts told him not to sit on some strange old man’s lap.
He was, however, willing to sit with Santa if Mommy and Daddy joined him … so we took a family photo with Santa … and thus was born the annual Scratches Family Christmas*-card photo. (I have informed the children that they will be required to do this every year until they move out on their own. It’s a major pain in the ass to get our photo taken with the mall Santa each holiday* season, and it’s kind of odd that there’s a stranger in our Christmas*-card photo every year, but now that we’ve done it so many times, my obsessive-compulsive nature compels me to not break with tradition.)
At any rate … I hope you all have a wonderful whatever-it-is you do or don’t celebrate. Thanks for all the love this year. You rock. Really. I mean it.
Love,
Me
*See? One minute, I’m all “Happy Holidays!” and the next, I’m all “Merry Christmas!” You know why? Because I DON’T CARE. Also? Sometimes, it occurs to me that I don’t necessarily know the religion of the person to whom I’m wishing good tidings … in which case, I may think to myself, “Well, I can’t go wrong with a kindly ‘Happy Holidays,’ now, can I?” But apparently I can go wrong with a kindly “Happy Holidays” … as evidenced by those occasions when, after saying just that, the person to whom I’ve said it responds with a highly aggressive “Merry Christmas!” And I don’t mean, like, a mirth-filled, joyful, celebrate-the-birth-of-baby-Jesus “Merry Christmas!” No, more like a defiant, Fox News-fueled, I-fucking-dare-you-to-try-and-subjugate-my-belief-in-the-One-True-God “Merry Christmas!” … which, if you ask me, really kind of kills the Christmas spirit … or holiday spirit … or whatever. Anyway … Happy Festivus, y’all!)
Don't judge me, you bastards. I defy ANY of you to do this job and NOT drink.
Dear Zan & Jayna,
I’ve tried to be nice, children. For days now, I’ve sat quietly on the shelf, or hung from the Christmas tree, or peered down upon you from atop the mantle or the cabinets or the china cupboard or whatever other wacky locale your father I could find. And I’ve tried.
I’ve tried, by virtue of my silent presence, to gently coax you into compliance with your parents’ wishes. And they I had hoped that my mere presence alone would be enough to keep you in line … but after the display the two of you put on this morning, it has become clear to me that my pixie-ish grin and my kind, blue eyes aren’t getting the message across … so here’s how it’s gonna be:
You two are going to get with the program right now, because if you don’t, there’s going to be nothing but a fuckload of coal up in this bitch next Sunday, you dig? And, no, this isn’t the booze talking. Don’t let the red pajamas and goofy look plastered on my face fool you, OK? Because I will cut a bitch.
Boy Child: Enough! Enough with the whining and the crying and the moody outbursts and the falling apart about every little thing your sister does. Stop being such a pussy. You think you’ve got it bad? How do you think I feel, huh? I’ve gotta live with you lunatics, sit stock still all day long, then spend every night flying back and forth to the North Pole so I can report your behavior to Santa! I mean, SERIOUSLY? All the technology that fat fuck delivers every Christmas, and he can’t figure out how to text? I’ve gotta fly the message to him? Asshole.
Girl Child: Same goes for you! STOP. IT. You’re cute, but you also are a spectacular ball-buster. Stop provoking your brother, because if you don’t, and he decides to smack you down, I will turn a blind eye. The jolly fat man won’t hear a word of it from me. What he will hear about, however, is your constant “No!”-ing and back-talking and grunting and screaming and crying every time your parents ask you to do something. That shit’s over.
Repeat after me, children: “OK, Mommy. OK, Daddy.”
Good. Now stick to that script and you might actually have a shot at seeing the crap-ton of ridiculously expensive shit your parents put themselves in hock for gifts Santa is planning to give you this year.
Fun science fact: It is physically impossible to NOT have a drink while listening to AC/DC's "Have a Drink On Me."about 2 weeks ago
Q: What kind of a man pisses all over the toilet seat in a workplace bathroom and doesn't clean it up?
A: The bad-aim, giant-asshole kind.about 2 weeks ago
If #NRA CEO Wayne Lapierre was a bigger asshole, he would need a full-time colonoscopist. Linking Boston bombing to your cause? You douche.about 2 weeks ago
#RedSox are the only team in MLB with 20 wins and single-digit loss record. Neener neener, everyone else's team.about 2 weeks ago
)
If I had been any closer to the stage at that Van Halen show the other night, I’d be carrying Eddie’s baby
I knew going into last Thursday night’s Van Halen concert that, based solely on the size of the venue, I’d be fairly close to the stage … but I didn’t know I’d be THIS close:
No, seriously:
(I also didn't know that the band was picking up everyone's bar tab ... which is a shame, because, had I found that out prior to the end of the show, I'm certain I could have done a hell of a lot more damage than three bottles of Sam Adams. Just sayin'.)
One of the most awesome things about sitting this close to the stage while seeing Van Halen perform in a tiny little basement club in New York City … is being able to say that you were sitting this close to the stage while seeing Van Halen perform in a tiny little basement club in New York City.
In truth, the show was awesome, but the sound was pretty muddy — partly because the room was the size of a breath mint, and partly because I was sitting directly in front of Wolfgang Van Halen’s bass rig, the thunder emanating from which largely drowned out Eddie’s guitar and David Lee Roth’s vocals, and the concussive force of which I’m pretty sure damaged my internal organs.
All this shit right here was aimed at my head and torso.
That's Wolfgang playing his bass. I tried to strum a few chords, but he
smacked my hand away. Killjoy.
Now, I was going to just show you some more pictures and be done with it, but then Type-A Jon said, “Hey, slacker: There’s a father-son angle here that you could write about — you know, seeing as how you are, after all, a so-called ‘Daddy Blogger’ — so howzabout, instead of just phoning it in, you actually put some fucking effort into it?” Type-A Jon is a real pain in my ass sometimes.
But, OK: Wolfgang Van Halen is guitarist Eddie Van Halen’s 20-year-old son. Eddie and his brother, drummer Alex Van Halen, unceremoniously dumped original bassist Michael Anthony a few years back, and replaced him with Wolfgang. (I’ve already talked about what a great guy Michael is here and here, so I won’t go thru that again, but suffice to say: I wish he was still in Van Halen.)
As I saw up-close (very, very close) last Thursday, Wolfgang has definitely inherited the musical gene that his father and uncle both carry. He is an outstanding musician who is totally capable of playing the bass lines for Van Halen. He also, however, is a 20-year-old kid who has taken the place of a dynamic, veteran rock star whose overall persona and inimitable background vocals were a huge part of Van Halen’s identity. Seeing a comparatively shy, inexperienced, extremely young-looking kid less than half my age standing in Michael’s place and sharing the stage with three rock-and-roll legends feels … odd. No two ways about it.
Having said all of that, here’s the thing: In my estimation, if not for Wolfgang Van Halen, the band Van Halen most likely no longer would exist, and Eddie Van Halen — who, by all accounts, has been clean and sober since just before going on tour with Wolfgang, Alex and David Lee Roth a few years ago — would be either a hermit or dead.
Instead, he’s making music and sharing the stage with his son … which, as you can see in these pictures (despite their shiterrific quality), is bringing him a great deal of joy and happiness.
What I failed to capture in that batch of crimes against the art of photography was Eddie planting a kiss on his son’s cheek while both played their guitars … which was a moment that made me think about how I, as a father, would feel in that situation.
As a lifelong Van Halen fan, I obviously would prefer to see the group’s original bassist instead of Eddie’s kid … but if I’m Eddie Van Halen, and I don’t actually need to work for a living, and I, for whatever reason, don’t care to have Michael Anthony in my band anymore, and I have a son who has both the interest and the talent to make music with me, and adding him to my band means I can experience the thrill of looking to my right every night and seeing my boy kicking ass on his bass guitar while we both play a bunch of songs that I wrote … well, then that’s what I’m gonna do. And, at this point in my life and my career, the lifelong Van Halen fans who might prefer otherwise can fucking deal with it.
So, with that in mind, I’m dealing with it.
The good news is: Wolf totally nailed it on the bass the other night. He’s come a long way since I first saw him perform with Van Halen four years ago, and I hope he’s having a ball. I’d want nothing less for my own son.
But enough with all the sappy-daddy bullshit. The important thing is: Van Halen kicked major ass in New York City the other night … and I was there.
If you’re a glutton for punishment or a lover of really bad photography — or both — you can suffer the rest of the shots I took by clicking here, and/or by watching the slideshow below.