The David Lee Roth concert last night at the Hard Rock Casino in Gary, Indiana, was 21 and over, because letting in anyone younger would constitute child abuse.

The show rocked right from the start, as hard as any concert can rock when it starts promptly at 6:50pm on a Tuesday. Call it the Early Dave Special.

Early Dave, say circa 1985, actually would have been quite welcome. His current voice, to put it mildly, is shot. Like Butch and Sundance running out to face the Bolivian army shot.

He spent the opening number, Panama, one of my favorite Van Halen songs, alternating between a high-pitched, off-key screech and a shaky, pitchy lower register growl. He also complained mightily about the quality of the vocal mix, barking instructions at someone offstage to lose the compression, etc. “Thin out my voice, Jerry!” he insisted. “Thin it out!”

Didn’t help.

Dave has cannily assembled a crackerjack band and four dudes on backing vocals able to cover a lot, in the manner of a college kid disguising all the holes in the walls with a thick layer of spackle before leaving the dorm for summer.

Did he warm up as the evening wore on? Yeah, to paraphrase Monty Python, we left him for dead, but he got better. A little better.

But even when he more or less locked in on the vocals, such as on I’ll Wait, he would still snatch vocal defeat from the jaws of victory by reaching for a truly alarming screech falsetto. Call it a screechetto. Think about what your voice would sound like if you attempted to perform karaoke the day after screaming your lungs out as your favorite team won a nail-biter Game 7 of the World Series. It was like that, but more out of tune.

Dance the Night Away was so rough that Gary’s stray dog population dropped by half.

But this is Diamond Dave, and he had two things going for him: He is a born entertainer and he is utterly shameless.

The show, in other words, was joyously, spectacularly awful in the best way it could possibly be. 

Dave was an affable host, a walking, talk-singing Max Headroom lacking only Max’s trademark human warmth.

Everyone in attendance will long remember this show, in the same way many of us remember where we were when the Challenger blew up.

I’d heard Dave’s voice was rough, so I was prepared for a wild sonic ride. Even so, wow.

He needs to stop reaching for the high notes. Most of the low ones, too.

During Pretty Woman, Dave stopped to let the crowd sing the line “What do I see.” Dead, stunned silence. Honestly, it was a welcome break for all of us.

My only hope is that Dave’s team blurbs this review and pulls out the phrase “a wild sonic ride.” 

With no breaks for stage banter and an average pause between songs for applause of around three seconds (savvy move), Dave and company motored through 19 songs in a brisk 85 minutes flat, with no encore (also smart).

At no point did Dave introduce the members of the band. This was possibly at their request. Think of it as the onstage version of the witness relocation program.

The last song was Jump, and for a second it looked like Dave was about to get his leather pants aloft, but it was a false alarm.

“I ain’t the worst that you’ve seen,” he sang. Mm hm.

I will say this is a decent venue, with good sound, comfortable seats on the risers, and a friendly bar staff.

On the way out, I was walking just ahead of a man who said to his wife, “It’s not often you see a show that exceeds your expectations. I set the bar pretty low for this, but it was great. I mean, his voice was strong.”

His wife, perhaps reflecting on her life choices, said nothing.

Bless you, David Lee Roth. Long may you screech. 

I just wish I had been able to talk someone into seeing this show with me, because this is the brand of so bad it’s bad best enjoyed as a communal experience. Sadly, none of my friends nor my wife and kids were dumb enough to take me up on the offer.

Your loss, I say. Your loss.

Photo by Frank Sennett