Halen—pronounced the sun-warmed way Italians might greet a dear friend, HAY-lin—spills onto the tongue like a melody drifting through a Tuscan piazza at dusk, its vowels lifting and spiraling just high enough to catch the evening swallows. Thought to be a modern fusion of the English “hale” (healthy and whole) and the Celtic root “ailin” (little rock), the name carries twin notes of vigor and steadfastness; yet, whispered on the breeze, it also nods playfully to the legendary guitar riffs of Van Halen, promising a life in which strength and artistry dance arm in arm. Neither strictly sonata nor lullaby, Halen moves easily between the blue of baby blankets and the rose of ribbons—unabashedly unisex—gathering a modest but faithful chorus of American admirers who, year after year, keep it hovering around the eight-hundreds in national charts like a small star that insists on twinkling. To choose Halen is to cradle a name that feels at once ancient stone and new song, a pocketful of health and harmony ready to accompany its bearer through cobblestone streets or wide-open fields with the same warm flourish of a well-timed “Ciao!”