The Eagles - The Long Run

The Long Run was one of the only records I remember my dad purchasing on the first week of its release.

You must understand that there were two records from my childhood that seemed to be permanent fixtures in my parent’s shitty stereo system: Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors and The Eagles Hotel California. They played incessantly, and while I have fallen out of love-and then back in love-with Rumors, I haven’t heard Hotel California for decades, and I seem to be fine with that. It’s still etched in my memory and while I’ve grown to despise the fucking Eagles, man, I can admit that Hotel California is arguably a significant piece of work and the band’s crowning achievement.

After the massive success of that effort, The Eagles took three years to follow it up with The Long Run. On the surface, the cover art makes it seem that the album is another epic offering. With its black cover and slick, thin grey font, it gives the impression that those three years were hard ones, resulting in a release that would continue the band’s rise as American cultural observers and mellow rebel rousers.

So why-aside from the hit singles-don’t I remember The Long Run like I do its predecessor? We’re talking an album that reached #1 on the album charts during a period of time when that took some doing. 

I decided to revisit this album, nearly three decades after last hearing it, searching for clues as to why what once was The Eagles’ final moment had been completely overlooked in favor of the aforementioned Hotel California and the ubiquitous Greatest Hits Volume One.

The reason, as it turns out, is because The Long Run is a lazy record, full of professional gloss and contrived arrangements. The conflict surrounding its development was one resulting from clashing egos rather than creative debate of “How do we set about topping Hotel California?”

They barely come close, which is what makes the album so frustrating, but it isn’t until you let The Long Run settle for three decades or so before the real resentment towards the Eagles begins to take shape.

And the inspiration for that resentment is clear with this album’s ten tracks.

It’s most obvious on the hit single “Heartache Tonight,” which found Glen Frey and composer J.D. Souther struggling with coming up with a chorus. They used the phone-a-friend option and called up their Detroit buddy Bob Seger who managed to come up with one during the phone call. In case you’ve forgotten, the chorus goes “There’s gonna be a heartache tonight/A heartache tonight, I know.”

Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?

The Eagles hired Timothy B. Schmit as the replacement for founding member Randy Meisner, which is ironic as Schmit seems to have been inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame on the sheer fact that he’s made a career out of being the runner up to everything that Meisner had ever done.

Initially, Schmit was passed over for Meisner in Poco, only to get the job a few years later when Randy left to join the Eagles. When Meisner quit The Eagles, guess who got the call?

Prior to his joining, Schmit was probably best remembered from the awful Firefall hit “Just Remember I Love You.” It’s good to know that Tim’s penchant for soft-rock schlock followed him to his new band, in the form of the ultra shitty “I Can’t Tell You Why.” If there ever was an Eagles hit devoid of any hint of their previous formula, Schmit delivered it with this track.

But the real spite must be saved for Don Henley, particularly with the way in which the man has conducted himself during the years that followed The Long Run. If Hotel California was Henley’s commentary on decadence and the homogenization of American culture, then how are we to view his own contribution to the same sins?

His holier than thou lyrics are in full view throughout The Long Run, culminating in the side one closer, “King Of Hollywood.” Henley treats the object of his scorn with an overly long six-and-a-half minute track which is nothing more than a shittier sequel to “Hotel California.” In it, Henley manages to sound like a jealous ex-boyfriend, attacking his scarf-wearing enemy’s small penis (“You’d know it if you saw his stuff/The man just isn’t big enough”) and his coke-fueled inability to achieve an orgasm (“Still he just couldn’t get off”).

The Long Run’s only saving grace comes from Joe Walsh’s “In The City,” which was originally a solo recording from earlier in the same year for the movie The Warriors. Frey and Henley apparently liked the track so much that they re-recorded it for The Eagles record.

Of course, if the Eagles were so desperate for material to use tracks that had already been released, or ones that were evidently inspired by Animal House (“The Greeks Don’t Want No Freaks”), then you have to wonder what exactly went on during the three years since their last release.

What the record-buying public ended up with was merely a collection of capable, but hardly credible, songs that reek of contractual obligations and an understanding that fans like my father would end up buying pretty much anything that The Eagles released. Its self-important looking cover and never ending musings on how greed and decadence are values worthy of ridicule don’t seem to apply to the worlds of The Long Run’s creative forces.

That’s something that we all did manage to find out in the long run.

The Eagles - Long Road Out Of Eden

True story: I once received a Christmas present from a co-worker who knew I was a music fan. The album that he bought me was the Eagles'r Greatest Hits 1971-1975.

I was gracious; I thanked him for the gift and referred to the record’s huge appeal. Privately, I thought it was a little shortsighted. I mean, I was sure that I had let on about a few bands that I like and I am absolutely positive that the Eagles never once entered into the conversation. Perhaps this is the record that people turn to whenever they’re faced with addressing someone who is a bit of a music fan; because, fuck, so many people bought Greatest Hits that it must mean that everyone who likes music loves that album.

I left the gift in its shrink rap and traded in on something more aligned with my own musical taste.

So maybe I’m not the best choice to review the new Eagles album and maybe the idea itself is a bit presumptuous. It’s not as if anything I say is going to make jack shit of a difference to the band’s core audience, an audience that’s likely to include my own father.

Whatever. I’m going for it.

The first thing you’ll hear from critics and fans is how much Long Road Out Of Eden sounds like the “old” Eagles. Yes, the harmonies are enviable, the production is immaculate, and the performances are what you’d expect from a band that holds the record for most albums ever sold. There’s nothing in the Eagles double-set to alienate a single soul out of those twenty-eight million customers that bought Greatest Hits.

The very notion that this album even exists angers me. There’s not a shred of evidence that these guys genuinely felt the need to work together again. There’s no unfinished business to address or any creative urge to explore. Eden sounds like it was conceived with the help of accountants who ran profit illustrations long before rehearsals were even scheduled. Guaranteed: if it appeared that not enough profit would have been generated from a new studio album, we wouldn’t even be talking about a new Eagles album. It’s safe to say that the tie-in with Wal-Mart addresses exactly that and helps ensure that the band gets paid even when the industry is in peril.

Speaking of Wal-Mart: the hypocritical notion of preaching about “Business As Usual” while offering their product exclusively at perhaps the most unethical retail in the country demonstrates the complete lack of moral code that the band possesses. It also speaks volumes on how the Eagles view their own fans. To them, their core audience consists entirely of blue-collar shoppers who are too stupid to shop anywhere but Wal-Mart and who’ve yet to grasp the concept of downloading. In the Eagles’ eyes, they probably think that pricing the album below $12 is doing us morons a favor.

They may have indeed found a way to reach the majority of their core audience, but they certainly haven’t found a way to come close to the impact that their original material had on them. In other words: the lemmings will buy Eden out of sheer obedience, but don’t count on them to replace their Greatest Hits package when they’re looking for a peaceful, easy feeling.

Even Joe Walsh, perhaps the most amiable fellow in the Eagles line-up, successfully raises my blood pressure on the new album with his seven-minute long “Last Good Time In Town.” In case you hadn’t gathered by its “clever” title, “Last Good Time” is a pathetic slice of middle-age tripe that reminisces to the good times when Joe had a little bit of trouble getting his dick hard, thanks to all the coke and booze he was abusing.

Glen Frey deserves credit for not only rewriting some of his mid-80s solo material for Eden, but also for using what sounds like the same equipment that he worked with during The Allnighter. But the biggest douche bag would have to be Henley, who goes out of his way to provide the band with the most virtuous bullshit to work from while managing to come off as someone who’s been living in isolation ever since The Long Run.

With no new ground broken, no hints at the band’s fabled mid-70′s brilliance and no redeeming value whatsoever, Long Road Out Of Eden is just like all the other shit you don’t need at Wal-Mart. Despite all of their stubborn inclination to create something intentionally out-of-step with today’s music landscape, the Eagles may have inadvertently made the perfect snapshot of what’s wrong with America today. It’s filled with self-righteousness, completely out-of-touch of touch with reality and it may qualify as the most hypocritical record ever made.

Here’s hoping that Long Road Out Of Eden provides the Eagles with a quick expressway to a destination that holds them accountable for their contemptuous actions.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Say It Ain't So! Joe Walsh Turns 60

I’m done keeping track of rockers that have now surpassed the 60 year mark and, to be honest, rockers that continue to rock past the age of 65 creep me out a little. Then I remember that old timers like John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters were singing about poontang well into their golden years, so I guess it’s cool if Mick Jagger wants to do the same.
Joe Walsh turns 60 today which doesn’t quite place him in the creepy category but it is hard for me to consider since the first image I ever had of Joe Walsh was the long, greasy haired kid sitting on a motorcycle in the black and white photo of the James Gang on their Rides Again album.
And the album secured his position as acknowledged badass in my mind.
That is, until I saw another black and white photo of Mr. Walsh. This one was the washed and styled coif that he wore sitting cross-legged with the rest of the Eagles on the gatefold shot in The Long Run.
From then on, I was through with Joe Walsh, even when a few friends got worked up for his The Confessor album.
“Fuck Joe Walsh.” I thought. “He was in the Eagles.”
But Goddamnit: Rides Again, In Concert, and bits of Yer Album and Thirds are stunning enough for you to get pissed that he could walk away (pun intended) from a band as awesome as the James Gang.
I vaguely remember The Smoker You Get and Barnstormer solo albums (for some reason, my old man was a fan, but then again, he thinks The Eagles are the shit) as being fairly good but it’s been years, scratch that, decades since I’ve heard either one of those albums.
But it’s only been a few weeks since I listened to Rides Again and it’s something that you should listen to today.
If you don’t, you’re liable to remember Joe Walsh as the cokehead/drunkard guitarist from that mellow rock outfit that sells their shit at Wal-Mart.
Say it ain’t so, Joe.
Say it ain’t so.
Anyway, here’s an awesome clip of Joe and the rest of the boys from Cleveland doing “Walk Away.”
I so wanted House of Large Sizes to cover this song during their heyday.

Glam-Racket Declared A No Frey Zone

Forgive me if I neglected to mention that The Eagles are nearly done with their new solo album, the first since The Long Run in 1979. According to Joe Walsh, the new album will feature a “new, different direction” and he stated that “It’s hard to compare to anything that I hear out there now.”
I’m willing to bet whatever Joe makes on the obligatory Eagles tour in 2008 that the new album is, essentially, the same shit that these drunken cokeheads dished throughout the seventies and is probably equal to most of the turds that pass for country music today.
A lot of my frustration is based on the simple fact that I understand that The Eagles are one of the most successful bands ever to walk the U.S. of A. and I understand that this is the reason why “country” artists outsell the artists of other genres; a lot of people like both of ‘em and, to my ears, there’s not a lot of difference between the two. In a world where everything has been segmented to death, The Eagles and the Eagles “sound” represents a safe haven for white Americans who miss the time when sweet harmonies, gentle melodies, and halfway clever songs managed to be the norm instead of the exception.
This is exactly the time of exception that Walsh is talking about when he said “It’s hard to compare to anything that I hear out there now.” Sure Joe, maybe in your out-of-touch world of playing with HAM radios and silly album titles, but whenever I listen to new country nowadays, all I hear is the fucking Eagles.
I don’t fault Joe, and I don’t fault people for liking The Eagles either; Hotel California, One Of These Nights and The Long Run were continual favorites of my parents growing up. But I do resent the actions of primary Eagle Don Henley for being a greedy little hypocrite for agreeing to reform the band after suggesting that he wouldn’t and then charge outrageous ticket prices when he didn’t need to simply on the notion that his ragtag band of everything wrong with the seventies were on the same level as The Beatles or The Stones. They are, you fuck, and I resent the fact that you backended your hippie ideology (remember the Walden Woods Project?) with a money-grubbing scheme that merely introduced an acoustic version of “Hotel California,” “Get Over It” and “Love Will Keep Us Alive” to the retards in the general public.
Why am I getting all worked up over The Eagles? Because, and it pains me to admit this, I actually liked a few solo records by Don Fucking Henley. There. I said it. I owned Building A Perfect Beast, enjoy the song “Dirty Laundry” and can sing every word to “The Heart Of The Matter” whenever I hear it while grocery shopping. It pains me to admit this, but I thought that Don Henley was a cool guy until Hell Freezes Over came out.
Supposedly, there’s some kind of deal where the new record will be marketed heavily in Wal Mart, which would clear-cut all of trees around Mr. Henley’s precious Walden Pond to put up a motherfucking Supercenter. I mean, Jesus, this dude just keeps making it easier to despise him!
And none of this will even register to the hundreds of thousands that will line up to buy whatever “new” material The Eagles put out, nor the millions who will line up to see these twelve step rejects perform “Seven Bridges Road” again, all the while, thinking about that night’s receipts and future tax shelters.
Do you wanna know why The Eagles are back together? It's because when they went solo, they were reduced to doing shit like this on their own.