Wolfgang Van Halen has the words ‘play play’ written on his right arm. One in blue, one red, scrawled as if in biro. Slicker tattoos of Moon phases and the logo of his band, Mammoth, are positioned more prominently, but that scratchy little message carries a special weight. It’s his father’s handwriting, transferred from a Christmas card and now a permanent reminder to his son. An expression of joy, from one musician to another. Words to live by.
“He was being silly, and he wrote it with both markers to almost make it like it was a 3D effect,” the 34-year-old grins, looking down at the words. “So I just use it as kind of a life lesson, so that if I’m playing guitar I can always see that, just to make sure I keep following it.”
Sitting next to me on a sofa at Fender’s HQ in Covent Garden, Wolf (as he introduces himself) comes over remarkably normal for someone with such A-list parentage. Black jeans, band T-shirt (Canadian prog-metal instrumentalist group Intervals, who opened for Mammoth last year), wedding ring, gentle laugh, no rock-star pretensions. Serious about music and his father’s legacy. Comparatively less fussed about everything else.
It’s easy to imagine him fitting in with the Alter Bridge/Slash ‘family’, of which he’s now very much a part. In his twenties he played bass for Mark Tremonti’s solo band. His touring guitarist in Mammoth, Frank Sidoris, also plays in Slash’s Conspirators. Michael ‘Elvis’ Baskette (Alter Bridge’s go-to guy, and two-time Slash collaborator) has produced all the Mammoth records. As we go to press, Myles Kennedy is on tour with them in the States – as the support act.
“That’s insane, man,” Van Halen shakes his head. “I’m gonna have to be on my A-game, because when you have fucking Myles Kennedy singing and playing guitar before you go on, you got to make sure you’re good.”
There are moments, though, when the ‘ordinary guy’ curtain is lifted – just a little. Quiet reminders that he’s not just another bloke who started a band. His easy kinship with rock’s top tier (Metallica, Dave Grohl, Maynard Keenan, the late Ozzy Osbourne…). His uncle Patrick, white-haired and baseball-capped, silent in the corner throughout our conversation, like a downto-earth bodyguard. His calm but clear devotion to 5150, the studio made legendary by his father.
Now, though, Wolf is its custodian on his own terms. Most recently the third Mammoth album – The End, on which he once again sings and plays all instruments – was recorded there. He lives in the adjacent property with his wife Andraia, a software engineer. Marlon Brando, Charlton Heston and Steve Martin lived in the neighbourhood, high in the green, expensive reaches of Coldwater Canyon in Beverly Hills. When he’s not on tour, Wolf rarely leaves the place.
“I live in my childhood home now, so the studio’s right there,” he says. “Yeah, I feel very protective over 5150. It’s what I need to watch and protect, for the rest of my life now.”
Since the first Mammoth album in 2021, Van Halen Jr’s music has stood confidently apart from the band that made his family famous. Less 80s flash and fireworks, more brooding 90s grunge flavours thoughtfully spliced with metallic beef, subtle gear shifts and pop-perfect harmonies. Sounds that stir big feelings. Songs that stay with you.
But perhaps his roots do come through in subtle ways. There is a real taste of that inimitable Van Halen magic, for example, in The End’s title track: specifically, the 40-second tapping solo that kicks it off. It’s an incendiary moment. The same dizzying technique and groovy sense of fun that made Roth-era VH’s Hot For Teacher so exciting. Its accompanying video, directed by horror heavyweight Robert Rodriguez, finds the band facing down zombies at a gig, plus cameos from Myles Kennedy (a bloodthirsty zombie), ultimate tough guy Danny Trejo (the surly doorman) and Slash (looking on nonchalantly, being cool – very on-brand). A team effort, hinged on the softly spoken Van Halen’s uncompromising artistic standards, set for himself.
“It’s been fun because we’ve had to play an acoustic version of it,” he says, giggling nervously at the memory. “It’s very funny to hear that, trying to do the tapping acoustically.”
In the studio Mammoth (now minus the ‘WVH’, having resolved a trademark issue this year) might be Van Halen’s sandbox, but live it’s very much a band affair. Completed by the aforementioned Sidoris, guitarist Jonathan Jourdan, bassist Ronnie Ficarro and former Tremonti drummer Garrett Whitlock, they soar way beyond their deceptively straight, black T-shirted image – taking their frontman’s hot-blooded, cleverly written songs and turning them into livewire events. Last year we saw them at a jam-packed Islington Academy. It was, comfortably, one of the best rock shows we’d seen in years.
“At the end of the day that’s what matters to me more than anything. It’s not about having a guy jumping around on stage and saying [adopts boorish rock star boom] ‘Are you fucking ready!’ It’s about playing the fuck out of your instruments. Bands like Tool and Meshuggah, they will stand right there and they will destroy. That’s what I aspire to be.”
Typically, they rehearse about two weeks ahead of a tour, polishing their chops in soundchecks to keep the tight-but-loose quality that makes them so fun and easy to watch. Is he a demanding boss?
“No, not at all,” he replies. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually said: ‘Hey, you’re playing that wrong.’ I think it’s important that they feel themselves in the material. So they always learn it themselves. If they have any questions on what exactly to play I’ll tell them, obviously, but they’re so good at what they do I never have to worry.”
The wider upshot of this has been Mammoth becoming one of rock’s most bookable acts. Foo Fighters, Guns N’ Roses and Creed have all taken them on tours. On Metallica’s 2023-2024 stadium run, Mammoth were the only support to play every show.
“They gave us a Perfect Attendance Award!” he laughs. “It’s a plaque that has the pick from every show, because they did custom picks for the whole thing. So yeah, they’re very cool like that.” He smiles, as if he were talking about an elder brother’s nice mates. “They’re very sweet.”
Originally, he was supposed to join Metallica at the now legendary Back To The Beginning concert. In the end, he had to pull out due to the event’s changing rehearsal schedule, which clashed with Mammoth’s tour commitments – i.e. opening for Creed on a big run of arena shows.
“I know at one time I was supposed to play Sweet Leaf,” he says, of what he might have played on the day. “Another time I was supposed to play guitar on Changes. But, you know, it just didn’t end up happening.”
Seemingly his involvement with Ozzy Osbourne’s Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame induction – at Sharon and Ozzy’s request – took the edge off this ill-fated timing. At the ceremony he played Crazy Train with Tool’s enigmatic vocalist Maynard Keenan, a huge hero of his. (“We hit it off and we text each other all the time now. I so badly want to visit his vineyard because he’s super-passionate about that. My mom has made her own wine, she has a vineyard on her property. I want to bring her and tour his vineyard, it’d be fun.”) Backstage, post-gig, he and Ozzy talked for 10 or 15 minutes, sharing unrepeatable stories from Van Halen’s days opening for Sabbath.
“At first I was like: ‘Was that good enough?!’” Wolf remembers. “And his exact words, I believe, were: ‘It was bloody brilliant.’ He gave me a hug. That meant everything. And I got him to laugh.”
He has no regrets over those Creed shows. For a guy who cut his live teeth in arenas, playing bass in Van Halen, it was a nostalgic experience, returning to venues he hadn’t visited since those days with his dad. Back then he was 15, facing the world on a nightly basis and acting as an anchor to a newly sober Eddie Van Halen.
“It’s definitely a lot to have on your shoulders,” he agrees, “and you certainly experience a lot. I was forced to grow up as quickly as possible, mentally, in that respect. But, you know, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I was very happy I was able to share that with my dad.
“I almost feel most comfortable in sports arenas for shows,” he continues. “Stadiums are huge and crazy, but to me the perfect rock show is in an arena, because it can still sound good and it’s a controlled environment where the lights can really work and give a good show.”
Even so, his greatest kick comes from the venues Mammoth now sell out as headliners. Bigger and bigger theatres. People singing his songs. Playing with bandmates chosen because they got on brilliantly, who also happened to be first-class musicians. Their rider includes coffee, water, Gatorade and ‘Uncrustables’ peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Wolf doesn’t drink (“I just didn’t find much interest in it, and with my Indonesian roots I get that ‘Asian flush’ and it’s incredibly uncomfortable”). It’s a friendly set-up, between actual friends. They were all present at Wolf’s wedding in 2023 – an intimate home affair.
It’s all helped him relax into a role that’s tremendously at odds with his personality; a quiet, introverted soul who might have been a drummer in another life.
Do you get nervous?
“Very nervous,” he says, without hesitation. “Always. Usually I’m really bad with firsts. So the first time we’re playing a new song, the first show of the tour. It’ll ease out through the rest of the tour, but I’m still…” He considers this for a moment. “Yeah, I’m a nervous wreck all the time.”
What helps you?
“Nothing!” he half-whispers, eyes wide, almost laughing. “I just have to push through it. I mean, when it’s our gig and it’s people who are there to see us, it’s a lot more comforting. But sometimes you just have to stuff it in your pocket and ignore it, which is really tough. Or you can try to harness it. I like to try and use that nervous energy for good, which you can do sometimes, but other times it’s… it’s tough. So you never really know. It’s just a matter of doing it over and over again.”
In September 2024, Mammoth were on a plane to Mexico for stadium shows with Metallica. Miles above ground and increasingly aware of the altitude he’d be singing at, Wolf fell into a panic attack. It set the tone for The End, taking the listener on a journey through different anxious headspaces, and different ideas of what ‘the end’ might feel like. Lows, highs, grey areas.
“I’d never in my life been freezing but completely drenched in sweat,” he recalls, making eye contact with uncle Patrick, who goes to all their shows and was with him at the time. “It fucked me up. It felt like it was forever, but it was probably about a ten-minute thing. In hindsight it’s hilarious, but during, very traumatic. I think that headspace – I’m already an anxious person – bled into the whole writing process.”
What do you think you were scared of, besides potentially fucking up your voice?
“When I get like that it doesn’t really matter. At any time, I can just freak out because something’s gonna go wrong, or I’m gonna make an ass of myself, or I’m gonna ruin it, I’m gonna mess up, or, you know…”
He pauses, pulling back from the impulse to spiral downward that all naturally anxious people can relate to. For a moment you can see the strange, heightened few years he’s had, hurtling through grief, judgement, success.
“I guess I am my toughest critic,” he continues. “And growing up in the scrutiny of the public eye, since I was fourteen, I think might have a lot to do with that; issues that I’ve got to work on. I’ve been to therapy a couple times, I’m medicated, all that. So it’s just a matter of working your way through it, being more comfortable in yourself, not needing that approval from others.”
Making The End offered a safe haven. Recording took place in the 5150 studio, literally paces away from his house, with producer/musical co-pilot Michael ‘Elvis’ Baskette. He writes mostly at home, on the sofa with a guitar, in quiet spaces between tours and playing videogames or watching reality TV with his wife.
Unlike the first two Mammoth albums, The End’s tracks were demoed straight into instruments – as opposed to Logic audio software. It made for a more instinctive energy, and a willingness to run with unexpected gear changes that felt good. You can hear it in the epic yet gnarly swoop of One Of A Kind; the sassy Meshuggah-funk of I Really Wanna; the grungy blues stomp and blissed out harmonies of Better Off; the dreamlike, Soundgarden-meets-Alice In Chains heartache of Happy. All of which flowed in the studio he grew up in, crawling over amps and inhaling rock history.
“It’s home, you know?” he shrugs. “So it feels very nice to be able to continue that musical legacy. You almost feel like it’s a duty to fill the walls with music every year.”
It must be a strange thing, carving your own, distinctive legacy in a place so imbued with your family’s iconic moments. The only place he’s ever lived. The home he returns to for holidays with his wife, when touring is finished. They haven’t had a honeymoon yet, but hope to go to Japan off the back of a tour at some point.
“At this point it’s where 5150 is,” he says, of his enduring loyalty to Los Angeles, “and I feel a lot of protection and ownership over that, so I don’t see myself going anywhere anytime soon.”
We talk about his Christmas plans and his mum’s place with her five cats (Bubba, Beau, Henry, Tigger and Batman). He hugs me goodbye and moves on to his next interview. Uncle Patrick quietly taps at his phone, looking at guitars on the walls around us. Later, as I transcribe my recording, he feels more like a comfort than a bodyguard. An emotional support. Something like a father figure to this guy with a uniquely challenging, inspiring past, and so much to offer on his own terms. His dad’s voice, his message to ‘play play’, etched onto his arm forever
The End is out now via BMG. Mammoth are on tour from March.
