It was the Gary Cherone-version of Van Halen and I look at the setlist now and figure it was a lot more shit than I probably thought at the time. Would I have preferred to see the real Van Halen line up? Of course. No-brainer. Would I have taken Van Hagar over this – of course! But those options were not on the table. It was strictly this: see the Van Halen brothers and Michael Anthon too (at this point, still) and the poodle-haired guy from Extreme (sans poodle locks). That was the deal. And I took it. And I loved seeing Alex hit at those drums and the chance to see Eddie do his thing to a guitar. And for those big hits – Panama, Jump, Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love, heck even Right Now – it was worth the price of admission.

Good enough – and I remember that aspect fondly, hearing a few favourites.

But, seriously, I look at that setlist now and there’s a pang of disappointment hovering, like if I could truly remember it all I’d be gutted. (I musta blocked out the bad). I just remember standing quite close, on Eddie’s side of the stage. And I was fucking mesmerised. Because for a while there, aged 14 or 15 or so, this band was one of the greatest things I ever heard. And sometimes, every now and then (even now) I still get that feeling from them. Musta got enough of that on this night too.
Stubs is an occasional feature here at Off The Tracks – looking back through the ticket-stub box and remembering how the show went down.