IT’S 3:05 P.M. ON A FRIDAY. I’M WAITING FOR A CALL from Vito Bratta. He’s late. Five minutes late, to be exact. But considering it’s taken years of knocking, followed by an additional three weeks of scheduling back and forth via email, to gain entry into the proverbial Casa di Vito… what’s a few minutes more?
A few nervous sips of Johnny Walker Blue later, at around 3:10 p.m., my trusty iPhone 10XR buzzes with anticipation; I’d used that old iPhone for countless interviews prior, but this one is different. The number scrolling across the screen is one I didn’t recognize. I mutter to myself, “That’s gotta be Vito...” It is.
“Sorry I’m late, man. I was dialing the wrong number for the last 10 minutes,” Bratta sheepishly says. “It’s funny, though; I’ve got nothing to do. I’m here all the time. I care for my mother full time and only venture out for a few minutes daily to run to the grocery store.”
The “here” Bratta refers to is the childhood home in Staten Island (one of New York City’s five boroughs), where Bratta still resides. Since the end-days of White Lion — when Bratta retreated from the “biz” — the ever-reclusive guitarist has been seldom heard from. Still, many rumors regarding Bratta have cropped up. Some are true — at least, on the surface — while others are bastardized versions of his post-glam-metal life.
Of course, Bratta has earned all the grace that he desires. Far be it from me to be bothered by waiting a few extra minutes. After all, I’d waited this long to dig into the solos that made Bratta — with his imaginative pop arpeggiations and blues-based, yet Van Halen-inspired bouts of slippery tapping — famously adored.
Indeed, in the years that followed Bratta’s exodus from our collective consciousness, talks of his exploits have unfurrowed in various directions. Some say he was the most inventive player to pick up a guitar in the Eighties. Others label him as nothing more than a clone of one Edward Van Halen. But Bratta isn’t having any of that. He never did.
“That always bothered me,” Bratta says. “I read all of it back in the Eighties. Guys will say they don’t read people’s words, but I did. I remember seeing it in magazines, and people would tell me, ‘Oh, you sound and play just like Eddie.’ At one point, it got under my skin enough
