Van Halen
A Different Kind Of Truth

Fourteen years of sonic silence are a lot for the guitar demiurge, and who knows how many more there would have been if the unbearable thorns of jealousy hadn't awakened his slumber.

Nothing but a passionate motive can indeed be found in the unexpected release of Van Halen, an instrumental poet who, mixing the sweeping horizons of Paganini, the fairy-tale art of Steve Hackett with the virtuosic neoclassicism of M. Shenker, has painted with wonderful multiform acrobatics for over three decades and countless arenas.

In the early '90s, as Diamond Dave's star was overshadowed, three of the perhaps most expressive musical moments for the band's second era occurred: the mature F.U.C.K., confirmed by the hyper-platinum live testimony Right Here Right Now, and especially Balance, a true unexpressed swan song of the Hagar era.

Then practically nothing more; just the decadent thaw of a progressive descent into the abyss: the forced inactivity of Eddie and the artistic amorphism of the affected Van Halen 3 with Gary Cherone's immolation for three decades of silence. And so, the silent antagonism with the "reactionary" Chickenfoot, risen from the ashes of the failed 2004 reunion, silently resumed with retrospectives of 1984, erupts decisively on the scenes in the burgeoning 2012.

The reunited Van Halen, by recomposing the dismissed absences, find themselves again through the ostracism of Diamond Dave and Edward Van Halen at the expense of Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony, the latter replaced by the (pseudo)prodigal son Wolfgang Van Halen.

The prevailing roots of "A Different Kind of Truth" lie within a selection of songs from demo tapes recorded by Van Halen before their debut and (a little) other material intentionally written in that style. Flowing back to the beginnings of their activity, the group seems to have rabidly wanted to erase the commercial rock pomposities of the entire second phase of their career.

From a stylistic point of view, the platter declares an expressive summa among the entire compendium of the first era, with some stylistic nuances shadowed in 5105 and F.U.C.K. The intrinsic hardness that pervades the entire work entirely eclipses the electronic softening that in the Hagar era traversed the soul of almost all the songs. Here, the overarching backdrop is the genius hardness of Eddie's guitar. Because, let's be clear; the nostalgic vocal mediocrity of Lee Roth along with Wolfgang's scant technical abilities are mere expressive glimmers of the rays of an immeasurable star reflected respectively by Alex and Edward Van Halen.

And it's worth nothing that some detractor contests creative decadence in the resurrection of the unspoken dialectics: the play of references in a wonderful tribute to the revitalized past shines pyrotechnically especially in China Town and Bullethead, while from Outta Space and Beats Workin' return the heaviest branches of one of the bands with the most explosive and surprising debut in the rock decalogue. Not even the silent echo of Ice Cream Man can dim the autonomous glow of Stay Frosty, just like the exotic touch of Honeybabysweetiedoll in Cabo Wabo.

The horizon dims a bit within the reflections of the discreet You and Your Blues, She's the Woman and Big River, while Eddie's explosive flair bursts impetuously in all its creativity in the apparent simplicity of Blood and Fire: a song that starts softly somewhat in the vein of some mid-tempo pieces from the Hagar era and comes alive immeasurably in the throes of a hyperuranic solo.

But the topos of the album, in the writer's opinion, lives quietly within the notes of You and Your Blues: dowsing expressiveness in silent virtuosity; subtle musical aesthetic from an elegant harmonic poeticity like the unintentional parade of femininity in the simplicity of a few aesthetic touches.

"A Different Kind of Truth", thus results in the mere sonic atmosphere that shines impetuously in the sky of memories perhaps a little too distant to seem completely victorious. Certainly, the vivid difference from the Hagar past resounds manifestly: the unexpected signature of the new album, on the other hand, can be found in its heaviness of relentless rocky rock.

The very thirteen tracks that reinvent Van Halen in their apparent diversity express with force the desire to reset the past; the will to not resume the interrupted discourse with Balance, but instead almost entirely repudiate the stylistic imprint. This emerges from the sensation of wanting to impose old sound recompositions reproduced with the clear intention of imposing them on Chickenfoot, on the passing time, on themselves, and perhaps even on the modernities of the music market.

But aside from commercial ulterior motives, the result of this commercial anathema still deserves ample evaluative respect: the entire construction of the album on old demos ultimately proves to be a move respectful of every opposing antagonism. Narcissistically restarting their present against Chickenfoot, Van Halen has delved into its essence, flowing into the reconstruction of its unexpressed hints.

And so, from a narrative perspective, the dynamics that led Van Halen to confront Chickenfoot with this overwhelming discographic release bring to mind the Leopardian philosophy expressed in the Dialogue Between a Fairy and a Gnome. Two fantastic entities, immersed in their own Ego, mocking the human vanity capable of believing that the world was made only for itself, stumble without realizing it into the same deception: believing the fairy that the world is made for fairies and the gnome for gnomes, they demonstrate in any case the desire to cling to the projections expressed by "another truth."