Red: My Uncensored Life in Rock
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Sammy Hagar—legendary lead singer of Van Halen, founder of the Cabo Wabo Tequila brand, and one of rock music’s most notoriously successful performers—tells his unforgettable story in this one-of-a-kind autobiography of a life at the top of the charts. From his decade-long journey alongside Eddie Van Halen to his raucous solo career with Chickenfoot and everything in between—the drugs, groupies, and excesses of fame, the outrageous stadium tours, and the thrill of musical innovation—Hagar reveals all in this treasure trove of rock-and-roll war stories. Red is a life-changing look at one of music’s biggest talents—an essential read for music fans and anyone dreaming of becoming rock’s next number one star.
and we knew we were good. Mo asked if he could hear something, so we put on our instruments, and, while he sat there, we played “Why Can’t This Be Love” for him, live and in-person. He put his finger in the air and smiled. “I smell money,” Mo said. By the time we got the green light from Warner Bros. and Geffen, we were already halfway through the record. After that, we went full-force, and things started happening fast. Eddie and Al had a lot of music left over from what would have been the
that I was joining Van Halen, and play “Rock and Roll.” When I went out, right away, I had that stadium rocking. They loved me, were going crazy. I was scoring. It was big for me—ninety thousand people in Champagne, Illinois, one of my biggest regions. I could do two nights in Chicago, two nights in Champagne, two nights in Peoria. Illinois was my state. I was ripping it up when I stepped to the mike to introduce “I Can’t Drive 55.” “Here’s a song for all you tractor-pulling motherfuckers,” I
used to nurse his beers. He’d always be drinking, but didn’t get all fucked up. Al would get fucked up, puke, pass out. You’d have to slap him around, let him rest for a couple of hours, get him up, and bring him back. We would limit the amount of beer he could have and he would duck out for a pack of cigarettes, run downtown, buy a bottle of vodka, and drink it in the store. Their father liked to drink, too. If we were in the studio at two in the afternoon, it wasn’t like Eddie got up at eight
back one of my cars around two in the afternoon. “I bet you I could shotgun ten beers,” Al said. He’s got ten talls of malt liquor. “I bet you a thousand bucks,” he said. Al’s a betting man. One time he lost his BMW to me on a bet. I made him pay up, too, and gave it to our tour manager for Christmas. Al was a great guy, but just a total fuckup. I was not betting him. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Watch this.” Michael Anthony was standing there with me. Pow, pow, pow, pow—Al opened them all first and
we’d find a new house, and the cycle would start all over again. We lived in every damn house in town. As I grew older, it got kind of thin. People knew. You would go over to somebody’s house and—small town—my dad would have already been in a fight in a bar with the kid’s father, which basically meant that I wasn’t welcome. The same went for girlfriends. I had this one girlfriend, Pat, when I was in eighth grade. She was my first love—eighth grade, slow dancing. I didn’t have a car, so I’d walk