Should I blame Van Halen?

What did “Runnin’ with the Devil” do to me?

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Near the park across the river, there’s a trippy brew pub with an outdoor patio and a selection of premium local taps. Setting foot on the property feels like stepping back into the 70s. Time slows down to a thick sludge. Classic songs from the era play at just the right volume on high-fidelity loudspeakers. It’s a great place to take a break and reminisce. My two recent visits showed me how universal intelligence can use moments in time vortexes to let us know we’re seen.

As soon as I walked in the first time, “Runnin’ with the Devil” filled the air. Eddie Van Halen’s signature guitar grind descended into a bass and drum beat that ushered in David Lee Roth’s screeching vocals. The song consumed my beer wait with an auditory orgasm that took me back to my university days.

Seated on the patio, I recalled when a dorm mate introduced me to Van Halen. He convinced me to try the Maui Wowie his father gave him. He said it came from Hawaii in a can so full of resin that it dripped when you took a bud out. One hit changed my life. The sativa spilt my head open and a rush of sensation poured over the lobes of brain and down through my body. Then he put the headphones on me. “Check this out,” the dorm mate said as his finger pressed play.

“Runnin’ with the Devil” imprinted me. A decade of substance abuse followed.

There were reasons for my addiction. But it never occurred to me until pub day that the song could have been one of them.

In high school, one of my best friends got into Van Halen. I was all high and mighty about European progressive rock and electronic music back then. An American glam rock band? Beneath me. Drugs and alcohol? No way. We went to junior college together, and I learned about his substance abuse and the addicts and thieves he hung out with. After that, I distanced myself from him, never to cross paths with the band again until that fateful day in the dorm.

Hearing the song again brought to mind video clips I’d seen on social media. Satanic Church members and Illuminati conspiracy theorists talked about how the industry designed popular music to entrance humans in satanic consciousness. Growing up, we thought those songs, and their symbolism, were a joke. An innocent by-product of uptight Christian parents. Today’s memes blame the industry for making music with ritual intent and for destroying the musicians who performed it.

A few days after the pub, the original video for “Runnin’ with the Devil” came up on my feed. Followed by Mötley Crüe’s “Wild Side.” Then an interview where Robbin Crosby of RATT admitted he “sold his soul to the devil” the first time he did heroin. His band mate Bobby Blotzer claimed Robbin’s self-destruction ended the band. And guess who Crosby was friends with? Nikki Sixx from Mötley Crüe. Another heroin addict. A familiar rock star story. Maybe the memes tell the truth.

Thankfully, my first divine awakening broke the spell that equated drug use with glamor. I continued using for a while after the awakening. But the illusion of adventure and rebellion was over. I saw the cool lifestyle sold to my generation for what it was, a siren song of self-destruction.

“Runnin’ with the Devil” lingered in my soul after the pub visit. Did that song cast a spell on me? Was that dorm mate the son of a drug dealer and an unwitting minion of evil? What if that song was, in fact, a satanic verse that bound me to substance abuse?

This weekend, as I stopped by the pub the second time, I questioned the wisdom of doing so. The speakers greeted me with another tune that changed my life. “Closer to the Heart” by Rush, a song that inspired me to reach higher:

“The blacksmith and the artist

Reflect it in their art

They forge their creativity

Closer to the heart.”

Geddy Lee reminded me I am sailing into destiny, closer to the heart. As I left the pub, Kansas assured me of what lay ahead:

“Carry on my wayward son

They’ll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don’t you cry no more.”