Is there a more perfectly pieced together pop rock anthem than David Lee Roth’s fist-pumping, Jump-like, jaw dropping solo peak Just Like Paradise? Seamlessly knitting together Van Halen’s game-changing melodic rock with hair metal’s MTV-fuelled late 80s heyday, the ultimate crossover hit soared to number six on the Billboard Top 200 and even featured a fresh-faced Steve Vai strutting his fret-burning stuff. Just Like Paradise? Just brilliant.
But if Just Like Paradise was Roth at his most heavenly then the tale of his solo career is one of hellish inconsistency, missed opportunities and misreading the room. How, within the space of six years, such a classy performer could lurch from Skyscraper’s dizzying highs to Your Filthy Little Mouth’s often jaw-dropping mediocrity is difficult to fathom. Every strident play for chart-topping adulation and all of the toe-curling grunge-era missteps are included on The Warner Recordings (1985-1994): the gaping gulf between pure class and utter dross is striking.
Bookended by what was the brave, bordering on the foolhardy, EP Crazy From The Heat and the instantly forgettable Your Filthy Little Mouth, this five-disc retrospective nevertheless includes some truly superior pop rock that, in many respects, has never been bettered. Skyscraper and its equally vivacious predecessor Eat ‘Em And Smile paired Roth with Vai to spectacular effect — on the one hand a charismatic vocalist with the budget and back catalogue to push boundaries and on the other the hungry new kid on the block craving a platform to allow his talent to shine. An explosive match made in pop rock heaven underpinned one of the richest and most rewarding periods of Roth’s chequered past.
To this day there are fans of Vai who point to his Roth collaborations as essential listening when seeking to understand the upward curve of a career as unpredictable as it was disruptive. It’s easy to drift into a haze of pulsating riffs and super cool solos and actually forget that these records are supposed to belong to Roth! Vai is imperious on Eat ‘Em And Smile’s frenetic Goin’ Crazy, the Billy Sheehan-penned Shyboy and the bouncing, funk-tinged Big Trouble. And blues cover Tobacco Road is smoking thanks, in large part, to the peerless guitar work. Now Roth was used to operating in the shadow of a six- string slayer but was it really the plan to be outshone again by one of the fast-emerging heirs to Eddie’s throne?
It’s a recurring theme during the peak solo years. Skyscraper retained the key quartet of Roth, Vai, Sheehan and Greg Bisonette and yet again the ‘band’ proved to be greater than the sum of its parts. Would Roth have flourished to such an extent without his carefully assembled cast of rock god buddies? Unlikely. Would Vai have gone on to reach even greater heights with Whitesnake and as a solo artist without the chance to feed off Roth’s infectious energy and desire to rip up the rock and roll rulebook? Probably not. Sheehan and Bisonette, meanwhile, steel-plated their reputations as rhythm kings par excellence on back-to-back albums that set the standard for late 80s commercial rock.
Singles Just Like Paradise, Stand Up and Damn Good (an acoustic ballad that could — and should — have been so much bigger) showcased Skyscraper’s many strengths with Roth and Vai co-producing an album so polished it perfectly reflected the pair’s increasingly ambitious glances towards greater glory. And yet, with the magic formula seemingly patented, things started to fall apart for a marriage made in rock and roll heaven.
In keeping with his reputation for blooding red hot rising stars, Roth enlisted Jason Becker to fill Vai’s shoes for Billboard Top 20 album A Little Ain’t Enough. Yet again the fretwork was seriously impressive but the record was released against the backdrop of Becker’s ALS diagnosis and the rising tide of grunge. A tour in support of A Little Ain’t Enough — alongside Extreme and Cinderella — bombed and album sales nosedived. Penultimate track It’s Showtime! couldn’t have been farther from the truth: the curtain was coming down on Roth’s reign with cruel haste and one of the stars of the MTV era faced an increasingly uncertain future.
In truth, 1994’s Your Filthy Little Mouth always came across as Roth’s defiant ‘fuck you’ to an industry and a fan base that had left him for dead. Or was it the sound of a once feted frontman and face of one of the world’s greatest guitar bands finally throwing in the towel and accepting defeat? Whether Your Filthy Little Mouth reflects an angst-fuelled act of insubordination or a meek acceptance of the inevitable is open to debate but one thing’s certain: the songs are dreadful. In spite of — or maybe due to — a typically sharp Nile Rodgers production job, tracks like Big Train and No Big ‘Ting do little more than tarnish Diamond Dave’s legacy. Harsh but true.
Review by Simon Rushworth
