By Melissa Fossum
By Lauren Wise
By New Times
By Amanda Savage
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Troy Farah
By New Times
Warner Bros. has already released volume one in the Van Halen best-of series: It was called Van Halen, and it hit stores in 1978. Volume two, the following year, was called, well, Van Halen II; volume three was 1984 in, well, 1984. So this nonsensical hodge-podge is too little way too late--after the makeup and breakup with Dave that smacked of the cheap cash-in you always knew Eddie had in him way back when he took on Sammy Hagar and pretended no one could tell the difference. But we could: Dave had enough showmanship and charm to know better than to pretend he was a musician; Sammy was just a buffoon in balloon pants who couldn't sing any better than Dave and took himself just seriously enough to be considered dangerous by arena-rock standards. Any best-of that features Sammy--and this sucker has seven Van Hagar tracks--is not best-of at all.
Volume 1 emasculates the Dave-era VH by including "Eruption" without the obligatory "You Really Got Me" follow-through, by deleting "Beautiful Girls" and the Stooges rip "D.O.A." from the second album, and by including "And the Cradle Will Rock . . ." from Women and Children First, when "Everybody Wants Some!!" would have added a little life to these glum proceedings. You could nit-pick the thing to death: Since Warner is sending out publicity photos with Dave and not Sammy, why even include Hagar in the first goddamned place? And where's "Hot for Teacher" anyway?
But you'd be wise to boycott the album on principle alone: The new songs featuring Dave ("Can't Get This Stuff No More" and "Me Wise Magic") bury the lounge lizard underneath indecipherable vocal effects, and it's clear to anyone with half a brain (meaning: Dave) that Eddie and the boys lured him back without the intention of keeping him around.
The new guy's from Extreme, Dave's going back to Vegas, Sammy will always suck, and Eddie and Alex have cheapened the brand name one more time.
The Beatles Anthology, Vol. 3
This third and final installment of Beatles outtakes and alternate versions, coupled with the release of a 10-hour video counterpart, brings an end to the latest chapter in the Beatles saga. Here's what the Anthology series has taught us about the stage of Beatlemania, circa 1996:
1. If there really were a Beatles reunion, it wouldn't get on the radio. For the past 26 years, people have been yammering for a Beatles reunion--even one where Julian or Sean Lennon stands in for their slain pop. Pathetic, right? Yet when we finally get to hear the surviving Beatles come together with John (albeit on poorly recorded home demos), commercial radio is so tight-assed that mod rock stations won't even break format for three and a half minutes to spin a new Beatles single!
"Free As a Bird" and "Real Love" charted No. 1 and 3 respectively, but only "lite" music stations deigned to play them. Worse, boneheaded classic-rock outlets steered clear of playing any Anthology cuts. Evidently they were afraid their listeners couldn't handle a song they hadn't heard a million times before--even an outtake of one they had.
2. These geezers aren't pissing about. Between the Anthology CDs and videos, the surviving Fabs were the third-highest-paid entertainers of the year, coming in just behind Oprah and Spielberg. The Beatles didn't even tour to become the top-grossing band of 1996--they just reminisced about touring. Jagger must be livid.
3. Paul did it. No matter what people say about Linda and Yoko or Allen Klein pulling the Beatles apart, this latest Anthology proves it was fusspot McCartney who became the resident Felix Unger of the group, driving everyone crazy with his incessant perfectionism.
During the time period covered in Anthology 3 (mid-1968 to 1970 breakup), each of the other three Beatles quit the band because of Paul's need to work a song to death. Anthology 3's diplomatic liner notes tell us Ringo was on holiday and "took a break from the White Album session"--bullshit! Anyone who watched Anthology's video counterpart knows he quit the band during a recording of Paul's "Back in the USSR," on which McCartney wound up playing drums.
And John, who announced his departure after Abbey Road was complete, originally suggested putting all of his songs on one side of that album and all of Paul's on the other. Listening to Anthology 3, you can hear Lennon's boredom as he breaks into square-dancing do-si-do's while Paul subjects him to the cloying "Teddy Boy." You can also feel the band members' collective dread when Paul suggests they try "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" one . . . more . . . time. McCartney also pushes his mates through three remakes of "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da," when the first rejected version here is more lively than the one ultimately released.
4. The common, primary criticism of the White Album is that the Beatles just act as each other's sidemen throughout. Disc one of the Anthology 3 double set is even worse. Its 11 songs are essentially glorified solo efforts, with one Beatle or another backing himself up via double-track recording. That makes this last installment of the Anthology series less magical than the first two. Half the time the studio work represented here was conducted, three of the foursome were elsewhere, either making a movie, producing some Apple artist or crawling into a bag at an art gallery.