by Noel Monk
“Of course, Eddie. We love you, too. What’s the problem?”
The problem, as it turned out, was that Eddie still worked for David. They had come to the Roxy together. David liked to go out on the Strip. He liked to listen to music, and he liked to be seen. But apparently he did not want to be seen by me.
“You have to leave,” Eddie said. “David is flipping out. He doesn’t want to talk to you, and he doesn’t want to be anywhere near you.”
To be honest, I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of seeing David, either, but his response seemed excessive.
“Eddie, I can appreciate that you’re in a difficult position here, but we came to see a band, and I’m waiting to talk with them. I’m not going anywhere. David can go fuck himself.”
Eddie grew more nervous.
“Please, Noel. If you stay, there’s going to be a fight. It’ll be a huge scene and it will be in all the papers. I don’t want to have to defend David against you, but he’s my boss. And if that’s what I have to do . . .”
Eddie hung his head as his voice trailed off. “It’s just not worth it,” he finally added, in almost a whisper.
I looked at Jan, and then at Eddie. He was one of the toughest guys I knew, but in this moment he just seemed . . . sad.
“Eddie, you’re right,” I said. “It’s not worth it.”
Eddie walked us to the door, we said goodbye, shared another hug, and then stepped out onto Sunset Boulevard—home to not only the Roxy but the Whisky a Go Go, Gazzarri’s, and the Starwood, where, so many years ago, Van Halen had gotten its start. In a sense, I guess, things had come full circle.
I WILL SAY THIS: for quite a long period of time I found it nearly impossible to hear a Van Halen song (circa 1978–84) without feeling anger, resentment, sadness—or some combination of the three. I never willingly listened to a Van Halen album. If I was in my car and “Runnin’ with the Devil” or “Jump”—or any of a dozen other hit singles—came on the radio, I would instantly curse under my breath and change the station. It wasn’t just that the song hit me in the wallet; it hit me in the heart.
But time can be a wonderful balm. As the years passed—and I don’t know exactly when it happened—I found myself feeling something else. Nostalgia, perhaps. Or pride. “Runnin’ with the Devil” comes on the radio now and I don’t bother to change the channel. I’ll listen, allow myself to be transported to a time and a place when Van Halen was one of the biggest bands in the world, and I’ll think . . .
That’s a fucking great song by a great fucking band.
And I was part of it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my wife and my daughter, who, without either of them, this book could not have, would not have ever come to fruition. Thanks for dragging my sorry ass out of bed, and pushing me to never give up—even when I wanted to. I love you both.
Thanks to Matt Harper at HarperCollins, who gave me a shot, listened to all my stories, and decided, maybe, other people would like to hear them, too. You’re the best editor a guy could ask for.
And thanks to Joe, a man of unmeasurable will and patience, for taking the little fragmented pieces of my life and transforming them into something tangible. This is a mosaic, and you are a godsend.
Thanks to Carl Scott, to Neil Zlozower, and to Justin Malet; to Dr. Sex Pistol and Zak Wilson; to Katie Steinberg and Victor Hendrickson of HarperCollins, and to Frank Weiman at Folio Literary Management. You guys made it possible.
Thanks to Gail and John Warner, for cracking skulls and taking IOUs.
Thank you to David Edward Byrd, for making my life’s work something beautiful, and to his husband, Jolino Beserra, for doing the same to my adopted home, Los Angeles.
And thanks to the boys in the band, for giving me something to talk about.
This book is for the legion of fans who, after thirty years, still find a way to email me, call me, write me, break into my backyard, and startle my dogs; and for the more polite ones who stop me on the street, in restaurants, in stores and once at the library, and almost never follow me home. I don’t know how, but you guys are still interested in knowing what really happened. Well, here you go; here it is. This is for the ones who want to know all of the juicy, gory, dirty little details about my time with Van Halen—and this is for the ones who never bought the party line about what really happened in the end. This is for the truth-seekers, and maybe for the journalists, too.
Have at it.
PHOTO INSERTS
Backstage, 1978—with Michael, Alex, Edward, and David. When I first met them, they really were just four guys from Southern California.
Michael Anthony and his then-girlfriend (now wife), Sue Anthony. For all my time with the band, Michael Anthony was a gentle and fun-loving soul even as chaos swirled around him.
Our sound engineer, Townsend Wessinger (left), Eddie (center), and me in 1979.
Gary Geller the Red Roadie (left) and Peter Angelus (right) on the first Van Halen tour. The battery in the rented truck behind them died the night of the first gig of the tour in Chicago at the Aragon Ballroom.
The logo on the Jimi Hendrix poster that turned up in a box of the band’s things from Marshall Berle’s office after he was let go. The similarities to the Van Halen logo hit me immediately.
1978: From left, Michael Anthony, me, and Peter Angelus.
David Lee Roth on tour in 1978.
Carl Scott, the Warner Brothers Records VP who brought me on board as road manager for Van Halen’s first tour.
A picture of me from the road, 1978.
David and Alex, during a promotional trip to South Africa.
David and the South African cops.
David Lee Roth, 1979.
David checking out the view from a hotel window. Those first couple of years we were always on the road, but we loved it—all of us.
Me (right), hanging out with Edward (left), and Alex (center) around 1980–81.
Michael Anthony dressed up for a Halloween, 1980.
Alex (left) and Edward (right) were always ready for a good party—be it on Halloween or any other night.
The whole band together on Halloween (clockwise from the top), Alex, Michael, David, Edward).
Even on Halloween, he was still David Lee Roth.
A later Halloween with Edward and Valerie Bertinelli in which they dressed as each other.
David lounging by the pool during some down time.
Alex and his then-wife Valerie Kendall.
Eddie Anderson, who handled security, and my soon to be wife, Jan.
Michael and Sue Anthony at a party in a French restaurant for my wife and me four days before we were married.
Though David and I had our differences at times, he was always fun at a party.
Alex Van Halen at his finest.
Valerie and Edward at the French restaurant. I was there the first time these two met in person, and I can say that if theirs was an odd match, it was nonetheless genuine. I could tell right away that they liked each other.
David Lee Roth at our pre-wedding party.
The Van Halen crew at my wedding in April 1983. In the front from left to right: Edward, Michael and Sue Anthony, Valerie Bertinelli, and Jan Van Halen (Edward’s and Alex’s father). ©Neil Zlozower
Sue, Michael, and Alex at my wedding. ©Neil Zlozower
Eddie Anderson, Edward, me, and Jan Van Halen. ©Neil Zlozower
Edward, me, Mo Ostin, Evelyn Ostin, and Tom Ruffino. ©Neil Zlozower
Valerie Kendall and Alex Van Halen. ©Neil Zlozower
Jan with David’s father, Nathan Roth. ©Neil Zlozower
Hanging out with Edward. ©Neil Zlozower
Sue Anthony and Valerie Bertinelli catching some sleep on the road during the 1984 tour.
A very hungover Valerie Bertinelli.
Backstage with our equipment in Europe, 1984.
Valerie with a bathrobe, waiting for Edward to finish playing during the 1984 tour.
Michael, Valerie, an
d Edward during the European leg of the 1984 tour.
David with Debbie Kelly, who sold merch at our shows and whose husband was the head of merchandising for us.
Michael and Sue Anthony, high school sweethearts, were great people through it all.
Backstage during the summer of 1984.
David Lee Roth in a hotel room in London.
Michael waiting for the Concord.
Valerie backstage on tour.
Michael backstage with Vince Neil of Mötley Crüe during the Monsters of Rock tour.
Sue and Michael with Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee on the Monsters of Rock tour.
With my wife, Jan, in London, 1984.
My wife, Jan, has been through it all with me and then some. All these years later, we’ve never forgotten what life was like with Van Halen.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
NOEL MONK helped stage-manage Woodstock, served as Bill Graham’s right-hand man at the legendary Fillmore East, and worked with rock musicians including Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, the Grateful Dead, the Rolling Stones, and the Sex Pistols. He is also the author of 12 Days on the Road: The Sex Pistols and America, and he lives in Colorado.
JOE LAYDEN has authored or coauthored more than thirty books, including multiple New York Times bestsellers.
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COPYRIGHT
All photos courtesy of Janice and Noel Monk unless otherwise noted.
RUNNIN’ WITH THE DEVIL. Copyright © 2017 by Noel Monk. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Cover design by Meat and Potatoes
Cover photograph: © Neil Zlozower
Print ISBN 978-0-06-247410-0
EPub Edition JUNE 2017 ISBN 9780062474131
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