A couple months after the release of the first Time Bomb Symphony CD, I was sitting around trying to figure out how to promote the thing. I had no money, of course, so a billboard on Sunset Blvd. was out of the question. Right around that same time, the Gary Cherone-fronted Van Halen had just released Van Halen III. Now, I wasn’t the biggest fan of their Van Hagar days, but one listen to VHIII had me missing Sammy Hagar and his bright yellow Hammer pants more than ever. I just could not believe that one of the greatest American rock bands of all time had been reduced to…VHIII.
That’s when the light bulb went on.
Next thing I know, my fingers are tapping away at the keyboard. Several wadded up sheets of paper later, I am staring at an official TBS press release offering a free copy of my new CD to anyone who sends me their unwanted copy of Van Halen III. I fax it off to a couple music-related publications, email it to another few websites and then sit back and wait. By wait, of course, I mean I promptly forgot about it because, quite frankly, most everything I’ve done seems to fall on deaf ears.
That’s the way it seems anyway.
This one was different, though. The story got picked up by Reuters, ABC News ran it in their entertainment section, and syndicated radio personality Mancow picked up the story and ran. Within days, I was waking up at ungodly hours to give interviews to radio stations back east.
It was a great stunt that led to some nice attention for the CD, which experienced a pretty good bump in sales for the next couple weeks.
Then, of course, the mail started flowing in. By mail I mean unwanted copies of Van Halen III. At first there were just a few. Then one day the mailman knocked on my door and asked for help unloading bag after bag of CD mailers.
Final count…over 1500 people sent me their copies of VHIII.
As promised, of course, I sent them free copies of my TBS CD. The expense of doing so, however, was pretty much equal to the profits from sales of the CD during that time. I then unloaded as many copies of VHIII as I could, but, by then, word was out and nobody wanted the thing new or used.
I basically broke even, but, in doing so, got the CD some attention.
I also got a call from Warner Brothers, telling me Eddie was not at all happy about the publicity stunt I’d pulled. Whatever.
A couple years later, I’m kicking it at the 24-hour Staples near my house, buying printer ink cartridges or something when I realize the guy in front of me in line is Eddie goddamn Halen. By way of ice breaker, I say “Hey, you probably get this a lot, but you look just like Eddie Van Halen.” He laughs, extending his hand and we start shooting the shit right there in the checkout line.
The cashier, of course, is waiting for a manager to approve a void or something so we’re there in line for a long time. Eddie and I keep right on talking. He tells me his studio’s being renovated and that he’s itchy to get recording again. I tell him about some recording equipment I’ve just purchased and then, get this…he offers to give me all of his leftover studio sound-proofing foam. Having just priced the stuff, I know it’s pricey – especially the good stuff. The stuff Eddie has is the good stuff and he’s giving it to me for free.
Fuck yeah!
So he gives me his number, tells me he lives just up the street (which I already knew), and tells me to swing by tomorrow. We actually walk out to the parking lot together, Eddie still chatting. Usually, I always feel I’m the one talking too much, but Eddie’s obviously in no hurry to get anywhere and we chat another ten minutes.
It was awesome.
Next day, I call the number and he tells me to come over. "When?", I ask. Now, man.
So I cruise down Coldwater Canyon, pull into the driveway of 5150, and knock on the door. Eddie escorts me down to the studio, shows me the boxes of foam still in their packaging (I’d been expecting a bunch of odds-and-ends in a trash pile), and says “Knock yourself out.”
It takes me three trips back and forth to haul it all to my car. On my way back to the car with the last of it, I see a bald head throwing a conniption fit in the driveway. The bald head belongs to none other than Alex Van Halen and he’s pissed because there is a strange car parked where he likes to park.
“You leaving?, he asks trying his best to not seem pissed, like I didn’t see him say “Fuck!”. I nod, take me sweet time getting in my car, then take my sweet time starting my car, and then back very very carefully out of the spot that Alex wants. I take great pleasure in checking the rearview mirror every few seconds to watch the look on his face grow more and more exasperated.
It was awesome.
So, there ya have it…my Eddie Van Halen story.
Here's a version of Panama from each of the VH singers through the years:
ROTH PANAMA (sorry for the less-than-ideal sound quality)
HAGAR PANAMA (sorry for the yellow pants...you can hear them!)
CHERONE PANAMA (sorry...just sorry)
