It begins with soft, metallic clanging, like wind chimes shifting in the breeze. Then there is a demonic "unwinding" noise, akin to a drawbridge slowly descending over a moat, or the doors of the Taj Mahal opening one massive hinge at a time, perhaps. With a gigantic WHOOSH, out comes that diabolical instrument, unleashed into the night: the saxophone.
On a soundtrack dominated by electro-funk, Glenn Frey showed up with the Yuppie Rock, and this time, he brought the heat.
The heat was not without its irony however. Just as Kenny Loggins, a perfectly capable songwriter, didn't write "Danger Zone," so Glenn Frey, a man who surely knew his way around a pop composition or two, didn't actually write "The Heat Is On." I know, I just shattered all your childhood dreams. We can take a moment to rest, if you need it.
"Danger Zone," of course, was written by the producer of the Top Gun soundtrack, the supremely lubricative Giorgio Moroder, and so it's only fitting that "The Heat Is On" was co-written by one of Moroder's proteges, and the producer of the Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack, the only slightly less lubricative Harold Faltermeyer. So yes, Glenn Frey didn't actually compose what arguably turned out to be his biggest solo hit. I'm almost positive that Don Henley has never avoided an opportunity to remind Glenn of this little factoid every chance he gets. In sound, style, and attitude, though, "The Heat Is On" is much closer to "Footloose" than "Danger Zone," with its Winwood-esque keyboards, giddy hand claps, and "get up and rock this party" chorus (although this song probably hasn't rocked a party in a long, long time - maybe your step-dad's retirement party?).
But that's not the most amusing part. The most amusing part about the fact that Frey didn't write "The Heat Is On" is that the lyrics, with their overall nebulousness and pseudo-tough guy posturing, still fit in perfectly with the man's whole wannabe badass aesthetic. In other words, if he didn't come up with this shit, he easily could have. What exactly is the titular "heat" in question?
The heat is on
On the street
Inside your head
On every beat
And the beat's alive
Deep inside
The pressure's high
Just to stay alive
'Cause the heat is on
Is he cooking Top Ramen or something? Is it wintertime? Why the hell is the heat on? You're jacking up the energy bill buddy. Well, I guess he's supposed to be talking about cops, you know, the "law," the "fuzz," the "man." Maybe it's a prescient statement on global warming. No wait, I think I've got it: it's a song about gonorrhea.
The video features another in a long line of '80s film editors (possibly Jude Law's uncle?) who fancy themselves rock stars. Listen dude, you better leave the rocking out to Glenn Frey and his hypnotically androgynous sax player. As far as Glenn's gender is concerned, of course, there can be no doubt, as he's sporting some prominent chest hair, as well as a serious five o'clock shadow. If the "heat" is really "on," he should probably shave that thing. Most unintentionally hilarious moment(s): Glenn taking a break from his patented "eyes closed" singing method in order to stare directly into the camera and, after four suspenseful drum beats (or, as we're somewhat led to believe, microphone fist pounds), provocatively mouth the word "on" (1:35 and 2:24).
Some people don't know where they belong. Maybe they belong in a seaside resort. Maybe they belong in a one-room shack in Idaho. Well Glenn Frey isn't talking to those people. He's talking to the people who know where they belong. If you're listening to Glenn Frey's smash 1985 single, if you're really in tune with what he has to say, if you really understand him, then you know.
You belong ... to the city.
I'm a little suspicious though. I mean, if you really belonged to the city, you wouldn't have to write a song about it, right? Maybe he was just being borrowed by the city. Maybe he was just traded to the city for half a season.
Or maybe he was trying to write a song for Miami Vice. After all, once you've already starred in an episode of Miami Vice based around one of your own songs, you might as well record a song specifically for Miami Vice, right? I know movie soundtracks were popular in the '80s, but I didn't realize that television soundtracks were popular in the '80s. Can you believe that the Miami Vice soundtrack album was #1 for 11 weeks? And can you believe that Glenn Frey's two biggest solo hits weren't even from proper Glenn Frey albums? Who did he think he was, Kenny Loggins?
It starts, of course, with the sax. Without the sax, there is no city. Then the chug begins. The urban rhythms of the night. Or maybe it's Glenn's washing machine. Perhaps this is the birth of Laundromat Rock. Sorry, the washing machine in my apartment's been broken the last few weeks; obviously I've had laundry on the brain.
The great thing about "You Belong to the City" is that Glenn Frey gives it all he's got. The man thinks he's singing "Stand By Me" or "I Heard it Through the Grapevine." Glenn Frey is so into this song that he won't be able to crawl out of this song. Glenn Frey is so into this song that nobody's heard from him for weeks. His family just reported him missing.
But he works his way up to it. At first, he keeps things sly and sultry:
The sun rolls down, the night rolls in
You can feel it starting all over again
The moon comes up and the music calls
You're gettin' tired of starin' at the same four walls
You're out of your room and down on the street
Movin' through the crowd in the midnight heat
The traffic roars, the sirens scream
You look at the faces, it's just like a dream
I'm totally with him, right up until "just like a dream." That was the best he could come up with? What kind of a dream, Glenn? A good dream? A bad dream? Saying it's "just like a dream" is like saying it's just like anything. But Glenn is unperturbed, as the chords build behind him: "Nobody knows where you're goin'/Nobody cares where you've been." Yeah, and? And??? What does it mean? Is he going to cut to the chase here? You're damn right he is:
"'Cause you be-long to the city! You belong to the night!" There is it. The cold hard truth comes out. This is your world. This is your moment. This is your home. "Livin' in a river of darkness/Beneath the neon lights." A river of darkness, huh? It would probably be pretty hard to live in there. You'd need a wet suit. And maybe an oxygen tank. And one of those water-resistant flashlights. All right, I get it, it's a metaphor.
By the second verse, Glenn turns it up to 10:
When you said goodbye, you were onnnn the run! Tryin' to get away from the things you've done!
Now you're back again, and you're feeeeeling strange! So much has happened, but nothing has changed!
Whoa, dude. That is deep. Glenn Frey is tapping into the mystical zen of city-dwelling here. How could so much happen, and yet ... nothing change? It's a paradox, a mind-melting paradox.
And that's it, right? Oh no, sit right down, because Preacher Glenn's still got some more gospel to spread. He mutters a quiet "You can feel it." Then some sax. "You can taste it." A little more sax. "You can see it." OK, that one had some bite to it. So let me guess, he's naming all the senses here, up next is ... "You can touch it"? Well, that doesn't rhyme with "taste it." Looks like ol' Glenny Boy's painted himself into a corner. "You can face it." Ooh, nice recovery. "You can hear it, hey/You're getting near it!" Now the man's not pulling any punches. He's completely abandoned that whole call-and-response thing with the saxophone, because, damn it, he's gotta let it out. "You wanna make it!" Uh-huh. Go on. "'Cause you can take it!" Actually, I don't know if I can.
But even after that gripping testimony, if you still have your doubts as to whether or not Glenn truly belongs to the city, a quick viewing of the music video should erase any misgivings.
As with "The One You Love," right off the bat, there's the saxophone. Glenn Frey doesn't fuck around. The Manhattan skyline. The Brooklyn Bridge. Oh yeah. Eat shit Joe Jackson. Suddenly, that very same saxophone is ... on a TV monitor? Hey, we're in somebody's apartment. The camera pans back to reveal ... the King of Cool himself. He's leaning back on his bed, smoking a cigarette, the Empire State Building glittering through the window, his extremely sexy cat licking itself in the foreground. Another night, another mystery.
Then BOOM! We hit the streets. The man is on the prowl. But who's the lucky lady? Ah, there she is, all dolled up with nowhere to go, lighting candles, watching the tube. You know what she needs? She needs an exciter. She needs the Allnighter. Oh, also, every so often, there's a shot of a TV monitor showing random clips of Don Johnson and that other guy from the show (look, I never watched it) wandering through the same mean streets that Glenn apparently knows so well. In fact, if you've got some extra time to kill, there's actually a weird "alternate universe" video of "You Belong To The City" in which Don Johnson walks around Manhattan like a sex machine instead of Glenn. Pick your poison, America.
Anyway, Glenn's Goddess of Destiny hops into a cab, uncertain of the magic that awaits her. The cab almost hits Glenn a laMidnight Cowboy's "I'm walkin' here!" scene, but he can't stay mad for long, as a he catches a glimpse of ... the Woman. He's got to have her, traffic accidents be damned. She enters a bar, and he follows, but he sits on the other side of room; he's got to stake out the situation first. Some sleazeball tries to light her cigarette, he's probably trying to pick her up, but Glenn can see she's not interested in that guy. No way. There's only one man who can satisfy her PG-13 desire. He steps outside to hail a cab, but she's done messing around with amateurs. She and Glenn start to chat. They walk back to her apartment. The city (to which he so enthusiastically belongs, remember) swirls around them. Also, lest we forget, there's a shot of the saxophone every now and then.
Suddenly, it's morning. Like a Yuppie Rock Don Draper, Glenn casually pops out of an elevator, fresh from another conquest, turns off the security monitor ("Don't worry, Glenn Frey was here, nobody's going to harm this building"), and strolls out onto the street.
Or you know what? Maybe he killed her! Where are those damn vice cops when you need them?
It looks like everyone but the Pope was on board for Don Henley's second album, Building the Perfect Beast: in addition to the aforementioned Mike Campbell, we've got Lindsey Buckingham, Randy Newman, the Motels' Martha Davis, Sam Moore (of Stax Records' Sam & Dave fame!) two members of Toto (does it really matter which ones?), and Wikipedia even lists a certain Miss B. Carlisle with "backing vocals, harmony vocals," but if she's on here, I haven't the faintest idea where (sadly, "She's On The Zoom" was not included as a bonus track, so it must have been something else). I know this album sold three times as much, and received three times as much critical praise, as I Can't Stand Still, so call me a contrarian, but I really don't feel like there are as many hidden gems on this one. Let's be honest, without "Boys of Summer" tipping the scales, this wouldn't even be a contest.
I fear that "Man On A Mission" was Henley's attempt to sound like Split Enz, and the title track may have been the subconscious inspiration for Wang Chung's "Everybody Have Fun Tonight," but otherwise, I'm kind of fallin' asleep here. "Sunset Grill" peaked at #22, and I'd put it at about #22 on my list of favorite Don Henley solo songs; too much synthesizer, not enough condescension.
Nope, he saved all the condescension for "All She Wants To Do Is Dance," another lecture rock classic which, despite actually being written by Don's buddy Danny Kortchmar and not Don himself, still gives Don the chance to sound like a liberal douche. From Wikipedia:
The song's lyrics are a personal commentary, critical of then-modern American culture for being more concerned with self-gratification and hedonistic behaviors (e.g., dancing, partying, promiscuity, recreational drug use, etc.) than with serious issues such as domestic and foreign policies of their government. Ironically, it became a very popular dance song, peaking at #10 on the U.S. Billboard Hot Dance Club Songs.
See Don, you fucked it up! You made it too danceable! Looks like Henley fell victim to what was known in '80s pop circles as "Born in the U.S.A." Syndrome, ie. when an artist assumes his audience understands what irony is, and/or cares. Like he was adding all that much to the conversation anyway. Oh wait, you mean terrible things are happening in the world, and Don Henley is making me feel guilty about them? Oh my God, I've totally changed my mind! Honey, where's my Che Guevara t-shirt?
They're pickin' up the prisoners and puttin' 'em in the pen
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
Rebels been rebels since I don't know when
And all she wants to do is dance
Molotov cocktail - the local drink
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
They mix 'em up right in the kitchen sink
And all she wants to do is dance
Crazy people walkin' round with blood in their eyes
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
Wild-eyed pistol wavers who ain't afraid to die
And all she wants to do is
And all she wants to do is dance
And make romance
Well, the government bugged the men's room in the local disco lounge
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
To keep the boys from sellin' all the weapons they could scrounge
And all she wants to do is dance
But that don't keep the boys from makin' a buck or two
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
They still can sell the army all the drugs that they can do
And all she wants to do is
And all she wants to do is dance
And make romance
Well, we barely made the airport for the last plane out
As we taxied down the runway I could hear the people shout
They said, "Don't come back here Yankee!" but if I ever do
I'll bring more money
'Cause all she wants to do is dance
And make romance
Personally Don, I have no desire to either dance or make romance, and yet I still don't feel like joining the revolution. This song is sort of like Neil Young's "Rockin' In The Free World," but, you know, less funny. Also, in that one, I get the sense that Neil feels just as much fear and guilt about traveling in the third world as most of his American middle class audience would, whereas Don Henley just sounds like he's patting himself on the back for bothering to watch the MacNeil-Lehrer News Hour. Plus, "Rockin' In The Free World" has those blistering electric guitar solos, whereas "All She Wants To Do Is Dance" has ... a keytar? The whole thing kind of sounds like Q*bert and Donkey Kong making love in a Trans Am, but I guess it takes all colors to make a rainbow.
For the video, Henley apparently traveled to a genuine war-torn Central American nation and commandeered the local hideout. Hmm. I didn't know Manuel Noriega was an Eagles fan.
(Note: For some reason, Mr. Frey and/or his legal team have put a copyright claim on all YouTube clips featuring songs from The Allnighter, which is odd, considering every song from No Fun Aloud is readily available on the site, and considering this album is 30 years old and wasn't even that popular when it came out. Why The Allnighter, Glenn? Why? Think of all the top-notch publicity Cosmic American Blog was about to give your sleazy 1984 opus! Nonetheless, I have decided to go ahead with my post, and if at some point these tracks pop up on YouTube, I'll just add them in later. In the meantime, if you're simply too curious, you can acquire the discussed recordings using your medium of choice.) [Edit: they're more or less up on YouTube now, and Glenn is dead.]
Although he'd already smothered himself in plenty of vaseline on No Fun Aloud, for his second solo album, The Allnighter, Glenn Frey slid even further into his unique soft-core L.A. universe. This album is like ten different Viagra commercials. What I really want to know is: what, exactly, inspired Frey pick up his guitar and think, "You know what the music scene really needs right now? It needs this." I picture him listening to a Prince record and feeling the thrill of competition. "He thinks he can make sexy music? I can make sexy music."
At first glance, the title track seems to be about L.A.'s most inexhaustible gigolo, but I'm starting to think it's actually about a vibrator. Tell me what you think:
Lonely girl, rainy night
Lookin' for that number
She needs someone to treat her right
There's plenty of men she could call
But she wants him most of all
Oh God, I hope he's home tonight
She needs a love from a real exciter
She needs the allnighter
The allnighter
He's the one, the one she calls
When she gets that feeling
Some nights she just can't stop herself
He's tough and tender, a soul bender
Ain't no service he can't render
He touches her like nobody else
He brings out the love, love, love deep inside her
He's the allnighter
Now when all the stimulation lets you down, down, down
And there ain't no medication layin' around, 'round, 'round
Ya feel your little heart begin to pound and pound
He's a satisfier of that one desire
Other guys come and go
They may try, but they don't know
Every girl needs special care
Oh, he's so bad, he's so good
He makes it feel just the way it should
Nobody else can take her there
He's the real thing, the pure delighter
He's the allnighter
"There's plenty of men she could call/But she wants him most of all"? "He's tough and tender, a soul bender"? I'm sure there are some supremely bendable sex toys around. "Every girl needs special care"? "Nobody else can take her there"? I think I'm on to something.
Then there's "Sexy Girl," which climbed all the way up to #20 on the strength of it's Huey Lewis-esque bouncy beat and biting guitar fills, but here's a general rule for aspiring songwriters: if you have to put the word "sexy" in your song title, your song probably isn't very sexy (see: Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"; Air's "Sexy Boy"). Here, Glenn composes a slightly toned down Penthouse Forum letter in which he shares with us his good fortune in real estate matters:
She moved in next door to me
And she showed me her world
What a neighbor
Thanks for the favor
She's a very sexy girl
She's a sexy girl (sexy girl, sexy girl)
She's a very sexy girl
She's a sexy girl (sexy girl, sexy girl)
She's a very sexy girl
I got a feeling I can't go wrong
'Cause every time I see her
It's like hearing my favorite song
She's already down the steps
She's way down the block
But my heart keeps beating faster
And it just won't stop
I love to take her walkin'
And when we started talkin'
I'd tell her she's the finest I've ever seen
She'd look into my eyes,
But then I'd realize
I'm holding on to a dream
Stop any man walking down the street
Ask him what kind of girl he'd like to meet
There's not one thing in the whole wide world
He'd rather see than a sexy girl
At least the video (currently muted, but screw it, I'm embedding it anyway) [Edit: it's gone now, but at least the audio is up] is a little more realistic: when Frey shows up to the girl's door with a bottle of champagne, she says hello ... and so does her football jersey-wearing boyfriend. Still, Glenn makes less of a spectacle of himself than the fat, balding, Hawaiian shirt-wearing neighbor whose garden hose mimics his erectile behavior.
But it's not all fun and Hustler on The Allnighter. With "Smuggler's Blues," perhaps the musical step-child of his buddy Bob Seger's "The Fire Down Below," Frey spins a bluesy drug dealing tale so gritty it would make Tony Montana blush:
There's trouble on the streets tonight
I can feel it in my bones
I had a premonition
That he should not go alone
I knew the gun was loaded
But I didn't think he'd kill
Everything exploded
And the blood began to spill
So baby, here's your ticket
Put the suitcase in your hand
Here's a little money now
Do it just the way we planned
You be cool for twenty hours
And I'll pay you twenty grand
I'm sorry it went down like this
And someone had to lose
It's the nature of the business
It's the smuggler's blues
The sailors and pilots
The soldiers and the law
The pay offs and the rip offs
And the things nobody saw
No matter if it's heroin, cocaine, or hash
You've got to carry weapons
'Cause you always carry cash
There's lots of shady characters
Lots of dirty deals
Every name's an alias
In case somebody squeals
It's the lure of easy money
It's gotta very strong appeal
Perhaps you'd understand it better
Standin' in my shoes
It's the ultimate enticement
It's the smuggler's blues
See it in the headlines
You hear it ev'ry day
They say they're gonna stop it
But it doesn't go away
They move it through Miami
Sell it in L.A.
They hide it up in Telluride
I mean it's here to stay
It's propping up the governments
In Columbia and Peru
You ask any D.E.A. man
He'll say "There's nothin' we can do"
From the office of the President
Right down to me and you
It's a losing proposition
But one you can't refuse
It's the politics of contraband
It's the smuggler's blues
If you're thinking this practically sounds like an episode of Miami Vice, well ... so did the producers of Miami Vice. According to Wikipedia, "The single 'Smuggler's Blues' helped to inspire the Miami Vice episode of the same name, and Frey was invited to star in that episode, which was Frey's acting début." I'm not sure if the video is a truncated version of the episode or something else entirely, but you know what? He's not half bad!
But if "Smuggler's Blues" gives the listener an impression of moral ambivalence, on "Better In The U.S.A.," Frey picks a side and he ain't afraid to admit it. Perhaps he heard Don Henley's "Them And Us" and thought, "You what Don? I can do a better Cold War song than you can." When the Beatles recorded "Back In The U.S.S.R." and turned it into a Chuck Berry/Beach Boys pastiche, they were joking. But Glenn decided to write the same exact kind of song about the U.S., and I think he was actually serious. "Better In The U.S.A." reads like a Fox News rant about how liberals should stop complaining about all of America's flaws because, hey, Russia's worse! Well, the Soviet Union probably was worse, but that's not saying much. This might have made a good television short narrated by Charlton Heston, but as an '80s pop song, it's kind of awkward:
Well, they look to the east, they look to the west
The Third World wonders, which way's the best
We got freedom, we got soul
We got blue jeans and rock 'n' roll
Man there ain't no choice
It's better in the U.S.A. (It's better in the U.S.A.)
You can be what you want
Say what you wanna say (It's better in the U.S.A.)
How can I make you understand
It's better in the U.S.A. (It's better in the U.S.A.)
I hear the same propaganda, day after day
It's gettin' so hip, to knock the U.S.A
If we're so awful, and we're so bad
You oughta check the nightlife in Leningrad
Man it ain't even close
It's better in the U.S.A. (It's better in the U.S.A.)
If you could see behind the curtain
Life is cold and gray (It's better in the U.S.A.)
How can I make you understand
It's better in the U.S.A. (It's better, it's better)
Nobody's perfect and change comes slow
It's really up to you which way you wanna go
You can move to the left or move to the right
You can stand in the dark, you can stand in the light
Drivin' on the beach on a night in June
Me and my baby and the lover's moon
We're playin' sweet soul music, got it turned up loud
Makes me feel so good, makes me feel so proud
Man there ain't no choice
It's better in the U.S.A. (It's better in the U.S.A.)
They'd be movin' here from Moscow
If they could only find a way (It's better in the U.S.A.)
How can I make you understand
It's better in the U.S.A. (It's better)
We got burgers and fries (In the U.S.A.)
We got the friendly skies (In the U.S.A.)
We got the beautiful girls (In the U.S.A.)
They got the beautiful curls (In the U.S.A.)
We're drivin' beautiful cars (In the U.S.A.)
We're diggin' movie stars (In the U.S.A.)
We get to make romance (In the U.S.A.)
We let the little girls dance (In the U.S.A.)
It's better baby!
Nice sweater, baby
What'd you say, you and me go for a little drive?
Come on
Leave it to Glenn Frey to turn a patriotic anthem into an excuse to pick up an unsuspecting female.
There's a great passage in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas where Hunter S. Thompson, clownishly stumbling through the bitter and jaded hangover of the '70s, describes his memory of San Francisco in the '60s:
San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. And that, I think, was the handle - that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting - on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark - the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.
Don Henley's "The Boys of Summer" is the sound of that wave rolling back. Well, a couple of foamy droplets at least. It is an aching requiem for the lost dream of the '60s. Or maybe it's just a slightly mournful love song with a chic video. Either way, it is Henley's Yuppie Rock piece de resistance, although, to be fair, it looks like he benefited greatly from the assistance of Tom Petty's guitarist Mike Campbell. Maybe Henley and Campbell met up after one of the sessions for Bella Donna and thought to themselves, "Hey let's cut out the middleman (middlewoman?) and really go for the glory!" As AMG's Stewart Mason writes:
Upon its release in late 1984, after the prolonged and dispiriting end of the Eagles, a period of personal turmoil, and a somewhat unfocused solo debut, "The Boys of Summer" not only reestablished Don Henley as a major star, it accomplished something he'd never had before in his entire career: rock critics, uniformly, absolutely loved this song, even those who had spent years gleefully making sport of the Eagles' excesses. It's not hard to do, really. The tune -- written and almost entirely performed by Mike Campbell of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers -- is melancholic and gorgeous, and Henley wisely dials down his histrionic tendencies to deliver the most low-key vocal performance of his career, singing the verses in a quiet near-monotone that perfectly counterpoints the beseeching chorus.
Two points: 1) I actually like I Can't Stand Still more than Building The Perfect Beast, and 2) my sense is that "Hotel California," at the very least, is almost universally admired by those whose job it is to admire such things, but yes, "The Boys of Summer" does seem to be the go-to Yuppie Rock classic that's "OK" for critics to like these days. "The Eagles were shit, but man, that 'Boys of Summer' ... you've gotta give him that one." Here's how much rock critics love "The Boys Of Summer": Rolling Stone put it at #416 on their "500 Greatest Songs Of All Time" list, and even Pitchfork bothered to make room for it on the Pitchfork 500, sandwiching it between U2's "Bad" and Paul Simon's "Graceland." Of all the sleazy Yuppie Rock songs in all the former '70s country-rockers' solo careers in all the world, they walked into Henley's. Did they, like Henley, long for that elusive lover of the past, destined to never return? Did they yearn for an age when, as Lou Reed once put it, "poets studied rules of verse and ladies rolled their eyes"? Did they share Henley's Yuppie guilt and/or shame at having completely, utterly sold out to the Man? You wanna know something, taste-makers? Don Henley didn't need your belated praise. What he did need, however, was a pair of scissors, so that he could cut out all those gushing magazine clippings and surreptitiously slide them into Glenn Frey's mailbox.
Let's paint the scene: You're cruising down Sunset Blvd. The sound of faded dreams and festering memories echo across Laurel Canyon like a tacky drum machine. Out of the desolation, a bluesy guitar cuts through the suffocating air. Now the percussion starts to surround your sweaty, hungover skull like flies. A synthesizer hovers above you in the oppressive California heat, the guitar mocking your struggle, teasing your complacency. A couple of hideously inorganic bass notes later, and there's nowhere to hide:
Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
The summer's out of reach
Empty lake, empty streets
The sun goes down alone
I'm drivin' by your house
Though I know you're not home
Note to Henley's ex: might be time for a restraining order. Ah, but just as you're thinking Don's going to stick with this resigned, barren, Last Man On Earth vibe, he turns it on for the chorus:
But I can see you
Your brown skin shinin' in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone
Oh smack. The man's digging deep. This chorus is like a hymn to all the lost loves that ever were and ever will be. More specifically, there's this great suggestion on the part of the singer that his love is somehow more powerful, more meaningful, and more heartfelt than the supposed "love" from all those boys his former flame is tearing through. "Baby, you can have your fun, but what we had was real." Yeah, he probably won't win her back by expressing that love, but at least he might win a kind of inner moral victory in an alternate dimension.
Suddenly, around 2:44, Henley and Campbell are attacked by what sounds like a flock of vengeful seagulls. I hope they found a phone booth nearby. But then comes arguably the most infamous line in in the storied annals of Yuppie Rock: "Out on the road today, I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac/A little voice inside my head said, 'Don't look back, you can never look back'."
A Deadhead sticker! On a Cadillac! It's like seeing mayonnaise ... on a hot dog! It's like seeing a black person ... at a Republican rally! It simply beggars belief. Given that no other lines in the song are quite so humorous or so culturally specific, one might be tempted to believe that Henley simply tossed it off or didn't mean very much by it. But this is Don Henley we're talking about.
First of all, I always assumed the line had no basis in tangible reality, but according to Wikipedia, Don claims to have actually seen an actual Deadhead sticker on an actual Cadillac, telling the NME in 1985, "I was driving down the San Diego freeway and got passed by a $21,000 Cadillac Seville, the status symbol of the Right-wing upper-middle-class American bourgeoisie – all the guys with the blue blazers with the crests and the grey pants – and there was this Grateful Dead 'Deadhead' bumper sticker on it!"
Were they blasting "Touch of Grey" inside? But hold on, the man wasn't finished insulting his own generation. Here's more from a 1987 interview with Rolling Stone:
Kennedy was president and everybody thought it was Camelot, but look at what we did. We raised all that hell in the Sixties, and then what did we come up with in the Seventies? Nixon and Reagan. The country reverted right back into the hands it was in before. I don't think we changed a damn thing, frankly. That's what the last verse of "The Boys of Summer" was about. I think our intentions were good, but the way we went about it was ridiculous. We thought we could change things by protesting and making firebombs and growing our hair long and wearing funny clothes. But we didn't follow through. After all our marching and shouting and screaming didn't work, we withdrew and became yuppies and got into the "Me" Decade.
Yep, the Boomers sold out. They sold out big time. Ah, it's always fun to pile on mangled corpse of Baby Boomer idealism. Let's do this again some time. Also, keep in mind these words are coming from the man whose own band almost single-handedly created late '70s corporate rock, but that's neither here nor there, because ultimately, "The Boys Of Summer" is about so much more than cultural regret. As Mason writes, "Although much was made of the yuppie-baiting line about a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac (although one rather doubts that Henley was driving a beat-up Datsun at the time himself), the song's overall feel is much more personal and intimate than that soundbite suggests." Arguably the most poignant moment in the song comes, not with the Deadhead sticker, but a few seconds later, when Henley sings, "I thought I knew what love was/What did I know?/Those days are gone forever/I should just let 'em go but..." But what, man, but what? Just say it. "I can seeee yew.." The dude just can't let it go! She's still got the brown skin shining in the sun, Wayfarers on, the whole works! And so, like Orpheus and Lot's Wife before him, despite being commanded not to look back, he does it anyway.
And of course, there's the video, consisting of stolen footage from a Chanel No. 5 ad, with Henley's image spliced in via editorial magic. Nothing screams out "art" and "sophistication" like black and white cinematography, but while that directorial choice might earn snark from bloggers such as myself, it was probably the right call; like Duran Duran's "The Chauffer," this is one '80s video that has aged quite nicely. And here's how you know the Yuppies in this video are rich: their sliding glass doors and bedroom walls can double as projector screens! There's even a post-modern denouement that will make you question every imitation Fellini shot that came before. Just as guilt-ridden Baby Boomer critics lined up to kiss Henley's feet, MTV drooled all over this clip:
The video won the Video of the Year at the 1985 MTV Video Music Awards (leading Henley to comment at the Awards the following year that he had won for "riding around in the back of a pickup"). It also won that year's awards for Best Direction, Best Art Direction, and Best Cinematography. The Best Direction award was presented to [Jean-Baptiste] Mondino by Henley's then-former Eagles bandmate Glenn Frey.
Stevie Nicks got around. Like a record, as Peter's tactless co-worker in Office Space might have put it. For instance, after dating her band mate Lindsay Buckingham for several years, she just turned right around and started having an affair with her other band mate, Mick Fleetwood! Jesus, why not sleep with John McVie while you're at it and just be done with it? At any rate, while bedding her way through the Southern California soft rock phone book, perhaps it was inevitable she would have gotten around to Don Henley. Although it may have seemed like a match made in multi-platinum heaven, apparently Henley accidentally got Nicks pregnant, and then demanded she get an abortion. Well if that ain't love, I don't know what is.
So, as with most things in life, the romance didn't last, but a flickering ember or two must have remained, as they recorded the gentle, countrified "Leather And Lace" for Bella Donna, which hit #6 in 1982, and is unfortunately not a song about a young, aspiring figure skater's exploration of S&M.
But I guess Stevie became bored with the sensitive "nice guy" and suddenly needed the touch of the "bad boy." Actually, as far as I know, she and Tom Petty never had a genuine fling, but in the recording studio, they certainly made sweet arena rock love. The title of "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around" is a textbook example of synecdoche, where the part represents the whole and vice versa, given that if someone actually dragged a person's heart around, it would quickly pop out of that person's chest and he or she would die. Although it appeared on a Stevie Nicks album and did not appear on the concurrent Tom Petty album (Hard Promises), for all intents and purposes, "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around" was essentially a Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers song with Stevie Nicks sprinkled on top; Petty and Mike Campbell wrote it, and the Heartbreakers played on it. All Stevie did was just ... show up! But if anyone can just "show up" and take over a song, it is Stevie.
Maybe it's just me, but does anybody else hear a hint of "Money For Nothing" in there? I keep half-expecting Sting to come in at any moment with "I want my MTV." But actually, thanks to Weird Al, whenever I hear this song, I'll always think of some poor schlub fruitlessly chasing a tow truck.
Glenn Frey probably figured that if he couldn't compete with his erstwhile partner in the intellectual depth department, he could at least one-up him in the lame pun department. Despite the brilliant wordplay, however, the title of No Fun Aloud is only partly accurate: while very few listeners would consider it loud, I think even Oscar the Grouch would have a hard time denying that this album is at least several buckets of fun. Take the opening track, "I Found Somebody," which sounds like Frey's attempt to re-write "The Long Run," presumably to make sure that he would get to sing lead this time instead of that cunt Henley.
Like his former (and future) band mate, Frey took the expanded leeway of a solo debut to demonstrate his interpretive skills. If you've ever listened to Frankie Ford's New Orleans R&B classic "Sea Cruise" and thought, "You know, this would be pretty good, if only it were slower, blander, stiffer, and whiter," then boy, has Glenn Frey got a cover version for you. But he was probably better off generating his own rollicking Saturday night roadside bar vibe instead of plundering someone else's. Exhibit A: "Party Town."
I got sick of my job, sick of my wife
Sick of my future and sick of my life
I packed up my car and I got some gas
And told everybody they could kiss my ass
I'm goin' to Party Town (yeah, yeah)
I wanna party down (yeah, yeah)
I wanna have some fun
I wanna fool around
I'm goin' to Party Town
The sun comes up, the sun goes down
Doesn't really matter in Party Town
They go all day and they go all night
They keep on goin' until they get it right
Right here in Party Town (yeah, yeah)
They really party down (yeah, yeah)
Man it's a Party Town (yeah, yeah)
You know they all got their own
And they pass it all around
Well I'm burnin' like a blowtorch in my prime
Everybody here is a friend of mine
I met a little girl a couple shooters ago
She's teachin' me everything I don't know
About Party Town (yeah, yeah)
They really party down (yeah, yeah)
You know they love to ball
They do it in the hall
Right here in Party Town
"Well I'm burnin' like a blowtorch in my prime"? Is that how they described Gonorrhea in the '80s? "They do it in the hall"? With Glenn Frey standing right there? Was he like the parental chaperon or something? Also, could someone please clarify: are we talking about Party Town, Oregon, or Party Town, Washington? I just want to make sure I end up in the right Party Town, that's all.
But if you think Frey was just one carefree, mellow, easygoing dude, "All Those Lies" is a chilling reminder that, despite appearances, this Yuppie Rocker was locked in a Sisyphean struggle with his ever-present demons. The verse melody bears a passing resemblance to the upcoming "You Belong To The City," which raises the critical scientific conundrum: can an artist plagiarize his future self?
I woke up shakin' in a cold, cold sweat
I got so much goin' on, what did I forget?
I know there's somethin', but it got so late
I need someone to help me get my story straight
Who told shorty, who told you?
And who else knows about the things I do?
It's my own business, it's my own fun
So don't you breathe a word of this to anyone
All those lies - I hope I can remember
All those lies - I'm a bad pretender
All those lies - comin' back to haunt me
All those lies - I get the feeling like they want me
Listen, baby, you can take my word
Don't you believe a single lie you've heard
They're all out to get me and then get you
There's just no tellin' what these kind of people will do
They're sayin' certain things behind my back
I can't believe you'd listen to those one eyed jacks
They look you in the eye, say it with a smile
They wanna see you sad and lonely all the while
All those lies - I hope I can remember
All those lies - I'm a bad pretender
All those lies - it's a bad situation
All those lies - tryin' to ruin my reputation
There's some bad wheels in motion, tryin' to run us down
Spreadin' dirty lies in this dirty little town
Ooh baby, you know I wouldn't dare
You know how much I love you, you know how much I care
Finally, No Fun Aloud goes out on top with the double whammy of "She Can't Let Go," which could go toe-to-toe with "An Innocent Man" in the Drifters rip-off sweepstakes, and "Don't Give Up," which sounds as if Journey got punched in the balls by George Clinton and then tried to record a song afterwards. In sum: with his solo debut, Frey established himself as the goofy McCartney to Henley's more topical Lennon. "You know what, Don? You can go ahead and try to be an 'artist,' but, hey man, I just want to have a good time."
The VisionQuest soundtrack. Need I say more? All right, guess I need to say a little more.
Most people may remember the VisionQuest soundtrack, if at all, as the source of Madonna's #1 hit (and first attempt at trying to seem acceptable to your parents), "Crazy For You." As discussed several years ago on this blog, more hardcore Madonna fans also know the VisionQuest soundtrack as the only place to find the Madonna obscurity "The Gambler."
All well and good, but hardly the end of the story. Nothing against Journey's "Only The Young," Dio's "Hungry For Heaven," Sammy Hagar's "I'll Fall In Love Again," and The Style Council's "Shout To The Top," but, without a doubt, for reasons I am about to explain, the VisionQuest soundtrack's most notorious track would have to be Don Henley's "She's On The Zoom."
She's on the what? Uh, Don ... "Zoom" is not a noun. That's like saying, "He picked up the Bam!" Is it like being on a Segway? I'm guessing Henley wasn't too proud of the track, as it has never appeared on any legitimate Henley album or collection. No, there is only one place to find "She's On The Zoom," and that is on the VisionQuest soundtrack. And to be fair, it is kind of crappy. But its quality or lack thereof is not what makes this song notable. What makes it notable, my friends, is that the backing vocalists are none other than Belinda Carlisle and Jane Wiedlin.
OK, OK, hold on a second, what was going on here? I wanna know: how exactly did this go down? Who was hanging out with whom? Did Belinda and Jane end up across the hall in the same studio as Don one night, and maybe he figured, 'Oh, fuck yes, I'll get the Go-Go's on my awesome soundtrack song!" Here's what I really want to know: exactly how much coke was in the studio that night? Ten grams? Twenty? I don't really know how much coke is a lot of coke. But whatever it was, it must have been a lot. I mean, you've got Don Henley and Belinda Carlisle in the same room. Actually, Don had probably outgrown the dust by that point, but I know another singer who certainly hadn't.
When did this even happen? The VisionQuest soundtrack came out in 1985, right around the time the Go-Go's broke up, and I think Jane had already left by that point anyway. My impression of that period is that Jane would have been too pissed off at Belinda to be cruising around L.A. with her more popular band mate late at night, looking for recording sessions to crash, teaming up for backing vocals, but I suppose not. The lure of the Henley is strong. I'm going to guess early 1984.
I can just see the scene several months later. Record label: "Hey Don, we need another song for the VisionQuest soundtrack, you got anything good? What's this one, 'Boys of Summer' - that kind of sounds promising." "No, no, get your hands out of there, that's all stuff for my next solo album." "Come on Donnie, we need a song, you've gotta have something lying around." "Oh yeah, there's that shitty one I tossed off at three in the morning in a blurry haze while partying with two of the Go-Go's, here, take that one."
Let's hear it for Wikipedia, because otherwise I'm not sure I would have ever caught this memorable guest spot. Although I do feel like I would have been able to recognize the big C's forceful quiver anywhere. And let's face it: not just any pair of backing vocalists could have summoned up quite the proper amount of incredulity needed on "Pictures of his car???" In the end, this whole episode is a such perfect illustration of why I love, and am endlessly amused by, Belinda Carlisle's career. I mean, here we have the rare instance of Madonna and Belinda Carlisle appearing on the very same album. But while Madonna sings lead vocals on a dramatic, career re-defining number one hit, Belinda sings blink-and-you-miss'-em backing vocals on a freaking Don Henley throwaway. And yet, the thing is, I'm pretty sure I know which singer had more fun providing her contribution.
While it's terrible that Don Henley couldn't stand still, at least unlike Lionel Richie, he could slow down. Even though it only peaked at #24, even though only one song from the album ever appears on Henley Greatest Hits CDs, and even though BMG probably sold about a third as many copies of it in the mail as they did Building the Perfect Beast and End of the Innocence, I really can't stand the short shrift that's been given to I Can't Stand Still. I like it more than The Long Run, at least; it's funnier, looser, and more cohesive, although sadly it doesn't credit nearly as many attorneys in the liner notes.
Henley cuts right to the chase on the opening title track, putting the big drums and crawling synthesizers right out front where no one could miss 'em. It's 1982, and the man's going all in. He rides that state-of-the-art production over a slow, urgent R&B groove until the sunscreen bottle's all emptied out. Side note: if Jimi Hendrix had lived long enough to play a solo on the Atari 2600, would it have sounded like the noise that appears at the 1:49 mark? It's also interesting how I still feel like, on a subconscious level, Glenn Frey is singing backing vocals. But ... but ... that's impossible!
The second track, "You Better Hang Up," is the best riff rocker Tom Petty or Aerosmith never made, and whoever played the cowbell didn't get enough credit.
But brace yourself, because then comes the Lecture Rock. No, seriously: in the music video for "Johnny Can't Read," Henley is literally giving a lecture in a high school classroom. Apparently he took it upon himself to write a zippy New Wave track about everyone's favorite subject: the slow decline of the American educational system. Over an arrangement that sounds like Springsteen giving a concert at the local Toys R Us, Henley eagerly celebrates the disgraceful illiteracy of the American high schooler. To paraphrase: We're all stupid! Who cares, we can blow shit up!
Football, baseball, basketball games
Drinkin' beer, kickin' ass and takin' down names
Well-a top down, get-a-round, shootin' the line
Summer is here and Johnny's feelin' fine
But Johnny can't read
Summer is over and he's gone to seed
You know that Johnny can't read
He never learned nothin' that he'll ever need
Well, Johnny can dance and Johnny can love
Johnny can push and Johnny can shove
Johnny can hang out, Johnny can talk tough
Johnny can get down and Johnny can throw up
Well is is Teacher's fault? Oh no
Is it Mommie's fault? Oh no
Is it society's fault? Oh no
Well is it Johnny's fault? Oh noooooo!
Couple year's later, Johnny's on the run
Johnny got confused and he bought himself a gun
Well, he went and did something that he shouldn't oughta done
F.B.I. on his tail, use a gun, go to jail
Well, recess is over
Recess is over!
Damn. And I was just about to plunk the fat kid in dodgeball too. Honestly, what jagged object could have possibly lodged its way up Henley's rear on that particular day? Did he go to the store and ask the teen behind the counter to name his favorite Faulkner novel, only to receive a blank stare in return? I mean, how the hell does Don Henley know whether America's youth is ill-educated or not? He just cruises around in his freakin' limo all day. Ease off the prune juice there, old geezer.
Still, there's something to be said for the senile rant, and the song concludes with some rare Henley free association, or possibly an attempt at rapping (?), which eventually culminates in the most unexpected impersonation of Fozzie Bear in pop music history.
And just as the Pretenders would do in a couple of years with "My City Was Gone," Henley decided to turn the Talking Heads' cover of "Take Me To The River" into a song about politics, in this case Cold War paranoia:
One finger on the button
One finger up his nose
Johnny's in some cornfield
The early warning blows
Bigger is better
More is more
Look up, America!
Gonna even up the score
Get ready boys
Third time's a charm
Don't need no sweater
It's gonna keep you warm
If we can't have the ball, there won't be any winner this time
Them and us
Them and us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
In forty-five minutes
It'll all be done
We'll all be good and crispy
But we'll still be number one
And if things go from bad to worse
We can still kill them if they kill us first
"Don't need no sweater/It's gonna keep you warm"? "We'll all be good and crispy/But we'll still be number one"? OK, so Henley might be an arrogant liberal dickhead. But at least he's a funny arrogant liberal dickhead.
Of course, the album wasn't a completeand totalre-invention for the erstwhile country rocker. "Long Way Home,""Talking To The Moon," and "Lilah" are rustic, folk-based ballads that could have been recorded in 1982 or 2012, which is not to say that they sound "timeless," but rather that they sound like standard-issue Baby Boomer comfort food - let's call it Garrison Keillor rock. However, I'm still trying to wrap my head around "La Eile," a 50-second Irish instrumental with lilting flute. Don Henley's ... a leprechaun? "Ah, laddie, this takes me back to those soft, spring days out on the pasture, picking potatoes, drinkin' whiskey, and eatin' Lucky Charms."
Equally strange is the album closer, a version of the gospel standard "The Unclouded Day." Henley's found the spirit! The man's been born again!
See, you give the man a solo album, and look what happens. I'll tell you one thing: there's no way Glenn Frey would have stood for any of this shit.
While Don Henley, bless his smarmy soul, seemed to view his solo career as an opportunity to establish himself as a leading proponent of Lecture Rock, Glenn Frey decided to head in a noticeably different direction. Perhaps taking the slow, Quiet Storm groove of "I Can't Tell You Why" as a starting point, "The One You Love" (which peaked at #15 pop and #2 Adult Contemporary) instantly catapulted Frey into the front ranks of early '80s Fireplace Rockers. Also, I'm partially convinced that Frey was inspired to write the song after accidentally putting Nicolette Larson's "Lotta Love" on the record player at half speed. Of course, no Fireplace Rock song is complete without that essential Fireplace Rock instrument, the saxophone.
As the video demonstrates, Frey was clearly aware of what his audience came to hear, given that the very first thing we see is a lone saxophone player, spotlit on an empty stage. Is Glenn Frey even around? Gradually the camera pulls back to reveal that - surprise - Frey's been there all along, playing his Fender Rhodes keyboard and swaying to the jam! Of course, the sight of Glenn Frey and his helmet hair isn't exactly the sexiest image, which is when we cut to the sultry female in black lingerie lounging on red sheets (around 0:58). Whoa, hold on a second, let me put the kids to bed here. She's on the phone and looks like she's having a good time, but there's a twist once again, as the camera pulls back to reveal ... Glenn Frey standing in the corner! He's everywhere! Also, it's some disturbing room with a floor straight from the Holodeck and a window with a creepy Martian sunset in the ... I think it's a sky?
Now Glenn's back at the keyboard, and the voluptuous girl is dancing with ... another man? That skank. Or maybe Glenn is in two places at once? Maybe she's not such a skank after all. But wait, it gets better/worse, because Glenn and the girl suddenly find themselves in a Thomas Kincaid painting, slow dancing on a dazzling cloud (at 2:11). The camera cuts away and ... wait, she's dancing with that other man! Wait, now she's dancing with Glenn again. For the love of God, who is dancing with whom??
Suddenly the dancing's over, as the girl and her tuxedo'ed lover start making out in a convertible ... in the snow? Don't they have a cabin somewhere at least? I mean, they better not leave the headlights on, or the car's gonna run out of batteries. But the camera is panning back, panning back, and you just know Glenn has got to be around somewhere, getting his jollies off, watching this sordid scene. Yes, there he is, huddled around ... a trashcan fire? Damn. That girl has really fucked him up. She's turned Glenn Frey into a hobo. (Also: if it's so cold, how come I don't see any condensation coming out of his mouth?)
But save your concern for Glenn's health, because in the last shot, all is ultimately revealed. Perhaps there was no dazzling cloud. Perhaps there was no trashcan fire. It was all ... just a dream! A sweet, sweet Fireplace Rock dream. In the end, it was just a saxophone within a saxophone.
It begins with a keyboard. A sneaky, seemingly harmless keyboard - playing some low, almost imperceptible notes. It's like the tyrannosaurus of sleaze, if you will, quietly lurking beneath the surface, waiting for its moment to pounce. That glass of water on the table is starting to jiggle. Suddenly the drums kick in, and, Lord have mercy, the moment has arrived. The Sleazosaurus has been set free. That Sleazosaurus ... is "Dirty Laundry."
Howard Beale was probably right when he said, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore," if by "mad as hell" he meant "insanely desperate for any last crumb of trashy celebrity gossip" and if by "this" he meant "a distinct and unfortunate lack of 24-hour trashy celebrity gossip." Perhaps you've been under the impression that we currently live in an era of particularly rapacious, bloodthirsty, insatiable, tawdry media tastelessness and exploitation, but if Don Henley's 32-year-old hit is any indication, actually, it sounds like it's always been that way.
Sure, back in 1982, maybe we didn't have TMZ, Twitter, YouTube, Fox News, and CNN, but I suppose normal old nightly news must have found a way to give the people what they wanted. Well, on "Dirty Laundry," Henley zips up his Hazmat suit and eagerly swims through the shit, taking a page out of his L.A. buddy Randy Newman's playbook by inhabiting the kind of character he is ultimately trying to mock. The world of "Dirty Laundry" is a world in which feelings must take a backseat to entertainment. "Who cares if the victims are suffering? Look at the ratings!"
I make my living off the Evening News
Just give me something, something I can use
People love it when you lose,
They love dirty laundry
Well I coulda been an actor, but I wound up here
I just have to look good, I don't have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us dirty laundry
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they stick
Kick 'em all around
We got the bubble-headed-bleach-blonde, comes on at five
She can tell you 'bout the plane crash with a gleam in her eye
It's interesting when people die
Give us dirty laundry
Can we film the operation? Is the head dead yet?
You know, the boys in the newsroom got a running bet
Get the widow on the set
We need dirty laundry
Buddy, you're hired!
It's funny, most considerate adults would try to give the victims of tragic events some "space." But "space" is not really an operative concept for Henley's eager anchorman and his unconcerned cronies. The widow's crying? Well the moment she knocks it off, slap some make-up on that bitch and get her in front of a God damn camera! Death is money, and money is good. As one of Henley's contemporaries put it a decade earlier, "Even when you died/Oh the press still hounded you/All the papers had to say/Was that Marilyn was found in the nude."
Of course, what could have been a joyless, finger-pointing screed is actually a bouncy New Wave party thanks to that comical roller-rink keyboard riff. Freed from the pressure of the Eagles, I guess Don finally discovered his inner goofball? I mean, the Eagles may have been known for many things, but an overt sense of humor was probably not one of them. Who knew Henley had this kind of gleeful sarcasm in him? Did they get the model mixed up at the plant?
(Side note: according to Wikipedia, the song features solos by two different guitarists: former fellow Eagle Joe Walsh and ubiquitous Toto axeman Steve Lukather. It seems like Joe took the opportunity to really let it rip, while Steve sounds somewhat subdued and cautious by comparison. Perhaps there was a bit of a behind-the-scenes rivalry during the session? I'd like to hear about some of that dirty laundry.)
Finally, there is the army of electronically distorted zombie people. The first time around, the chorus of "Kick 'em when they're up, kick 'em when they're down" is followed by the sound of a thousand evil, carnivorous typewriters. "Dear God, I just wanted to eat a chicken pot pie and catch the sports highlights!" Well, the carnivorous typewriters sound evil, but they don't sound half as evil as the army of electronically distorted zombie people who start shouting the chorus mindlessly around 3:30, ready to devour any unlucky celebrity in its path. At least I think it's the chorus; coming from the lips of the insatiable mob, it sounds more like "mrick 'em when mwere mrup, mrick 'em when mwere mrown." I knew the nightly news fed off death, but I didn't know it could actually kill me.
The Eagles without the '70s would have been like a bagel without cream cheese. There just wouldn't have been any point. Besides, the band's whole "swaying palm tree" image wasn't all it was cracked up to be. They may have looked mellow and easy-going on the outside, but on the inside, they were as vicious as the most homicidal gangsta rappers:
On July 31, 1980, in Long Beach, California, tempers boiled over into what has been described as "Long Night at Wrong Beach." Frey and [lead guitarist Don] Felder spent the entire show telling each other about the beating each planned to administer backstage. "Only three more songs until I kick your ass, pal," Frey recalls Felder telling him near the end of the band's set. Felder recalls Frey making a similar threat to him during "Best of My Love." "We're out there singing ‘Best of My Love,’ but inside both of us are thinking, 'As soon as this is over, I'm gonna kill him'", recalled Frey.
Well damn. I used to always chuckle to myself whenever I'd hear Frey sing, "Somebody's gonna hurt someone/Before the night is through," but apparently, he wasn't fucking around.
It appeared to be the end of the Eagles, but the band still had a commitment with Elektra Records to make a live record from the tour. Eagles Live (released in November 1980) was mixed by Frey and Henley on opposite coasts; the two decided they could not bear to be in the same state, let alone the same studio. "The record's perfect three-part harmonies were fixed courtesy of Federal Express," said producer Bill Szymczyk. With credits that listed no fewer than five attorneys, the album's liner notes simply said, "Thank you and goodnight."
And that was different from any of the Eagles' other albums ... how? At any rate, the news must have been a terrible blow to suburban housewives everywhere. It was the day the '70s died. Forty-year-old ex-hippie real estate developers drove their Mazdas to the levee but the levee was dry. The Beatles breaking up in 1970? Yeah, that must have hurt. But the Eagles breaking up in 1980? Who was going to lead Baby Boomers into self-absorbed narcissism now?
Fortunately, all was not lost, for as the Beatles' break-up demonstrated (at least until about ... 1975?), a time of loss was also a time of gain. You see, instead of having just one artist to follow, Eagles fans now had two. It was like that scene in "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" where Mickey tries to destroy the mop but instead the mop only multiplies. You couldn't kill the Eagles. Nevertheless, things were going to be different. Former allies were now preparing to be adversaries. It would be ugly. It would be brutal. It would be ... Henley vs. Frey.
The heat was on, as they say. This was the end of the innocence. Henley and Frey became engaged in an epic battle to see who could outdo the other in yuppiness. The first step was to smear their glistening, laid back Southern California bodies in gallons of yuppie oil, as both country-rock icons proceeded to erase any last remaining whiff of "country-rock" from their music. The '80s couldn't have come fast enough for these two. But if they both sucked up the '80s like a sponge, they absorbed their music from entirely different pans of dishwater. While Don Henley re-imagined himself as some sort of cross between John Mellencamp and Devo, Glenn Frey saw himself as a strange hybrid of Gerry Rafferty and Barry White. Henley wanted to lecture you on the state of the world; Frey just wanted to get laid.
In the end, although Frey may have won a couple of battles, I'd say Henley won the overall war - not that anyone cared. For in a sense, we all won.
