In the late 1970s, I had a job working at a Maine-based drugstore that would end up being swallowed by Rite Aid. One of my responsibilities was to order and stock the relatively small record department.
This was great fun, hardly a job at all, really. The only downside was that it was insanely easy to buy albums. I would just sign a receipt, “charging” the item to my account. Unfortunately, this resulted in several paychecks of less than $10 over a two-week period.
When the first Van Halen record showed up at the store on Feb. 10, 1978, I just knew I had to have it. There was something kind of primal and unhinged about the cover photos. Were they a punk band or something? I had no idea, but I took home a copy that night.
Not more than a few seconds after I dropped the needle and, cliché or not, my jaw hit the floor. I just could not believe what I was hearing.
Oh sure, I’d heard plenty of loud guitar before but this was different: When Eddie Van Halen stepped up for that first guitar solo, he unleashed a torrent of notes that managed to sound both focused and wildly out of control. And while frontman David Lee Roth’s voice roared, the entire vocal sound was sweetened by bassist Michael Anthony’s crucial high harmonies.
After I got home from work, it was customary for me to chat with my girlfriend on the phone. I was so taken with Van Halen I that I had to apologize and hang up on her. Probably not the first time that my music obsession has negatively affected my sex life.
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