Of course, girlfriends and groupies aside, just a couple of years later it was Roth who was fucked. Yet for about eight years, and over the course of  six albums, he was a key member of the best bar band on the planet.

To say the group lost something with the 1985 departure/firing of singer David Lee Roth would be a vast understatement, but to suggest that Van Halen was guaranteed to get that something back with the return of Roth would have been an equally vast overstatement. This warning holds particularly true since Van Halen’s reunion with Roth comes in tandem with the surprise departure of bassist Michael Anthony (replaced by Eddie Van Halen’s son, Wolfgang), whose backing vocals and clowning around have always been every bit as important as Eddie’s guitar pyrotechnics and Alex Van Halen’s lumpy drums. Indeed, what made Van Halen the best bar band on the planet was the fact that it was an honest-to-goodness band, with every piece of the spandex and fret-shredding puzzle perfectly aligned. Remove one piece and we’re liable to get a show as miserable as the last time the group came through town (with now estranged singer Sammy Hagar). Right?

Well, maybe not. The problem with that half-assed tour was that it had Hagar singing both his and Roth-era songs, opening with “Jump” and including such atrocities as the new “Where Eagles Fly,” which was so bad it couldn’t even live up to its terrible title. This time, as if to both hedge its bets and give the fans their money’s worth, Van Halen will focus on the golden years. We’re talking songs like “Runnin’ with the Devil,” “Beautiful Girls,” “Unchained,” “Panama,” “Hot for Teacher” and “Ain’t Talking ’Bout Love.” Classic Van Halen covers like “You Really Got Me” and (er) “Pretty Woman.” Solos. Lots of solos.

Early reports and ample YouTube clips show the band is in good scissor-kicking shape. As hard as it is to admit, and as much as it may rile the Vegas odds makers, the group sounds pretty great, too. And while we’re being honest, maybe—just maybe—Anthony was as much a part of that stinker of a 2004 tour as lame-o Sammy Hagar (a hack no matter what the context, he was not above a recent stunt tour with Roth, the latter of whom is no stranger himself to the shameless hack scene).

Regardless, by most accounts, Wolfie is no Anthony, especially in the charisma department: He’s a hulk of a kid, and well trained by dad, but at 16 he doesn’t seem quite ready for Eddie’s trial by fire, however well (or well enough) he plays bass. This is also 2007, not 1983. Roth and Eddie both sport short hair, and the former (still limber if slightly less athletic than in days of yore) is more likely to score with your mom than your girlfriend. But don’t hate the player. Hate the game.

Besides, look at the reunion field these days. Even at its peak Genesis played with the po-faced seriousness of students. The members of the Police can barely even pretend they’re getting along as they rake in the cash. But Van Halen, having never aspired to anything more than a good time, isn’t getting tangled up in the details of providing anything more than that. The band’s no longer larger than life because, for most of its fans, life has gotten much bigger, but for a night or two they can pretend it’s just like the old days. As the poet once said, “Everybody wants some! I want some, too!”