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I've had this old review kicking around from the Diver Down tour. It was clipped from the Toronto Sun newspaper the night after Van Halen played Maple Leaf Gardens. I'd scan it for y'all to see, but I doubt it would be readable. Unfortunately, the date is chopped off the top of the article, but I'm guessing it's would have been written the night after the October 26, 1982 concert, when Van Halen played MLG.
It was written by Peter Goddard who I gather was the music columinist for the Sun at the time.
Anyway, here it goes, typos and all. I hope everyone enjoys it.
Real men don't just rock they strut with Van Halen
It's hard times for men these days.
Everywhere you look masculinity's under seige. There's Lite beer and fancy low-tar cigarettes the Marlboro man would think are sissy. Woman are allowed into what once were all-male clubs; they even have their own strip joints and body building programs. Even the title of the current publishing success, the supposedly pro-male Real Man Don't eat quiche and welter-weight stuff like low-cal salads.
Only one masculine enclave has remained untouched-the kind of rock they call heavy metal, a genre practised to amazing effect by Van Halen last night at Maple Leaf Gardens. It's the last outpost of semi-civilization, where men are capital-M men and woman go absolutely nuts at the thought of it. It's also where a strutting, lion-maned singer named David Lee Roth rules the roost. But more of him later.
Test of courage
There were, in fact, a good number of young women scattered throughout the crown of 17,000 last night. And it was their response which was the loudest when Roth pranced around in his leather pants with the buttocks cut out. Nevertheless, last night was fundamentally the guy's night out. It was sporting. It was a test of courage. It was as tough as a hockey puck in the teeth. It was a little louder, though. And more fun.
But first a few facts. Your basic heavy metal crowd makes a hockey audience look like a bunch of wimps. It makes hockey players look like wimps. While walking along Carleton St. last night, I passed by two fist fights that Tiger Williams wouldn't have wanted any part of. And they were between friends, too.
Inside, despite police searches, bottles were everywhere. Some were used for drinking, others for offering a cautionary tap on the head for those folks standing in front of you.
Sociologists might have suggested many in this crowd were merely venting pent up frustration not that any sociologist would have wandered inside. They may be right though. This was, to quote the heavy metal freak in the seat in front of me, "an honest-to-God, you-know-what-you-can-do-with school blast out...!"
After (they) have pummeled everyone for well over an hour, even Roth gave his seal of approval. "You know", he bellowed, "when we go out on tour we play just about every city in the world. And Toronto---you make more noise than any three put together."
More noise! Oh joy! Even unto bliss. Those already standing on their chairs climbed up on those standing on their chairs. Such an accolade!
There's heavy metal and there's heavy metal, and this California quartet practises the revisionist kind, which allows a certain amount of experimentation. Heavy metal is an idea as much as it's music. It's about the essence of rock. It's meant to be loud, abrasive, offensive, and a thrill-a-second. It's not meant to be subtle. It is, as the late rock critic Lester Bangs once wrote, "technically nihilism". Socially, it's basically working class. Visually, it’s the superb French comic book, Metal Hurlant or Roth, bare chested and muscles flexed, a life sized Conan the Barbarian. Musically, it's the one thing above else---LOUD!
But Van Halen have been trying to make it something else as well. They've been trying to broaden it's----and their-----musical base, recording such pieces as the Kinks' You Really Got Me or offering last night Roy Orbison's Pretty Woman, music in short, that goes beyond the mind-rotting uniformity of much heavy metal.
Sheer Din
But while Rush figured a way to push and pound, Van Halen really haven't. And for the most part, last night was sheer din from beginning to end.
This wasn't exactly a fault of the sound system but exactly what the band intended, as it intended its minutes-long bass, drum and guitar solos, although they were well-played automatically.
This wasn't a concert to be listened to. It was a rite to participate in.
The last of the basically male rites.
It was written by Peter Goddard who I gather was the music columinist for the Sun at the time.
Anyway, here it goes, typos and all. I hope everyone enjoys it.
Real men don't just rock they strut with Van Halen
It's hard times for men these days.
Everywhere you look masculinity's under seige. There's Lite beer and fancy low-tar cigarettes the Marlboro man would think are sissy. Woman are allowed into what once were all-male clubs; they even have their own strip joints and body building programs. Even the title of the current publishing success, the supposedly pro-male Real Man Don't eat quiche and welter-weight stuff like low-cal salads.
Only one masculine enclave has remained untouched-the kind of rock they call heavy metal, a genre practised to amazing effect by Van Halen last night at Maple Leaf Gardens. It's the last outpost of semi-civilization, where men are capital-M men and woman go absolutely nuts at the thought of it. It's also where a strutting, lion-maned singer named David Lee Roth rules the roost. But more of him later.
Test of courage
There were, in fact, a good number of young women scattered throughout the crown of 17,000 last night. And it was their response which was the loudest when Roth pranced around in his leather pants with the buttocks cut out. Nevertheless, last night was fundamentally the guy's night out. It was sporting. It was a test of courage. It was as tough as a hockey puck in the teeth. It was a little louder, though. And more fun.
But first a few facts. Your basic heavy metal crowd makes a hockey audience look like a bunch of wimps. It makes hockey players look like wimps. While walking along Carleton St. last night, I passed by two fist fights that Tiger Williams wouldn't have wanted any part of. And they were between friends, too.
Inside, despite police searches, bottles were everywhere. Some were used for drinking, others for offering a cautionary tap on the head for those folks standing in front of you.
Sociologists might have suggested many in this crowd were merely venting pent up frustration not that any sociologist would have wandered inside. They may be right though. This was, to quote the heavy metal freak in the seat in front of me, "an honest-to-God, you-know-what-you-can-do-with school blast out...!"
After (they) have pummeled everyone for well over an hour, even Roth gave his seal of approval. "You know", he bellowed, "when we go out on tour we play just about every city in the world. And Toronto---you make more noise than any three put together."
More noise! Oh joy! Even unto bliss. Those already standing on their chairs climbed up on those standing on their chairs. Such an accolade!
There's heavy metal and there's heavy metal, and this California quartet practises the revisionist kind, which allows a certain amount of experimentation. Heavy metal is an idea as much as it's music. It's about the essence of rock. It's meant to be loud, abrasive, offensive, and a thrill-a-second. It's not meant to be subtle. It is, as the late rock critic Lester Bangs once wrote, "technically nihilism". Socially, it's basically working class. Visually, it’s the superb French comic book, Metal Hurlant or Roth, bare chested and muscles flexed, a life sized Conan the Barbarian. Musically, it's the one thing above else---LOUD!
But Van Halen have been trying to make it something else as well. They've been trying to broaden it's----and their-----musical base, recording such pieces as the Kinks' You Really Got Me or offering last night Roy Orbison's Pretty Woman, music in short, that goes beyond the mind-rotting uniformity of much heavy metal.
Sheer Din
But while Rush figured a way to push and pound, Van Halen really haven't. And for the most part, last night was sheer din from beginning to end.
This wasn't exactly a fault of the sound system but exactly what the band intended, as it intended its minutes-long bass, drum and guitar solos, although they were well-played automatically.
This wasn't a concert to be listened to. It was a rite to participate in.
The last of the basically male rites.
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