The Day The Solos Died

It's funny how music & film from the high school days eventually gets sorted out, over time, into various categories ranging from total embarrassment to the sublime.

This guy, Randy Rhoads, was sublime. He died in a tragic plane crash 25 years ago this week and is still a major influence on guitarists (including my brother-in-law and I: one of our first Christmases together was spent downloading Randy stuff). Yes, yes, we can roll our eyes: he played for Ozzy Osbourne. But if you were to pick the best, most influential guitarists of the 1980s, he would be right there with Eddie Van Halen, and yet Randy died in 1982.

Eddie was an (awesome) grinning pixie, with tons of flash and funk. Randy was more studious and cerebral: he doped up standard rock with a heavy influence of classical theory. Though it became an overblown parody, the virtuoso, neo-classical rock of the 1980s spawned from Randy's 2 studio albums. Legions of guitarists read up on weird, esoteric scales and theory, just to emulate his style. (Two of my favorite current guitarists, Joe Satriani and Steve Vai, have enormous respect for Rhoads and knowingly hint at his style on occasion.)

And yet no one could touch him. It is a sports-stadium cliche' now but listen closely to Crazy Train next time you hear it on radio. It's a great rock song with a solo that is quite inspired and yet was meticulously crafted. It's a composition onto itself.

The doubly sad fact for the rock community was that Randy was a quiet, super-nice guy. His dad died young and he supported his mom and family by teaching guitar at her music store. He wrote an instrumental, Dee, in her name (yes, it is in the key of D).

American pie, indeed.

ps. I don't like the weird shrine/religious overtones of visiting a rock-star's grave but when I was at BryGuy's in California, I was well-aware that I was only about 100 miles from the gravesite and the little music store. I'd like to visit one day.