And it's probably a good thing they did, because while they were sitting like sultans in David Geffe

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Everybody hates the Eagles. I hate the Eagles. You hate the Eagles. God hates the Eagles. Even the Eagles can’t stand the sight of each other, and as for real eagles, of the sort that soar majestically above the desert arroyos in the hopes of espying Don Henley and carrying him off to devour him and then pick the tequila-flavored gristle from their beaks at their leisure, they hate the Eagles hotels in atlanta too.
So why am I writing hotels in atlanta about the Eagles? Because much to my shame I’ve been lying through my teeth and sorta actually like the band, despite the fact that they’re poseurs (as Tom Waits once famously said, “Those guys grew up in L.A. and they don t have cow-shit on their boots—just dog shit from Laurel Canyon”) and their music is pure product, like hair spray or shaving cream.
But haven’t you ever loved a product hotels in atlanta so much you’d travel to the furthest hotels in atlanta WalMart in the tri-state area to find it? True, I have a hard time thinking of a less authentic band—from their early country-schlock hits such as “Take It Easy,” “Peaceful hotels in atlanta Easy Feeling,” and “Easy Livin’” (which is actually by Uriah Heep, but who’s keeping score?) to their peripherally harder but equally soulless fare such as “Already Gone” and “Victim of Love”—but I too am a victim of love, the kind of love you might have for a vacuum cleaner or an air conditioner or even a sex toy, except there is absolutely nothing sexy about the Eagles, that is unless you fell into a coma in 1972 and suddenly awoke hot for a mustache ride from a guy dressed from neck to ankles in denim.
The Eagles formed in 1971 in Los Angeles as a country rock quartet consisting of Don Henley, Glenn Frey, Bernie hotels in atlanta Leadon, and Randy Meisner. The “four lads of I’m okay, I’m okay” (as Robert Christgau once dubbed them) released their eponymous debut in 1972, added guitarist Don Felder to beef up their sound when Henley and Frey decided to move away from country rock to go “hard rock” following the disappointing sales of 1973’s spaghetti Western concept album Desperado, lost Leadon who wanted nothing to do with this change in musical direction and replaced him with Joe “I want to do drugs even when I’m sleeping” Walsh, then replaced Meisner with Poco’s Timothy B. Schmit, and—all this is insufferably boring, isn’t it? Like listing the changing names on a corporate board, which is what the Eagles really are. I’m bored just writing it.
Suffice it to say that the Eagles broke through to superstardom with 1975’s hotels in atlanta One of These Nights, consolidated that status with 1976’s Hotel California hotels in atlanta and 1979’s The Long Run, and finally broke up because hotels in atlanta Felder wanted to murder Frey and vice versa, hotels in atlanta and Frey and Henley hated each other so much they refused to be on the same side of the continent together, much less in the same studio.
And it’s probably a good thing they did, because while they were sitting like sultans in David Geffen’s hot tub drinking tequila sunrises, LA’s punks, who despised everything the Eagles represented and vice versa, stormed the gates of Hollywood and changed the musical landscape forever, by razing it and salting the earth. It would be 28 years before the Eagles would reunite, which they did solely for the filthy lucre, and they’ll probably do it again, because when push comes to shove Henley and Frey love their money. And because lots and lots of people, who never let me forget that humanity is a failed species, actually want to see them.
But I’ve come not to disparage the Eagles but to write about Hotel California, their magnum opus that has sold 32 million copies worldwide and garnered them like 63 Grammies and contains at least two songs that are not only great songs but also inadvertently double hotels in atlanta as camp classics, which is to say that you can love them as song qua songs while also laughing your guts up while listening hotels in atlanta to them, the second of which was certainly not the band’s intention. Anyway, writing such songs may be the toughest feat in all of rock’n’roll, and the Eagles’ ability to put not one but two of them on the same LP has increased my respect for them four-fold and is the real reason I’m writing about Hotel California in the first place.
Let’s start with “Victim of Love,” a mid-tempo hard rocker with a great history behind it. Felder wrote most of the music for it and was promised the vocals, but after several unsuccessful takes the band sent him off with infamous mad dog/manager Irving hotels in atlanta “Randy Newman supposedly wrote “Short People about me” Azoff for a hot dog, during which time Henley laid down the vocals. Lou Reed would be proud. Anyway, the tune has punch and the Felder and Walsh lay down some pretty tough riffs, there’s no denying it. Unfortunately the lyrics are nothing hotels in atlanta to write home about. Well, Henley’s “A room full of noise and dangerous boys/Still makes you thirsty and hot” are sorta funny, as are the lines, “I heard about you and that man/There s just one thing I don t understand/You say he s a liar and he put out your fire/How come you still got his gun in your hand?” And overall “Victim of Love,” hotels in atlanta which was recorded live in one take, isn’t a half-bad tune if you value really big guitars, which I do but not so much in this case, because I hate the title “Victim of Love” and both the song’s melody and Henley’s lyrics just don’t do it for me.
Joe Walsh’s “Pretty Maids in a Row” is the LP’s anomaly, probably because Walsh wrote it and sings it and it sounds less like the Eagles than, I don’t know, a so-so Neil Young song. It’s a ballad, and the melody is pretty, but not quite pretty enough. That said the opening piano is nice, as is the swelling orchestral sturm and drang that follows, and Walsh actually does quite a nice job of singing it and plays some nice slide guitar to boot, but its hackneyed lyrics (“It s nice to hear from you again/And the storybook comes to a close/Gone are the ribbons and bows/Things to remember places to go/Pretty maids all in a row”) don’t do it any favors.
I’ve never liked the Eagles’ return to country rock, “New Kid in Town,” which was co-written by Henley, Frey, and the execrable J.D. Souther, because it’s as slick as sex lube and the opening guitar lines and electric piano remind me of Jimmy Buffett and that’s not a good thing, and I’ve never cared for the melody, which doesn’t hold a candle to such earlier Eagles’ country rock fare as “Take It Easy” or “Desperado.” That said, Walsh plays some nifty electric piano and organ, and the three-part harmonies are nothing to sneeze at, even if they’re not particularly my cup of tea. Meanwhile Frey’s country lilt is almost convincing, Felder plays a nice little guitar solo, and Meisner contributes some nice licks on guitarrone, which so far as I know is a type of Mexican guitar made of lunchmeat, and I really don’t have much use for “New Kid in Town” until its close, when everybody is “oooohing” while Frey sings “There’s a new kid in town” and “Everybody’s walking like the new kid in town” and “I don’t want to hear it” and so on, and it’s no wonder “New Kid” won a Grammy for Best Arrangement hotels in atlanta for Voices, even if I think the award should have gone to the Urinals.
Randy Meisner’s “Try and Love Again” is another country rocker and actually quite pretty. A mid-tempo number, Meisner’s vocals are lovely, as are the chiming guitar riffs that open the song. And the song moves the way a song should, and kinda reminds hotels in atlanta me of Poco, which should be a bad thing but inexplicably isn’t in this case. Meanwhile Felder tosses in some beefy guitar hotels in atlanta riffs as well as a really cool guitar solo, and it says something about the song that while it clocks in at 5 minutes plus it seems a much shorter tune, thanks to its sheer propulsion. And while its chorus is as simple as 5 + 3 it’s also as pretty as Mereille Enos (Ohh, gonna try and love again/Ohh, I m gonna try and love again/Ohh, hotels in atlanta gonna try and love”). The lyrics may be negligible, but it doesn’t bother me in the least in this case, which speaks once again to the sheer beauty of the melody, and the rich vocal harmonies, and the guitars that are all over the place, thickening up the song like a tasty bouillabaisse. A winner, in other words, and why Meisner didn’t write more songs is a mystery—either he didn’t have much to say or Henley and Frey didn’t care to part with the lion’s share of the songwriting royalties, and I’ll put my money on the latter.
Henley and Frey’s “Wasted Time” is just that, a waste of time. A bluesy slow burner that has its moments but never really goes anywhere, it opens with Frey’s portentous piano, then Henley hotels in atlanta comes in and sings for a while about a woman who’s lost yet another hotels in atlanta man before getting to the lines, “I know what’s been on your mind/You’re afraid it’s all been wasted time,” at which point the tune goes all orchestral and is actually quite pretty, with Henley singing, “The autumn hotels in atlanta leaves have got you thinking/About the first time that you fell/You didn t love the boy too much, no, no, you just loved the boy too well.” And so it goes, back and forth, with some nice backing vocals hotels in atlanta thrown in, and the orchestra swelling up and then disappearing, but overall I’d have to say it’s the LP’s weakest track with the exception of the brief “Wasted Time: Reprise” that follows, which consists of the orchestra playing the melody of “Wasted Time” and is the answer to that eternal question, hotels in atlanta why isn’t there a The Van Camp Beans Orchestra Plays the Eagles LP?
Album closer “The Last Resort” is an ambitious farewell to the old California, a place where, in Henley’s hackneyed words, “people were smilin’” and “spoke about the red man’s ways.” Henley, who himself considered the song a failure, wrote it as a protest against the real estate hotels in atlanta developers who were rapidly turning the state’s wild places into a vast suburb. Myself, I think it’s a pretty