A while ago we asked the question, What would you like to see on our website?

The universal answer was (of course,) more stories about the ‘good old days.’ Some stories we’ve told over and over, like writing ‘Should I Say Yes’ in a full-blown [pun intended] tornado.

Is there anything left to say?

Valerie and I sat down and brainstormed, and came up with a pretty good list. We’ll take them in the order that they occurred to us.

Down on Sunset Blvd in L.A., not far from Ben Franks and the Chateau Montmartre, is the Continental Hyatt Hotel. For whatever reason, it’s a destination for the touring acts working their way up and down the West Coast. We stayed there many times, during demo recordings for Warner Bros, and making the ‘Poolside’ album for Atlantic.

The place earned its nickname, the ‘Riot on Sunset.’

This was not the place to stay for a nice quiet vacation. In spite of the signs in the hallway, the party went on all night, punctuated by car alarms going off in the parking lot at random intervals.

If you want to get the feel of it, it’s featured in the movie Almost Famous.

We were having breakfast with a record company guy in the downstairs restaurant when Sly Stone wandered in, full-on into his Lost Decade, looking a little worse for wear.

He says to the waitress, “Gimme a sandwich.”
“Mr. Stone,” the waitress says, “You’re really supposed to be wearing shoes in here.”
“Gimme a sandwich.”

We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Welcome to Hollywood.

After breakfast, we’re passing through the lobby and we see a black-clad punk rocker talking into a payphone. It’s 1986. People still used payphones.

After breakfast, we’re passing through the lobby and we see a black-clad punk rocker talking into a payphone. It’s 1986. People still used payphones.

We hear him say, “I just got the name of the band tattooed on my arm!”
Valerie and I look at each other.
A permanent testament to band loyalty?
In a business where a career lasts about as long as a tsetse fly?
He's just sealed his fate!

“He’s out-a there.”
“He’s fired!”

We make our way to the elevator, press the button to go up.
Ding!

The double doors whoosh open, and there’s Ladysmith Black Mambazo, the South African group featured on Paul Simon’s Graceland album. There’s like twelve or fifteen people, crowded into this elevator. Somehow we squeeze in there too. Ride up to the third floor.

As we’re getting off, Joseph Shabalala says in his mellifluous Xosa accented English,
“Good Luck.”

So, next morning, I’m standing out in front of the ‘Riot House,’ dressed in white bib overalls, digging the L.A. air, when a tourist family approaches me; Mom, Dad, Teenage daughter.

“Excuse me,” the Dad says. “Are you Eddie Van Halen?”
I look down at my sneakers.
“Well…um…yeah.”
“Can we get a picture?
“Sure.”