Transcript of Remembering Eddie Van Halen

How has grief been for you?

I always thought of myself as a stoic guy, tough. I was the elder in the family, so I had a certain role.

You were the protector?

Yeah.

Do you feel like you are grieving, or do you feel like- I'm grieving all the time. You're trying to put it aside.

I'm not running from it because that doesn't solve the problem.

It's there. You feel it?

Oh, yeah, absolutely. It's At times, it can be overwhelming. And the more I dwell on it, the more complicated it becomes. When I'm alone and I put on a piece of music and I hear him play, I just break down. That's it, uncontrollably. But knowing what I know about the human body. Just let it happen. Otherwise, it will happen in the line at the grocery store. That wouldn't look so good. None of us really thought he was going to die. He'd always bounced back. He had the most incredible DNA that I've ever seen anybody. He could do more drugs than anybody and still wake up the next day and perform. I don't think anybody really thought he was going to die. So when he passed, it was really a shock.

Did he know or was he?

I don't think he knew. Being human, you think you're going to go on one more day, one more day. You keep going forward, but then one day, you don't. So up to the very end, we We were still making music, and we talked about, What are we going to do next year? But it was clear that he was going downhill.

There's a song that you guys were working on.

Yeah. We usually recorded almost everything that we were in the studio while they were playing.

I just want to play a little bit of the song that you were working on.

This is one song that I really liked because having just Ed and me in the studio was always the way to let things breathe. You have four people in there. Everybody starts throwing in ideas. Nothing gets to become... You have to wait until it grows into fruition. Give it time, give it space. Let it breathe a little bit.

That's how you communicated with each other.

Yes, exactly. Music was the way he spoke to the world. I think his soul is in the music.

He died during COVID.

It was difficult because his immune system was down. So the last thing he needed was to get infected by anything. So there was always a distance between us. At his house, we had to watch him from outside in the driveway from the window.

You couldn't sit by his bedside. You couldn't hold him? No, no, no.

The last time we did that was when I took him to Switzerland to have some treatment by some unbelievable doctors. But he was in a lot of pain pain most of the time. Most people have no idea what pain he was in, physical, emotional, mental, you name it. Then he started to lose the function of his extremities. It all compounded, and every day it was something, some other part that's not functioning anymore.

It was cancer that went to his brain?

Yes. And they did something called a Gamma knife operation, where they cut the cancer out, which was successful. But in the process, it caused a swelling in his brain. So they put him on steroids. And it's typical... I'm only laughing about it because even in a life and death situation, the decision was, well, if two is good, 20 must be better. So he took handfuls of steroids, and it made him Superman temporarily. But we got him off to Switzerland to get him off that stuff.

You were able to be with your brother at the end? He had a stroke, and is that-Yes.

At the end? He had a massive stroke. We were in the room with him when he actually took his last breath. We just sat there, and everybody was in their own headspace. All I know is that when he stopped breathing, I didn't hear anything. I didn't see anything. There were no bells. There were no angels. It stopped, and then the room was empty. That was it. And then they pulled the plug because he was on a ventilator later, and that was it. And because of COVID and the restrictions and the rules, they immediately carved the body off, and that was it. Then we didn't see him anymore. A very uneventful ending to an eventful life. But you know But he fought until the very end. I want to think of that, think of as life in terms of that he never gave up.

You wrote in the book, I watched you take your last breath. In that moment, all the stuff that you did or made in this world, you can't take it with you.

We travel through time or we travel through existence, if you will, and you come and then you go. It's part of the natural order of things. I think the real problem, at least from my perceptual standpoint, is that when it happens out of what is the norm, which is a full 75 or 80 year life, and to have it be shorter than that, it doesn't make sense. Am I angry at it? Yeah, there were times when I have a jealous scream. Ed, what the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing? Ed, If you stop doing all them damn drugs, you can't do this to your body and expect to live a full life.

So it's anger at him for- Had he stopped, he might still be here.

The emotional part of me just says, Ed, you're not done yet. It'd be nice to have you hanging around. My kids don't have an uncle anymore. Your son doesn't have a father. I don't have a brother. Ed's whole life was searching for something. I don't know what it was because musically, we could play anything. Ed, come on. Maybe you could have been here a little longer. But then you realize, I have no control over that. And then maybe it's not my place to tell him to be here longer. Maybe he knows intuitively that this is it. I'm done. I'm leaving. He was never satisfied. There was always that itch to do something else. So I don't know. I'm still grappling with some of those things because to me, it doesn't make any sense. Can I mention Billy Bob Thornton had this little clip? It just popped on my computer, and it really was very articulate and succinct, and it was just completely right on the spot.

I'm going to play what Billy Bob Thornton said.

My brother Jimmy, he was a young guy. In 1988, he died suddenly of a heart problem that they didn't know he had. I've never been the same since my brother died. There's a melancholy in me that never goes away. I'm 50 % happy and 50 % sad at any given moment. And the only advice I can give people for when you lose someone like that is you won't ever get over it. And the more you know that and embrace it, the better off you are. I don't want to forget my brother, and I don't want to forget what it felt like when he died because he deserves it. That's how important he was to me. So if I have to suffer, and if I have to be sad for the rest of my life, and if I have to be lonely without him, without his particular thing, his sense of humor, and what he brought to life, then that's the way I honor him. I'll be sad and melancholy about that forever, and I know it, and I accept it, and I live with it.

I think Billy Bob Thornton's answer was probably the most articulate and accurate in the sense of you're going to have to live with it for the rest of your life. And I'm more than happy to do that if that means... If that's how I pay my respects to you, Ed, that's how I shall do it.

The bond that you and your brother had and have was particularly close because it wasn't just the first 18 years of your lives, and then you guys went your separate ways, which is how it is with many siblings. You were in the band together your entire lives.

Sixty-five years together. Almost every day, physically, at least mentally and spiritually. And we had conflict every moment of the day. That's how I was taught to make art, is that you don't want to all agree on the same thing. You got to have some friction.

Ed talked about when you guys would play in the earphones that you had on, he could hear others, but he had to hear you. It was the connection between you that was essential to making the music. Ed said, All I had in my monitors when we played live was Al's drums. A little bit of Dave's vocals, a little bit of mine, a little bit of Mike's vocals, but all I hear is myself and my brother. It seemed to me like such a metaphor, though, of your relationship that even in success, with all the stuff swirling around you and all the personalities and the record executives and David Lee Roth, in the end, in the final, when push came to shove, of into the corner, it was you and him.

Yeah. It started off as a two-piece. Ed and I were the original, the guys who put the band together. At the end of the day, when there's a disagreement in the band, I'm taking his side and vice versa because we protect each other. That was the most important thing that we were taught. Stick together.

There was a day when you guys were kids, you were teenagers. You heard your brother playing, going Home by Alvin Lee. Alvin Lee. I just want to play a little bit of that and then ask you about the importance of it.

When Ed played that, it just blew me away.

And he was playing it just from listening to it? Yeah. That was the moment you realized he was a virtuoso on the guitar?

Oh, yeah, absolutely. Absolutely. There was no doubt about it.

Your dad was a musician? Yes. Your mom was from Indonesia. Your dad had met her in Indonesia, lived there for several years, and then ultimately, you guys came to the States. Even at the height of your success, your mom was still disappointed Did.

Yes. That's a mild way of putting it. We never quite measured up to what she wanted. That's incredible. Yeah.

For your brother, you think that weighed more heavily on him? Yes. Her attitude?

Ed was really very sensitive in that sense.

Your dad had a heart attack in 1986 and died several months after. He was only 66. Is that right?

Sixty-six, yeah.

You described yourself as being devastated.

Beyond. I can't even put it into words. I mean, whether it's because we're all conditioned to believe a certain path of life or how it's supposed to be and how it's supposed to end, and that this particular instance, it contradicted everything I was aware of, or the fact that he's no longer here. We related to him in terms not just musically, but in his sense of humor and his expert. I mean, you can go anywhere in the world with him, and he could find his way. And that confidence gives you a confidence. I have a piece of footage of us leaving Holland as we get on the boat, and the four of us look like a duck with four ducks in a row, and we're waving. We have no idea where we're going, what we're walking into. But as long as the boss is leading, we're good. That's the confidence he inspired.

Your dad struggled with alcohol.

Oh, yeah, he didn't struggle with it. He loved it. He didn't struggle.

Okay. All right. That says it all.

My grandfather died from it. My dad's brothers died from it. My dad died from it. I came very close. And he battled it his whole life. That's all I can tell you. And people don't respect or appreciate what battle you're going through when you're trying to slay that dragon, if you will. I mean, it's an ugly, ugly monster.

You gave it up, finally.

Yeah. I wasn't about, I wouldn't call it giving it up. I had to quit because I thought I was going to die. And so I went to rehab, and it was a painful process.

Was that after your dad died or before?

Two or three months after he died.

So that was a really motivating factor for you to give up alcohol?

Absolutely. I thought that maybe by not becoming or not dying from alcohol, it would absolve his sins, so to speak. So I thought I owed it to him.

Before he died, he actually played on one of your albums.

Yeah, it was actually Dave's idea.

It was David Roth's idea?

Yeah. I got to say thanks one more time to Dave because that was really a cool thing for him to do. I mean, I've never seen my dad so nervous because he knew that his capabilities had really diminished. But the moment we started playing, it took like three or four takes, and that was it. We're done. He's gone to have a couple of beers.

Is it okay if I play a little bit of your dad playing?

Absolutely. Okay, let's listen. He would love it.

This is Jan von Haalen on the clarinet, and the song is Big Bad Bill is Sweet William Now.

When I went down your mean Louisville, lived a cat named Big Bad Bill. I want to tell you all the cat was rough and tough. He could shut his stuff. Afterwards, I think he had a great time with it.

When your dad died, your reaction was that you and your brother went into the studio and you just played music for several hours.

Yeah, we just played for hours. It's the only way we could deal with the overwhelming... We didn't even know what to call him. He wasn't referred to as grief back then. We were tough guys. I have a couple of beers, so let's go on with it.

So did you talk with him about your dad, or was it just, No. Let's go play?

Let's go play. We just played whatever it was. It didn't matter.

I just want to read several paragraphs from the book. You said, talking to Ed, you said, You never stopped. The real problem isn't that you drink alcohol. It's that you drink the Kool-Aid. People telling you you're a genius, that you're the greatest guitar player who ever lived. All true, but you ate it up, and then you were overwhelmed by the burden of it. Our dad told us from the beginning, Don't believe your own bullshit. Just play. If you're playing a wedding, wear a tux. Give everything you got. Fulfill your obligations. You're the head of their family. Do your job. But love stays. That's the truth. We still communicate. You're still with me, Ed. Because we live in a Western society, people want to dismiss that as projection. But ask any physicist, energy can be neither created nor destroyed. When a cloud dissipates, what happens to the water? It isn't gone. It's just changed form. The same thing goes for you, Ed, or any other human being on this planet. So I'll never say goodbye.

Now I'm getting a lump of my throat.

But you feel that. You believe that.

Oh, yeah.

Can you talk about that?

In a lot of different cultures, death is not the end. And I prefer to believe that. This is going to sound a little out to left field, so to speak, but he communicates in different ways with me. And I can't really go into that because the moment you mention it, it breaks that bond. It's a really thin thread of signs, if you will.

There's a lot of people who feel signs and see signs, and it gives great comfort. It's only recently that I've begun to... Excuse me if my voice cracks. It's uncontrollable. I've recently begun to actually feel my brother and my dad who died long ago. But I've actually started to feel them inside me in a way that I never have before. And it's an extraordinary feeling.

The first real direct That, if you will, communication, if you will, was more of a smell. His unique fragrance was everywhere, and I couldn't figure out rationally, where is this coming from? Is it the closet? Is it the clothes? Is it the stuff that he washed with? And it shows up everywhere. Or maybe it's just my mind wants to smell that? I don't know. But it was there. And lately, it's been fading a little bit.

But the feeling it leaves you with is positive.

Oh, yeah. There are other dimensions of existence, if you will. My dad explained that it's all about frequencies. If you had a receiver and an amplifier and you modulate it between the different frequencies, you can go from KLOS to KMET to whatever radio stations there are. It's all there. It's all there in the airwaves, so to speak. But you have to be in tune with it. Then you'll You understand what it is. He's around here somewhere. I think, obviously, he thought he was done here, and that's why he left. That's my mental way of dealing with it.

One of the things you write about is your rise, but the early Club days when you didn't have a record deal, just trying to make it. And you say, what we didn't know at that time was that there's a way in which the Club days were the pinnacle of our experience on planet Earth. That's when we got the highest highs because the potential of being great was still out there. That's when the dream of Van Halen was the most magical because it was still a dream.

Because that's when you're alive. It's just human nature. I think that when you've reached a certain goal, all the air leaves the room, so to speak.

I'm wondering if that's in your secret heart, when you think of your brother, is it those days you think of?

Now that you mentioned it, it's the most prominent in my memory because being in the basement, there were leaking pipes, and there was no heat down there, and it didn't smell great. We didn't care. And load up a couple more. Let's play. But you have a common goal, and you have something because you're hungry. I still have the piano that we came over here with. It's in the hallway. And Cigarette burns for when JMP was written. It's still on there. Those little things bring back the memories, and it brings back the smells, the feeling, the touch.

Is there a song that when you think of your brother, this is the song you think of?

I could think of several different ones, but we all used to bring pieces of music into the basement. And I remember when Ed brought in Running with the Devil, that cord structure and that whole deal. The moment I heard that, I said, Okay, you're writing all the songs from now on because we can't compete with that. And it had nothing to do with speed. It had nothing to do with articulation. It had nothing to do with anything other. It was just absolutely brilliant to my ear. It was amazing.

Running with the Devil. Yeah. That's what we'll end the podcast with then. It was really lovely talking to you.

Anderson, thank you, man. Running with the Devil.