All language subtitles for History.of.the.Eagles.2013.S01E01.720p.BluRay.x264-x0r.[eng]

- Pretty close. It's good.
- Not too bad.

It's gonna be about two minutes,
so come on.

Do what you got to do.

We got to go.
I need a wrist band.

It's something that you can't do
forever, you know?

This is not a lifetime career
that we can do, you know.

- So --
- It's not?

All right, let's go.

Thank you, and good evening.

We're the Eagles from Los Angeles.

One, two, three, four.

People are always
saying things to me like,

"You're just like a normal person."

And I always say, "Of course."

All right!

We might be a little more
world-wise, you know,

than some of those kids, that's all.

We just maybe have
less innocence than they do,

but, I mean, I eat, I sleep,
I fall in love,

I fall out of love, I work.

You know, I do pretty much
the same thing.

We saw a poster of us
when "On the Border" was made.

Everybody looked like
little kids, you know,

like, early 20s and stuff.

And everybody didn't have
their wrinkles and their baggy eyes.

Sort of like a president
when he first takes office.

And then,
like four or five years later,

you know, he just walks out,
and his hair is gray,

and his eyes are drooping,

and he's just really,
you know, real burned.

The first thing that happens
is you get some kind of label,

and then you got to live up to it,

and then you just
get caught in that,

and I forget
what the second thing is.

It's hard.
It's like living two lives.

You know, I have a family,
three kids.

And it's just hard
to live in between that line,

you know, of being out on the road
and being away for a month.

Maybe we wouldn't want
to do this anymore,

or maybe we can't do this anymore,

or maybe nobody will give a shit
if we do this anymore.

Thank you.

No, I insist. You first.

Hi, there.

Lock it up.
A hearty bunch out there.

Oh, he's not even here.
Now...

Hey, driver, lock 'em up
for us tonight, okay?

Out of sight.

You just don't know
what those kids will do.

Doggone.

How about a beer?

- Is that what I heard?
- You got it, brother.

Don't hurt yourself, young America.

Would you like one?

Yeah, I would like one.
I'm gonna drink tonight.

I think they feel like
they're up there, you know,

like they're on the stage.

'Cause we look like them.
We dress like them.

Part of it is that,
and part of it's the records.

I think they just relate to the songs.

I think it's 50/50, I guess.

The thing is now is to try to see

how long we can stay up here
at the top of the mountain.

It's very narrow and windy up here.

We can probably continue
doing what we're doing

as long as the songs keep coming.

That's the only thing
that frightens us

is to not be able
to do that anymore.

If nothing comes up,
we would be in trouble.

So far, so good.

I think we can maintain this
for a few more years.

I don't see why not.

Other people have --
the Rolling Stones

and the Who and the Led --
and Led Zeppelin --

I almost said the Led Zeppelin --
have done it.

Chicago's done it.

Groups last longer
than they used to, you know.

Shit don't float.

90% of the time, being in the Eagles
was a fucking blast.

You know, I was living the dream.

We never in our wildest dreams

figured on being this successful
and lasting this long.

We were a bunch of guys out there
touring the country.

We had a little private plane.

We had parties after the shows.
We had a good time.

We were starting to make
some money.

We had three guitar players finally,
you know, so we could rock a bit.

So, it was a good time,
a good time for me,

a good time for Don.

Everybody was really happy...

...then.

It was going really fast,
and probably too fast.

There was turmoil within the band.

We put a lot of pressure
on ourselves.

As Glenn used to say,
"We made it, and it ate us."

It's hard to be in a group.

It's a bit like being in a marriage,

if you quadruple it
or quintuple it, in our case.

They asked Don
when the Eagles broke up,

"What was that like for you?"

And he said
it was a horrible relief.

And I think
that clocks it pretty well.

You're a real pro, Don, all the way.

Yeah, you are, too --
the way you handle people.

Except the people you pay,
nobody gives a shit about it.

Fuck you. I've been paying you
for seven years, you fuckhead.

So much stuff just happened.

You know,
there's a philosopher who says,

As you live your life...

...it appears to be
anarchy and chaos

and random events,

non-related events
smashing into each other

and causing this situation,"

and then -- then this happens,
and it's overwhelming,

and it just looks like,
"What in the world is going on?"

And later, when you look back at it,

it looks like
a finely-crafted novel,

but at the time, it don't.

And a lot of the Eagles' story
is like that.

I'm gonna fuckin' kill you.

I can't wait. I can't wait.

We might as well start
at the beginning.

I grew up in Detroit, Michigan.

My dad worked in a factory.

My mother baked pies
at General Motors.

I started taking piano lessons
when I was five years old.

That alone could get you beat up
after school in suburban Detroit.

Detroit was Motown, and so
they played all the Motown hits.

And that was the kind of stuff
that we would listen to.

I stopped playing piano
when I was 12.

It was too much.

I wanted to do other things,

and I think the girl thing
was starting to happen, as well.

Then the Beatles came along,

and my Aunt took me down to see
the Beatles at the Olympia.

It was crazy.

I remember having a girl

that was standing on her seat
in front of me

fall backwards into my arms,
delirious, going, "Paul, Paul."

You know, and I thought,
"Oh, my God."

I have a very vivid memory
of seeing the Beatles

with my parents
on our old Admiral TV set.

It was like a bolt of lightning.

It had a huge impact on me.
It was revolutionary.

And it was an impact
that would last a lifetime,

and I know that had
a huge impact on Glenn, too,

even though we didn't know
each other at the time.

Linden, Texas, is my hometown.

It's a small town
in Northeastern Texas.

When I was growing up,

the population
was about 2,500, 2,600.

It's primarily an agricultural area.

Some people worked
at the steel mill.

It's just a typical
small Texas town.

There's an old courthouse

dating back to before the Civil War
and one stoplight.

It's kind of like "The Last
Picture Show," you know?

It was a great place musically

because it was kind of
a cultural crossroads.

It's really located

where the old South
begins to meet the West.

Linden, Texas, was the birthplace
of Scott Joplin

and T-Bone Walker.

Both my parents loved music,

so we had a lot of records
in the house.

I was exposed to music
of all kinds from an early age --

you know,
country-and-western music,

Western swing music,
gospel music, blues,

Johnny Cash, Hank Williams,
and Patsy Cline.

There was a 50,000-watt
radio station in New Orleans,

and I heard things on that station
that I didn't hear anywhere else.

So, I had a lot of radio coming in.

And when I would go to work
with my dad,

he would listen to a station
in Shreveport, Louisiana -- KWKH.

And that station
broadcast a radio show

called the "Louisiana Hayride,"

where Elvis Presley made
his first radio broadcast in 1954.

The very first rock-'n'-roll record
I bought was by Elvis Presley.

My playing the drums was
sort of an organic process.

I began by beating
on my school books

with my fingers and with pencils.

I would beat out little cadences,

and I used to drive
my classmates crazy doing that,

until, I think, one day,
somebody said to me --

I think it was my friend
Richard Bowden --

he said, "Why don't you just
start playing the drums?"

I managed to cobble together
a drum kit from old drums

that I found stashed in the back
of the band hall in high school.

And then one day, my mom said,
"Come on, get in the car."

And she drove me to a town
about an hour and a half away

called Sulphur Springs, Texas,
to McKay Music Company.

Much to my surprise,

she bought me a set
of red-sparkle Slingerland drums

that I still have today.

So, I have to give my parents
a lot of credit.

They bought me that drum kit

even though
they couldn't really afford it.

The first band I was in

was a band with my high-school
buddy Richard Bowden

and another high-school friend,
Jerry Surratt,

and we played Dixieland jazz music.

Nobody sang.
We just played music.

I went to a high-school party,

and there were four kids
who were freshmen in high school

who were playing.

I was a junior, and I had
a couple beers that night

and said, "Hey, you know,
do you know 'Satisfaction'?

'Cause I can sing it."

So, I became the lead singer
of the Subterraneans.

I played in the Subterraneans
for a while,

and then I played in another band
called the Mushrooms.

The most important thing
that happened to me

when I was in Detroit
was I met Bob Seger.

He took me under his wing.

He invited me to recording sessions
that he was having, you know,

so I could see
how records were made.

I was his mentor.

He was just so young,

and I liked him right away
because he was so funny.

He had a great sense of humor,

and, like me, I could see
he was really ambitious.

He really wanted to be on the radio.

He cut a song
called "Ramblin' Gamblin' Man."

He let me play acoustic guitar
on the basic track

and sing background vocals.

You can really hear Glenn
blurt out on the first chorus.

He comes out really loud.

Tremendous gusto.

Of course, that was
a national hit for us,

so that was really cool.

Bob was the first guy
that wrote his own songs

and recorded them
that I had ever met.

He said, "You know,
if you want to make it,

you're gonna have to
write your own songs."

And I said,
"Well, what if they're bad?"

And he said,
"Well, they're gonna be bad."

He says, "You just keep writing
and keep writing,

and eventually,
you'll write a good song."

We were gonna have
a band together.

He was gonna get rid
of his other guys,

and I was gonna be his bass player.

It didn't work out.

My mom found me smoking pot
with a friend of mine

in somebody's basement,

and she called up
Seger's manager, Punch Andrews,

and said,
"Just a minute, not so fast."

In the years leading up
to the Great Depression,

my dad had to quit school
after the eighth grade.

He had to go home
and work in the fields

with his brother and sister
to help support the family.

His fondest wish --
in fact, his life's goal

was that I would go to college.

Every Saturday night, he would
bring home seven quarters,

and we'd put them in a piggy bank,

and when those quarters
amounted to $100,

he would take me to the bank
and we would buy a savings bond,

a United States savings bond,

and put that away
for my college education.

So, between what my dad had saved

and between what I was making
doing gigs all over Texas

and Arkansas and Louisiana
on weekends,

I paid for 3 1/2 years of college.

They have a world-famous
music department

in which I did not excel.

I took one music course.

I think it was beginning theory,
and I flunked.

I made an "F."

But I didn't really care
because I was an English major.

Well, after the Mushrooms,

I got invited to join this band
called the Four of Us.

Started getting into
some of the California bands --

the Byrds, Buffalo Springfield,
the Beach Boys.

Always wanted to go to California.

And I got out there,
my mind was blown.

The vegetation --
I'd never seen palm trees.

You know, it was just like
a dream come true.

The first celebrity I saw
was David Crosby.

And he had on
that flat-brimmed hat

that he wore
on the second Byrds album,

and he had a little leather cape on,

and I just looked and I thought,
"My God, there's David Crosby."

Zoom, and we went right by.

And the first person I met
was John David Souther.

We wanted to get high
and play music.

There were two of us with guitars.

We were listening to a lot
of that sort of interface

between rock 'n' roll
and country-and-western music

that was happening
in Southern California at the time

with the Byrds
and Dillard & Clark

and the Burrito Brothers and Poco.

There was a lot of great music
of that sort going around then.

Longbranch Pennywhistle here.

I suppose you wonder
what that name meant,

and John David and I --

It was a well-kept...
funky women.

The songs weren't very good.

I don't think Glenn and I were very
far along as songwriters then.

We were a funny little group,
but we got gigs.

We, you know, managed to play
in some of the folk clubs

around L.A. --

the Golden Bear
and the Ash Grove.

We had a chance meeting
with Kenny Rogers

in Dallas, Texas, one day.

He was coming through town
with the First Edition.

They were very hot at the time.

I remember this
like it was yesterday.

This little kid came up
and said, "Mr. Rogers,"

he said, "I'm Don Henley,
and I'm with a group called Felicity,

and we're doing a show tonight,

and we'd love to have you
come see us."

And I said, "You know,
I'm really sorry, but I don't do that.

I don't just go to clubs
and watch groups."

He said,
"I really think you'd like us."

And I thought,
"Well, that's pretty cool," so I did.

Kenny is a Texas boy, and he was
looking for groups to produce.

So, I brought them to L.A.,

and they literally lived at my house
for about four months.

We changed their name to Shiloh.

It was so much fun
to take them into the studio.

With Shiloh, we made one album,
and it had a single called

"Simple Little Down Home
Rock and Roll Love Song for Rosie."

Not exactly a short title.

We didn't know much
about the business at that point.

We were pretty naive.

We kicked around
in the L.A. clubs for a while,

played the Whisky,

played some of the clubs
down in the South Bay area,

and nothing really happened for us.

J.D. and I were looking
for any place to play.

We had heard about
this guy Jackson Browne.

He'd been playing
the same clubs we had,

but we never had seen him perform.

This is California.
Mr. Jackson Browne.

Ah, thank you, thank you.

Then there were
a bunch of gigs that they had

and some gigs that I had

that they would show up at my gigs
and me at their gigs,

and we became really good friends.

This is --

And we'd start talking about,

"Where do you live,
and what's going on?"

And Jackson said, "You know,
you should come down to Echo Park.

Rent's real cheap."

Glenn got the apartment
next to my apartment,

and this apartment cost like $125
or something a month, you know.

And I needed to economize,

so I moved into the basement
underneath Glenn's place,

which I could get into
for $35 a month.

It only had one door.

It was really just kind of
an illegal place, just a cubbyhole,

and that's where Jackson lived,
with J.D. and I above.

You know, that was it.

There was a stereo, a piano,
a bed, a guitar,

you know, a teapot.

We slept late in those days,

except around 9:00 in the morning,

I'd hear Jackson Browne's teapot
going off,

this whistle in the distance.

And then I'd hear him
playing piano.

I didn't really know
how to write songs.

I knew I wanted to write songs,
but I didn't know exactly --

you just wait around for inspiration,
what was the deal?

Well, I learned through Jackson's
ceiling and my floor

exactly how to write songs
'cause Jackson would get up,

and he'd play the first verse
and first chorus,

and he'd play it 20 times

until he had it
just the way he wanted.

And then there'd be silence.

And then I'd hear the teapot
go off again.

Then it'd be quiet
for 10 or 20 minutes.

Then I'd hear him
start to play again,

and there was the second verse.

So, then he'd work
on the second verse,

and he'd play it 20 times.

And then he'd go back
to the top of the song,

and he'd play the first verse,
the first chorus,

and the second verse
another 20 times

until he was really comfortable
with it and, you know,

change a word here or there,
and I'm up there going,

"So, that's how you do it --

elbow grease, you know,
time, thought, persistence."

I wanted to kill him sometimes.

Jackson would play the same phrase,
"Doctor, My Eyes" for six weeks.

The same thing with "The Pretender."
I just wanted to murder him.

And it was during that period of time
that I met Glenn Frey

because we were
on the same label

called Amos records.

Some of the things that struck me
when I first met Glenn

were things we had in common.

Both of our dads made a living
in the automotive industry.

Glenn and I loved old cars,
especially cars from the '50s.

He had a '55 Chevy
that he named Gladys.

And we drove around Los Angeles
in Gladys.

Check out some of the new talent.

There's no better place in town

to catch those new singers
and songwriters

than down
at the Monday night Hoot Night,

Doug Weston's world-famous
Troubadour, happening tonight.

The Troubadour club was
the center of the musical universe.

It was a very seminal place.

It was the place to see and be seen.

Every Monday night
they had an open stage.

It was called Hoot Night.

The Troubadour was the place to go
if you were young and happening

and trying to get involved
in the music scene.

It was happening there.

I saw a lot of great acts
at the Troubadour.

I witnessed Elton John's American
debut performance in 1970.

Everybody who was anybody
at the time played at the Troubadour.

Of course, Linda --

And she still has one of my favorite
voices in the business, ever.

The Troubadour is really responsible
for the entire music scene.

I mean, everything I got, really,

was virtually through either
performing there onstage

or in the bar, you know?

I was just started
managing Linda then,

and Linda was gonna be a star --
that voice as big as a house.

There wasn't anybody in the room

that cared about anything
but that voice.

One night, we're down
at the Troubadour,

and John Boylan comes to me --
he's managing Linda Ronstadt --

and he says,
"I'm taking Linda on the road.

We need guys who can sing.

You want to play rhythm guitar
and sing?"

I offered him $250 a week,
and he took it.

I went back to him, I said,

"Can you give me
some of that money right now?"

I think he gave me 50 bucks.

And then I found Don
from this band called Shiloh.

I heard him playing
at the Troubadour.

I was looking for a job.

Glenn introduced me to John Boylan.

I auditioned at this little house
in Laurel Canyon.

I had listened to her album
hundreds of times,

so I knew the songs
backwards and forwards,

and I guess I passed the audition
because I got the job.

I learned a lot from Linda.

It was a very formative experience
for me.

And she could hang
with the guys, you know.

She could drink tequila
with the rest of us and hold her own.

It was really very ad hoc.

We had a station wagon,
put the gear in the back.

We'd all get in it and drive
to the college and play there.

As a cost-cutting measure,

band members had
to share rooms in those days,

so Glenn and I were roommates.

- What did you guys eat?
- I had a bowl of Rice Krispies.

Ladies and gentlemen,
Linda Ronstadt.

It's funny. I seem to get people

at a critical stage
in their development,

and they sort of build their chops.

I mean, there's nothing
that gets your chops up better

than playing every single night.

Linda and John Boylan

really like the way
Henley and I play,

really like the way
we sing with her,

and they start to get a vision

of putting together a super group
to back up Linda --

the best of the new
country-rock musicians,

and we were gonna be part of it.

I remember talking with Don,
and Don said,

"Well, you know, I'd rather, like,
just be in a band with you."

And I said, "Well, yeah, me too.

You know, I'd rather just be
in a band with you."

So, we went to Linda and said,

"You know, we really appreciate
everything you've done for us,

and it means a lot,
and we love playing with you,

but we'd like to have
our own band."

Now, you know,
I think a lot of people,

you know, could get miffed by that,

say, "Well, wait a second.
I brought you out here, you know.

I gave you a paying job

when you couldn't afford your own
drinks at the Troubadour bar,

and now you want to quit?"

Linda was extremely gracious
about the whole thing,

as was John Boylan.

They weren't resentful
or bitter at all.

They were great.

They were supportive,
as a matter of fact.

They started talking
about putting a band together,

and we told them
they should get Bernie Leadon.

I was in several bands in L.A.
Early on, I met Linda.

Then I worked
with Dillard & Clark --

Doug Dillard, banjo player,
and Gene Clark from the Byrds.

And so, now I'm in an offshoot
of the Byrds world,

and then that turned
into an invitation

from the Burrito Brothers
from Chris Hillman

to come join them
for their second album on A&M.

And I was still in the Burritos,
but they had lost Gram Parsons,

and it had changed, and I wasn't
that interested anymore.

Bernie was a very accomplished
banjo player,

and he could also play guitar

in what we called
the Bindi lick style.

It was pioneered by a fellow
named Clarence White.

And then Glenn told me
about this guy named Randy Meisner

who had been in a band called Poco.

Randy could sing really high,
and he also played bass.

So, Glenn just kind of
asked me one day

if I'd be interested
in starting a group with him.

And he had Henley and Bernie.

That was the first Eagles.

So, the plan was that Glenn and I

would try to recruit
Bernie and Randy,

and then we would all go
to David Geffen

and see if he would give us
a recording contract.

In the '70s, Asylum Records
was considered the L.A. sound --

Joni Mitchell, Crosby, Stills,
Nash & Young, Jackson Browne.

David Geffen, who started Asylum,
is our patron, you know.

A medici, medici of rock 'n' roll.

It's a very artist-oriented company,

and whatever they want to do,
we support them.

If we believe in them,
we'll stick with them,

whether they make it or not.

Jackson was our conduit
to David Geffen.

He was the first guy to get signed

by Geffen's new
Asylum Records label.

So, we all walk in Geffen's office,

and we basically said,
"Here we are."

Bernie Leadon just boldly
says to Geffen,

"Well, do you want us or not?"

They were dying to sign with me.

I think they were very ambitious,
particularly Glenn.

Glenn wanted to have a hit band.

I loved the way Don sang.

You know, we all had hopes for it.

All of a sudden, we were signed
to Geffen's new label.

They sent us back
to the drawing board.

They said, "You guys need to go
and rehearse some more."

They said, "You know,
you need to write some songs.

You're not really ready
to record yet."

So, they packed us off
to Aspen, Colorado.

It could have been worse.

There were people
who were way higher

than any of us had ever been.

It was a Wild West
wide-open town at that point.

We played at a club up there
called the Gallery,

which was located right
at the foot of Aspen Mountain.

We didn't have a big catalog
of our own tunes at that point.

We were just getting started.

We needed to learn how to play
together as a band, and we did.

And then it was like,
"Okay, we need to make a record.

Who are we gonna get
to produce it?"

We wanted to shoot
as high as we could.

Glenn Frey came up
with Glyn Johns as an idea.

Glyn Johns was a name
that kept popping up

on records we loved.

The first time I heard them
was in Aspen.

I was not at all impressed, really.

I thought they were confused.

Glenn Frey wanted to be
in a rock-'n'-roll band,

and Bernie Leadon,
on the other side,

was one of the greatest
acoustic players --

country players, if you like.

And there was a bit of a confusion.

I didn't see what all the fuss
was about at all.

So I passed.

We're like, "God dang, what --"

You know,
it's not what we expected.

He had worked with Led Zeppelin,
the Who, the Stones,

so he was coming from that,

and he said flat-out,
"You're not that, man."

It isn't always easy to spot
what's hot about an artist

if you go and see them play.

You can see them on a bad night.

You know, it's not necessarily
the fairest way of doing it.

So, I thought,
"Well, the best thing to do

would be for me to see them
in a rehearsal situation

where we could converse
and they could play new stuff

and I could stop and start."

And they played the stuff
that they played in Aspen,

and it all sounded
pretty much the same.

Well, I was thinking, "I don't get it.
I still don't get it."

So, we decided
to take a break for lunch,

and as we were leaving,

somebody said, "Oh, why don't we
play Glyn that ballad?"

And it just completely
blew me off my feet.

I mean, there it was.
That was the sound.

Extraordinary blend of voices,
wonderful harmony sound.

Just stunning.
And that was it.

I was in with both feet.

Except that Glyn Johns

didn't want to come
to the United States and work.

He wanted to work in London

in the recording studios
that he was familiar with,

and so they shipped us
off to England.

I don't think that any of us
except Bernie

had ever been out of the country,

so it was a little bit like
going to the moon for us.

And I'm stoked.

You know, I'm thinking,

"I'm gonna go to Beatle country
with Glyn Johns.

I'm gonna record in the same studio

where Led Zeppelin
did 'Rock and Roll'.

Oh, my God, I can't wait."

We were recorded
at the famous Olympic studios,

where a lot of legendary records
had been made.

Glyn Johns -- he had
a certain style of recording,

which was very organic.

He would simply place
a few mikes around the room,

and off you go.

You know, rather than, for example,

placing a microphone
on each and every drum,

he would just put
three microphones on the drum kit.

He was accustomed
to recording people

like John Bonham
with Led Zeppelin.

And I said to Glyn,
"I want the bass drum to be louder."

And he said, "If you want it louder,
hit it harder," you know?

And I hit it as hard as I could,

but I couldn't hit it
as hard as John Bonham.

He had a bunch of rules
that really didn't suit me

and some of the other guys, too.

You know,
no getting high in the studio,

no drinking in the studio.

I agreed wholeheartedly
with Glyn Johns

regarding drugs and alcohol
in the studio --

that we'd get more work done
and that it would be better work.

When I got the opportunity
to produce

and therefore be in the chair,

I decided that I would no longer
put up with that.

Somebody said to me
the other night

that I was the designated driver
in the '60s and early '70s.

Glyn had worked
with the Rolling Stones

at a time
when they went to the studio

and did nothing
except wait for Keith, you know,

to go down in the basement
and play his guitar

until he came up with some riff.

So, Glyn was impatient.

The Stones had burned him out
on the, you know,

"get high in the studio
and wait for something to happen"

kind of thing.

Let's go. We're rolling.

One, two, three.

There were three hit singles
on the first album.

"Peaceful Easy Feeling"
was written by Jack Tempchin,

who is our friend
and frequent collaborator.

"Peaceful Easy Feeling"
captures the time,

captures this attitude.

You can feel the wind
blowing across the desert.

The second hit was "Witchy Woman,"
which I wrote with Bernie.

"Witchy Woman"
started as a guitar figure.

Then we were jamming it one day,
and everybody was digging it.

And then Henley came back
the next day with the lyrics.

During the time that the Eagles
were on the road

for the first album,
we had just come through the '60s --

civil rights movement, '68 --

all the assassinations,
all the rioting.

The Vietnam War still winding up.

Nixon, Watergate.

I welcome this kind of examination.

I really think that part of the reason

that the Eagles succeeded
the way they did

was because the country
and people and young people

needed to feel
like things were okay.

So, here comes this song
"Take It Easy."

Jackson had this song
called "Take It Easy."

He couldn't finish the song.

He was stuck in the second verse.

He had "I'm standing on a corner
in Winslow, Arizona."

And so, I filled in,
"Such a fine sight to see.

It's a girl, my Lord,
in a flatbed Ford

slowing down to take a look at me."

Girl, Lord, Ford -- I mean,
all the redemption, you know --

girls and cars and redemption
all in this one line.

I mean, he's very mercurical.

You know... mercurial? Mercurial.

And he's mercurical, too.

All right!

Someone once asked
Stephen Stills about the Eagles,

and his response was,
"They just wanted to be us."

But when it came time
to do our album covers,

they suggested that we use
Gary Burden and Henry Diltz.

They had done the first
Crosby, Stills, Nash cover

and some stuff for Joni.

The one I really remember
was the Mamas and Papas

all sitting in the bathtub.

That was one of their album covers.

So, these were, like, the cool guys
to have work on your album.

Gary Burden is about
40 years old, full beard,

long, grayish, wavy hair,
crystal-blue eyes.

Henry was sort of magical,
non-invasive photographer guy.

For the Eagles,
it was the peyote spirits

which the American Indians,
of course,

ate peyote and had a very,
very spiritual experience,

and they would maybe
meet their animal totem

or they would get
their quest for life.

My deal was always to take
the bands out of their comfort zone.

Take them away from their girlfriends,
from telephones,

from anything,
and have them under my control

so that I could get things to happen
without any interference.

And so, we would take trips.

Now, how this plan
came about exactly,

today you have to scratch your head,
but this was the plan.

Okay, we'll all go
to the Troubadour,

and we'll stay there
till closing time.

And then we'll drive to Joshua Tree.

We had a bag of peyote buttons,
a bunch of trail mix,

some tequila, and some water,
and some blankets.

And the seven of us
set out for Joshua Tree.

We got there probably
about 4:30 in the morning,

parked in this special place

that I don't know
how we found it in the dark.

We all took one peyote button,
put it in our mouths,

and started hiking up to the place
that we were supposed to go.

So, right around the time
that we're getting to the campsite

and we're starting to build the fire

and starting to cook some peyote tea,
and the first buttons --

everybody's chewing
the first button,

and the drug starts coming on
just as the sun is rising.

I think everybody got higher

than they ever imagined
anybody could be,

and it was a good thing.

We were after getting
into life deeper and better

and more and surrendering.

I had to go to the bathroom,
so I left the campsite,

and I hear the guys yelling
from the campfire, "Eagle! Eagle!"

I look up, and it's soaring
right above me.

Huge wingspan.

I'm, like, scuffling to get my pants
back up, and I'm slipping.

I fall down, and the bird
just kind of goes,

"Eagles, huh?
Yeah, I don't think so."

The images of the first album cover,

I think, really set the tone
for visually what Eagles are.

Gary designed the album cover

so that it would open up
into a whole poster,

and at the bottom were
the Eagles around the campfire.

And then, up at the top,

it would go on up into the sky
and the eagle up in the sky.

But David Geffen thought
that would be confusing,

and without consulting us
or consulting Gary or the Eagles

or anybody, he told them,
"Just glue it shut."

And so, then, when they glued
it shut, you would get this --

this album, front and back,
and you'd open it up,

and it would be upside-down,

which didn't make any sense
to anybody.

The fact was that the success
of the first album

scared the hell out of us.

Why me instead of some guy
down the street, you know?

Why me and some friends of mine

who are just as good of musicians
as I am, you know,

but it happened to me
and it didn't happen to them?

I don't know.

Success can sometimes be
just as disconcerting

and frightening as failure,

especially when you have questions

about your own worthiness
and your abilities.

It came time to do another album.

Don and I decided we'd try
to write some songs together.

I had been sitting over
on Aqua Vista.

I was living on the couch,

and I'm just laying there
playing the guitar,

and I started going...

You know, I'm thinking,
"Yeah, that's pretty cool,

kind of Roy Orbison,
kind of Mexican.

Yeah, I like that."

So, I showed him,
you know, that guitar riff.

I said, "Maybe we should
write something to this."

Songs like "Desperado"
and "Tequila Sunrise" --

that's when Glenn and I
began collaborating,

and that's when we really became
a songwriting team.

Earlier that year,

someone had given Jackson Browne
the book of gunfighters.

It had all the big outlaw groups --

Frank and Jesse,
the Doolin-Dalton gang.

We were all just fascinated
with those guys,

and we thought it would make
a great analogy.

Well, for example, we live
outside the laws of normality.

Also, you usually -- because
of records or bank robberies,

you usually heard about these guys
before you ever saw them.

They had posters that were wanted
posters up for people.

There just seemed to be
some parallels.

It wasn't really like
we were outlaws,

but I think they did have
their nobler characteristics.

We started talking about it.

Then we said,
"Well, maybe we should do, like,

an album all about the rebels."

We got to doing this outlaw album,

and we had eight songs finished,
and we needed two more.

An idea Randy came up with
was how the guy became an outlaw

and how he became a guitar player.

I kind of started it,
and that's what usually happened.

I'd get a verse or two,
and then I'm done,

and they would
help fill in the blanks.

Nobody expected there
to be a concept album

with Western cowboys music.

Don Henley was from Texas.
He was a cowboy.

Glenn was from Detroit.
He wanted to be a cowboy.

Because I knew all these guys
had a little cowboy inside of them,

I took them to Western costume

and just said,
"Pick out your persona."

Their premise was that,
if they had lived 100 years ago,

in like 1872, they probably
would have been gunslingers.

Everybody's gonna be firing

in the direction
of this building right here.

Jackson, J.D., Boyd, you all
got to be in the picture more.

We're gonna be in there.

You ready?
One, two, three!

And we fired so many blanks

that it was a cloud of smoke
hanging over this Western town,

and the fire department came
'cause they thought it was a fire.

Keep firing!

We were just a bunch of kids.
We were just playing around.

The picture
that's on the back of the album --

there's a lot of reality in it.

All of the agents and managers
and road managers,

all the guys who didn't play
are standing up,

alive with badges and guns,

and the four Eagles at the time
and Jackson and I are all dead,

bound up the way they used to do

when they'd catch outlaws
in those days.

They'd stand them up for display.

People never tired of looking
at the corpse of a bad boy.

We all felt, when we were doing it
and as it was delivered,

that it was another
really remarkable record

on the part of the band.

I mean, it was pretty extraordinary.

The band and I were
enormously thrilled with it.

They literally carried me
out of the control room.

They chaired me
out of the control room.

"Desperado" comes out,
and it bombs.

Jerry Greenberg was the Vice
President of Atlantic Records.

They were excited
to get the second Eagles album.

We played him "Desperado,"
and he said, "Hmm, that's, yeah,

that's nice, that's good,
that's nice,"

and turned around and said,

"God, they made
a fuckin' cowboy record."

I was extremely flattered
that Linda recorded "Desperado."

It was really her
that popularized the song.

Her version was very poignant
and beautiful.

There have been
a lot of articles and things

that identify me
with the L.A. sound.

It's sort of, like, me and
Jackson Browne and the Eagles.

All of us are reaching out
for other musical influences

all the time.

The so-called southern California
sound was developing.

It was fresh, it was different,
it was unique.

It was a melting pot,
people moving here

from all over the United States
to pursue their dream --

actors, musicians,
wannabe managers, agents,

wannabe, you know, like me.

I picked up the phone cold
and called David Geffen,

who was just starting
Asylum Records.

Long story short, I took a job
as a manager with Asylum.

I was intrigued. I wanted to know
about the Eagles

and meet the Eagles
'cause I was a fan.

Emergency.

I get a phone call.
Glenn Frey's on the phone.

"We need money for Christmas.
Can you book dates?"

I book some dates.

So, I get on a plane
and go out to meet them.

First of all,
the show was fantastic.

Crowd was nothing like I'd seen
a year, year and a half earlier.

Good evening. Welcome
to the Portland version of --

- Spread eagle.
- Spread eagle.

Tonight, the promoter
gave us chopsticks.

I don't think we ever
checked in a hotel.

We went from there
to a party at a sorority house.

One thing led to another,

and I'd never seen
anything like this.

They wouldn't give us any booze
in the bar.

We tried to get some booze,
but they fucked up,

so we may burn
the fucking place down.

We're not sure.

I don't think we went to sleep.
It was Eagle mania.

And then they went off to England

to record "On the Border"
with Glyn Johns.

They were quite open
to being produced.

Understandably, that changed.

They began to be more opinionated
and less insecure, perhaps.

We wanted to play rock 'n' roll

or at least a more rock-'n'-roll
version of country music,

and Glyn Johns was of the opinion

that we weren't
really capable of that.

I think he had been bombarded
by loud,

aggressive rock 'n' roll
for many, many years.

At that point in his life,

he wanted mellow people
and mellow music,

and we weren't exactly
at the same stage in life.

Frey sort of took over more.

He had this desire to be something

that I didn't really feel
that they were capable of doing.

He and Glenn Frey
were like oil and water.

They clashed frequently.

In the studio, Glyn Johns
was pretty much a schoolmarm.

He'd push, push, push, you know?

And then he'd say, "That's it.

That's good enough.
We're moving on.

You're not a rock-'n'-roll band.

The Who is a rock-'n'-roll band,
and you're not that."

After each of those records,

the band freaked out and said,
"We've made a huge mistake.

Glyn Johns missed it."

We actually had conversations.

You know, "Desperado" hadn't done
as well as the first album.

None of them were thrilled
with the way the record sounded.

We wanted more input into
how our albums were being made.

We wanted more input
into the recording process itself.

Don and I thought
that the vocals were too wet.

There was too much echo on them.

And he definitely told us,
"Excuse me, that's my echo.

It's my signature.
It's my bloody echo.

It stays there.
You don't tell me what to do."

We needed to make a change.

I joined the Navy
at the height of the cold war.

One of the main things
they were doing

was looking for Russian submarines,
and you do that by using sonar.

When I got out, I had a lot
of electronics education, obviously.

And I got a job in a recording studio
here in New York.

The first session I ever saw,
like day one, day two,

was a Carole King demo.

She sat down and played piano,

and it was like, "Boy, this is fun.
These people are having fun here."

I worked my way up
through the ranks,

and then, of course, after
engineering for four or five years,

I was like,
"Well, I can produce better

than some of these guys
I'm working for."

At the time,
I was managing Joe Walsh,

so I played them Walsh music

that I thought was an example
of how it could be edgier.

Joe and I had just finished
an album called

"The Smoker You Drink,
The Player You Get."

And they heard that and said,
"That's what we want to sound like."

So, Irving arranged for us

to have a meeting
with Bill Szymczyk.

We really only had two questions
that we wanted to ask him --

Do you mind if we have some input

about how much echo
is on the vocals?

And we wanted somebody
who would put a microphone

on each and every drum

so we could have more control
over the mix.

He said yes to every question,

and so we knew
he was the guy for us.

I said, "Okay, under one condition.

I have to call Glyn
and make sure it's okay with him."

So, I called him, and I said,

you know, "Glyn, the Eagles
want me to produce them."

"Better you than me, mate."

That's pretty much how I felt.

I mean, it had come
to a fairly unpleasant end.

Well, okay, you know,

so much for Beatle country
with Glyn Johns.

Let's have a warm round of applause
on a hot afternoon for the Eagles.

Along about the third album,

I was having some difficulty
in communicating,

I felt, in the band,

and I was starting to think
maybe I should go at some point.

They still had
this unfulfilled desire

to be a mainstream rock band
and not just a vocal band,

but I think they wanted to go
in a tougher direction.

Bernie Leadon was
a country-based guitar player,

but every time I wanted to do
a rock-'n'-roll song,

he was the lead guitar player.

Every time we wanted to do
something country that Bernie sang,

I was supposed to be
the lead guitar player,

and I wasn't a country musician
by any stretch.

It always felt like we needed
a third guitar player.

We had met this friend of Bernie's,
this guy named Don Felder.

We were playing in Boston,
and he came back to visit Bernie,

and we were jamming upstairs
in the dressing room,

and this guy was all over the neck.

What he brought was great chops.

I mean, we called him Fingers --
Fingers Felder --

because he was
an incredible player.

We did that session.
I think it was like three hours.

And then I packed up and went home,

not thinking anything more about it
than it was just another session.

And the next day, Glenn called me

and asked me
if I would like to join the band.

I said, "Absolutely."

- All right, let's do --
- I'm in heaven.

- Let's go another one.
- All right, do it right!

The banter that would go on
in between takes was hysterical,

and so I took to running a two-track
to pick up these silly things.

We were young men
with raging hormones

and something to prove.

In the context of the times
and the profession,

the way we behaved
wasn't really all that remarkable.

The creative impulse

comes from the dark side
of the personality,

so we worked it good, you know.

We did a lot of stupid things,
said a lot of stupid things.

It was the '70s.
There were drugs everywhere.

Cactus sunrise was in my face

Everyone was dying,
everyone was lying and trying

Well, rub your belly
in the linseed oil

There you go.

Well, the heartbreak of psoriasis

has once again descended
upon the adolescent experience,

and we'll see you later.

See you at the show
later on tonight.

The question was, you know,
who could handle it?

Who could function?
Who could show up?

There were always girls.

There were a lot of opportunities
out on the road

to entertain ourselves
with one thing or another.

So, we started to perfect
after-show partying,

and we invented a place
called the Third Encore.

We did two encores in our show,
so the third encore was the party.

Everybody in the band
and everybody in the crew

was given a bunch of buttons,
and all we said was,

"No weirdos,
no strange people, okay?

If you're gonna give a button
to somebody,

you know, make it count."

Totally sick.

There's some real warped shit
coming on now, ladies and gentlemen.

A member of Andy Warthog's
pop-bowel movement

has just tried to crash our party.

What the --

Welcome to Pittsburgh Spread Eagle.

We want to just ask these girls

why they think they have to leave
now that it's 2:00.

One thing, he smells like beer.

We'd fill the bathtubs up
with Budweiser,

and we'd have a party
after every show.

- Your name, please.
- Tammy Farley.

Tammy, Tammy, Tammy.

Here we have Karen.
Karen is 20 years old.

- Is that correct?
- Yeah.

What's your name, dear?

- Fuck it, man.
- Pardon?

Fuck it. Her name's fuck it, man.

I want to talk about sex and drugs.

Who wants to go first?

I'm not lost for words
on either subject.

Sex and drugs kind of came
as a big package in the '60s.

You know,
it seemed like everybody --

the sexual revolution
and the drug thing, I guess,

probably started out together.

Didn't they?

Don and I both tried
to have relationships

while we were members
of the Eagles,

but it was always like the Eagles
trumped everything.

When the Eagles
became successful,

we challenged all the rules.

Like when David Geffen
left Asylum Records

and sold everything to Warner Bros.
and started his new empire.

Let's be frank.

When we signed that contract,
we were idiots.

We knew nothing
about the business.

We had poor legal representation,

nobody looking out for us.

Remember, bands don't really get
record royalties usually ever.

So, they get money from touring,
but they get publishing money.

So, in the very beginning,
one thing that Geffen did

that I thought was great --

he had us form
a band publishing company.

All the band's publishing
went in that.

The problem
was Geffen had the other half.

Half the Eagles' publishing,
half of my publishing,

half of all the artists
that he signed

went to Warner Bros.,
but he got them to return mine.

Jackson turned me on to the Eagles.

He had turned me on
to a lot of artists,

and I felt I owed him something.

And that, not surprisingly,

was not acceptable rationale
to the Eagles.

There's a certain amount of ire,

like, real, you know,
like, "What the fuck?

I mean, we didn't get
our publishing back."

So, it was the publishing issue

and the fact that
the business managers

and the lawyers
were all shared common guys,

and did they have a conflict
when an issue came up

and which side to take?

Well, it just makes you feel
like meat, you know?

It started out as such a personal,
nurturing endeavor,

you know, with Mr. Geffen saying,
"Oh, I'm going to protect you guys.

"That's why I'm calling
my new label 'Asylum'.

It's going to be a sanctuary
for real artists."

He once said to Irving Azoff,
"You know, Irving,

this would be a great business
if there weren't artists."

Irving was the one guy
who really believed in us,

that I thought could do something
to help us.

I basically hired a lawyer
and went in

after I said the Eagles would like
their publishing back,

to which the obvious response
was "No".

He sort of drew a line in the sand
and declared war,

so I felt, for my survival
as their manager,

I needed to prove to them
that I wasn't afraid of Geffen

and would stand up and, you know.

The lawsuit was filed
as a last resort.

I don't think David liked
reading his name in the lawsuit.

I thought
it was incredibly ungrateful

and they misrepresented the facts,
but so be it.

Ultimately, we settled out of court,

and I don't believe
it took very long.

He just wanted to get rid of us.

This is our new record contract.

Just paper.

So, then we headed off
for parts unknown

with Irving Azoff at the helm.

This card game
is called Eagle Poker.

It's a bastardization of Red Dog.

I invented it
in Detroit, Michigan, in 1947,

one year before I was born.

We were big gamblers.
We played poker all the time.

Oh, boy. They should have
never given me money.

So, we decided we'd go
to the Bahamas to gamble.

Everybody but Don was holding.

I had like four joints in a baggie,

stuffed down my sock
in my cowboy boot.

Durkin, the pilot, has a joint.

Irving had about 30 valiums
in a sugar pack.

There was a couple
of customs officials there

that asked us to collect
all our luggage and come over,

and they wanted to search us
'cause we looked terrible.

We had really long hair
and patches on our jeans

and a beard and not slept.

Now, I'm freaking out.
Bernie's freaking out.

Irving's freaking out.
Henley's pissed off.

Don't touch me.

Well, the guy proceeds
to put us all in a room together,

and they start searching us
one by one.

My greatest fear is that
I'm gonna be locked in a jail cell

with Bernie Leadon.

So, at this point, Irving steps in

and takes one
of the Bahamian customs guys

over to the side
and has a chat with him.

I'm not sure, to this day,
what Irving said to him.

The next thing I knew,
they let us pass with no problem.

It was sort of miraculous,
really, it was,

because I thought for sure
we were gonna be in the slammer.

It was dumb luck
that this guy bought my line

and didn't search them.

That was the day
I decided Irving Azoff

was the greatest manager
in rock 'n' roll

and I would never do anything
without him by my side.

I had the only seat
in a major championship fight --

to be sitting there when,
you know,

when a lyric was thrown out
and then hear a track.

And I've watched the creative process
with lots of other people,

but I've never seen it
the way it fell in place with them.

I remember watching
"Lyin' Eyes" written.

Glenn just had a way of coming up
with a phrase, you know?

He had written some kind of a tune,

and they were sitting
in Tana's one night

and looking at some young girl
with an older guy at the bar,

and Glenn said,
"Look at those lyin' eyes."

And just -- just like that,
wow, there's the song.

It was just about all these girls

who would come down
to Dan Tana's looking beautiful,

and they'd be there
from 8:00 to midnight

and have dinner and drinks
with all of us rockers,

and then they'd go home
because they were kept women.

You know, when we were doing
the "One of These Nights" album,

we'd gone through three albums,

and the only people
who'd sung on any hit records

were Don and myself.

And Randy always felt like,
you know, he was a lead singer, too.

And I actually felt that way, too.
I liked his voice.

So, he brought in the beginnings
of "Take It To the Limit,"

and it became the Eagles'
first number-one single.

The line "Take It To the Limit"

was to keep trying
before you reach a point in your life

where you feel, you know,
you've done everything

and seen everything sort of feeling.

You know, a part of getting old,

and just to take it to the limit
one more time,

like every day,
just keep punching away at it.

And that's all that I really --
that was the line,

and from there, the song took
a different, you know, course.

I think everybody in the Eagles
did the level best we could.

You have to remember
how young we were,

the fact that nobody
had anything when we started,

and you got all this stuff
coming at you.

Meanwhile,
you're touring all the time.

It's a lot.

To Bernie, success on any scale
was synonymous with selling out.

He wanted us to remain
sort of an underground band.

We had our problems with Bernie,

and Bernie
had his problems with us.

Some of it was based
on him being able to have a voice

in the Eagles

and record the songs he wanted to
the way he wanted to.

We were getting
more and more rocked out,

and I think Bernie was
less and less happy about that...

...to the point that, one time,
we had worked on a track all night.

I mean, it was a rocked-out track,

and we're all sitting
behind the board the next day,

listening to the various takes of it,

trying to decide
which take we like the best.

Bernie hadn't said a word.

So, I asked him over the board,

I said, "Bernie, what do you think?"

There's a long pause,
and he gets up,

and he stretches, and he says,
"I think I'm going surfing."

And he left.

I was caught in the middle
a lot of times.

And sometimes I would agree
with Bernie,

but most of the time,
I would agree with Glenn.

Glenn and I always wanted
the band to be a hybrid,

to encompass bluegrass
and country and rock 'n' roll.

There was a part of Bernie
that really resisted that.

After a while,
it became a real problem,

particularly between
Bernie and Glenn.

Finally, we were
at the Orange Bowl in Miami.

We were backstage,

and we were talking about
what our next move was gonna be,

what our plans were supposed to be,

and I was animated and adamant
about what we needed to do next

here, there, and everywhere,

and Bernie comes over
and pours a beer on my head

and says,
"You need to chill out, man."

I have no idea.
It was a spontaneous thing.

I mean, I take that incident now
quite seriously.

That was a very disrespectful thing
to do.

Obviously, it was intended to be
humiliating to him, I would say,

and is something
I'm really not proud of.

It did illustrate a breaking point.

During that time,
we got a couple shows

opening for the Rolling Stones,

and Irving was managing Joe Walsh.

Joe Walsh was a bona fide
rock-'n'-roll guitar player.

So, for a couple of those shows,
just for our encores,

we'd put Joe Walsh in a road box,

and we'd come back to do an encore,
and we'd roll the road box out,

and just like the model
jumping out of a cake,

we'd open the guitar case,

and there would be Joe Walsh
with his Les Paul,

and he'd climb out of the box
and plug in, and the Eagles --

We would play
"Rocky Mountain Way."

I loved the way he played.

I'd loved the James gang
when I was growing up in Detroit.

Now I started thinking,
"Joe Walsh for Bernie Leadon."

Okay, maybe the vocals
won't be quite as good,

but, boy, are we gonna
kick some ass.

I think one of the things
that I brought into the band

that was good for the band

was to bring it up a notch
when we played live.

Just keep kicking it in the butt
a little bit, you know?

All right, D.C.,
come on, give it up.

I went to a show
maybe eight months later,

and the band
are interacting with each other

exactly like we did
with me onstage,

except instead of me,
Walsh was up there,

and it just was, like,
really, really odd, you know,

to be watching it
and not be part of it.

So, I actually left that show.

I was just like,
"This is, like, too weird."

So, we got Joe Walsh in the band.

That's another adventure

because Joe was
an interesting bunch of guys.

Hey, I tell you what.

If you got firecrackers,
just wait until you get home,

lock yourself in the closet,
and light everything you got, okay?

Thank you, Joe.

He brought a lot of levity

to just about everything
that happened,

which was needed at that time.

Heads or tails?

Heads.

Well, I could use
a little head myself.

In those days, you didn't know
what he was gonna do next.

It was fun most of the time,
although not all the time.

It was fun, depending
on how much you'd had to drink,

to see a television go sailing
off the 14th-floor balcony

and into the pool,
as long as nobody got hurt.

Joe Walsh was
the American King of room trash.

He had studied under
some of the best.

One of the most terrifying things
that ever happened to me

was that Keith Moon
decided he liked me.

All those Keith Moon stories
are true.

This guy was full-blown nuts,

and you never knew
what was coming next.

Keith was my mentor at chaos,

getting arrested, practical jokes,
pranks, room damage.

One year, we gave him a chain saw
for his birthday as a joke.

By this time, we were eating
in nice restaurants

and buying expensive wine
and staying in great hotel rooms.

There were a lot of hotels that
we weren't allowed to go back to.

We were in Chicago,

and we were staying
at the Astor Towers.

In Chicago, here's what happened.

There was a knock on the door,
and in walked John Belushi.

John wanted to show me
the finer restaurants of Chicago.

So, we went to the restaurant,

and they wouldn't let us in
'cause we had jeans,

and he got the maître d'
up to like $300 bribe,

and still they would not let us in.

And John said, "I know what to do.
I know what to do."

And the next thing I knew,
we were standing in the alley,

and he spray-painted my jeans black
and made me do his,

and we went back, and we got in.

We were sitting
in these Queen Anne-period chairs

that had needlepoint,

and when we stood up,
that was all black,

and the butts of our pants
were jeans again.

So, we had to kind of back out
of there and leave fast.

But that was the beginning of it.

And so that night, with much glee,

Joe set about to set
the world record for room trash.

John and I did $28,000
of room damage.

Glenn and Don
didn't really ever approve

of the room trashing,
but they understood it.

They wanted respect
as rock 'n' rollers,

and Joe brought that respect.

I was insecure always and afraid,

so I hid behind all of my hang-ups
with humor.

I was totally in awe
of Don and Glenn.

I was intimidated by Don and Glenn

because they sang so good
and they were writing stuff

I could never come close to writing.

After we just had
a bunch of hit records

on "One of These Nights,"
we were under the microscope.

Everybody was gonna look
at the next record we made

and pass judgment.

Don and I were going,
"Man, this better be good."

Look at that.

It's gonna be quite a nice guitar.

Felder, you see this?

Who, uh, who tuned this?

Well, it has no nut.

With Joe in the band with me,
I wanted to write something,

musically, that would fit
two guitar players,

that we could
play off of each other.

So, I was sitting on a sofa in Malibu

at this rental house
that I had on the beach,

and I was playing
this acoustic guitar,

and this introduction came out,
that progression.

I kept playing it
three or four times.

I had an old reel-to-reel
tape recorder,

so I went back and recorded
that introduction to that song

and laid down that progression,
made a mix of it,

and put it on a cassette
with, I don't know,

the other 14 or 15 pieces of music
that I had assembled,

and I gave a copy of the cassette
to Don, one to Glenn.

Don Felder used to send
Henley and I instrumental tapes,

song ideas.

95oo of them were cluttered
with guitar licks,

and we would
listen to these things and go,

"Well, where do you sing?"

As Don and I were listening
through one of the Felder cassettes

and this song came up,
we both sort of said,

"Hmm, now, this is interesting."

The music sounded to me
like some sort of a cross

between Spanish music
and reggae music,

and that one
really jumped out at me.

So, we set out to write
a song to that progression.

I'm pretty sure
it was Henley's idea

to have a song
called "Hotel California."

I think Henley's and Glenn's
lyric writing really came to a head.

They became real honest-to-God
songwriters then.

During the recording of it,

I thought that we were on
to something.

I knew we were on to something.

We were in a really creative phase,

and it just so happened
that Bill Szymczyk pushed record.

Thank God.

We've been asked a million times,
"What does that song mean?"

Don and I were big fans
of hidden, deeper meaning.

You know, you write songs,

and you send them out
to the world...

And maybe somewhere in that song
is some stuff that's just yours

that they're never
gonna figure out.

There has been a great deal
of ridiculous speculation

about that song over the years.

I mean, it's really taken on a life
or a mythology of its own.

You know, it's sort of like
the "Paul is dead" thing

or who was the walrus?

It's been denounced by evangelicals.

We've been accused
of all kinds of wacky things,

like being members
of the Church of Satan.

People see images
on the album cover that aren't there.

Just lunatic stuff.

My simple explanation is

it's a song about a journey
from innocence to experience.

That's all.

Whereas Felder was technically
very, very good,

Walsh brought spontaneity to it,

and the two of them playing off
each other was just brilliant.

Out of great respect for each other,

there was always
a little competition

between Felder and I.

We always tried to kind of
one-up each other, you know?

And that's really healthy.

It always made the song better

when we were kind of,
"Oh, yeah? Listen to this."

We got to the end,

where now is the harmony guitars
that are playing together,

and Joe said, "We should
do something that's like...

The ending of "Hotel California" --

that's one of my high points
of my entire recording career.

To have a seven-minute single
be number one --

that was unheard of.

The record company said,
"You got to do an edit.

You got to do an edit."

And we all said,
"No. Take it or leave it."

And they took it.

We had no idea that that song

would affect as many people
on the planet as it did.

Thank you.

The rest of the album kind of
developed around that song.

The album, you could loosely say,

is a thematic album,
a concept album.

Not unlike "Desperado,"

"Hotel California" was our reaction
to what was happening to us.

On just about every album we made,
there was some kind of a commentary

on the music business
and on American culture in general.

The hotel itself
could be taken as a metaphor

not only for the myth making
of Southern California

but for the myth making
that is the American dream

because it's a fine line
between the American dream

and the American nightmare.

All the songs
we write for this album

can fit inside this concept.

Once the rest of the guys
in the band

understood what the song
"Hotel California" was about,

it became kind of a theme,

and they started to customize
their writing to fit in with it.

I think that the Eagles
started breaking up

during the recording
of "Hotel California."

There were creative tensions,

but there was always
tension tensions.

By the time we got to recording
"Hotel California,"

if the song wasn't good enough

to survive the amount of time
we were working on the record,

it didn't make it on the record.

Perfection is not an accident.

Our goal was just to be
the best we could be.

We wanted to get better
as songwriters and as performers,

and we worked on it.

Don and I felt like there was
no space now for filler,

and Don Felder, for all
of his talents as a guitar player,

is not a singer.

Felder wanted to write more,
sing more,

and Felder had kind of demanded

that "I'm gonna sing two songs
on 'Hotel California."'

We were all Alphas,

and we were all very assertive
and powerful in our own way.

You could bring in a great track
to Don and Glenn

and be really excited about it.

This happened to Felder.

I wrote the track
for "Victim of Love."

It was gonna be a follow-up song

on the "Hotel California" record
for me to sing.

I have no recollection of anybody
being promised anything.

"Victim of Love" was not brought
to the band as a complete song.

It was simply
another chord progression

that Don Felder brought in.

It had no title,
no lyrics, and no melody.

Glenn and I and J.D. Souther
all sat down

and hammered out the rest of it.

We did let Mr. Felder sing it.

He sang it dozens of times
over the span of a week,

over and over and over again.

It simply didn't come up
to band standards.

"Victim of Love" had been recorded
with Felder as the lead vocalist,

and my job was to take Don Felder
out to lunch or dinner

while they went in the studio
and put Henley's vocal on it.

Irving took me out and said
that everybody in the band thought

that it was better if Don sang that.

And it was a little bit
of a bitter pill to swallow.

I felt like Don was taking
that song from me.

I'd been promised a song
on the next record.

But there was no real way to argue

with my vocal
versus Don Henley's vocal.

There was no way to argue
with anybody's vocal in the band

compared to Don Henley.

Felder demanding to sing that song

would be the equivalent of me
demanding to play lead guitar

on "Hotel California."

It just didn't make sense.

If you look at my vocal participation
in the Eagles

over the course of the 1970s,
I sang less and less.

It was intentional.
We had Don Henley.

Don and Glenn's position was,

"This is the best thing
for the Eagles."

And Don Felder never forgot that.

Get it! Get it!
Run! Run! Run!

Shit.

This is a real healthy thing.

It promotes good feelings,
you know, among the guys,

and it keeps us
from killing each other.

Where's my glove?
Who's got my glove?

We can yell at each other
on a baseball field,

then we don't have to yell
at each other when we're working.

Get all my frustrations out.

What frustrations?

I haven't been getting laid.

We try to get out
and play softball with the crew

if we have a day off.

Swing, batter!

Oh, it's gone, it's gone.
It's gone.

Something to help
release the tension.

That's really what I do
to keep from going crazy.

How do you keep
from going crazy, Joe?

Well...

I tell you, I just, uh...

In the press and the media,

it was presented
that we were constantly at war,

and I can't say
that's exactly the case.

We were interacting,
and we were all intense.

Glenn said to me one time,

"I get nuts sometimes,
and I'm sorry."

Hey, Joe.

But that tension had a lot to do
with fanning the artistic fire.

Having that dynamic was important
in making the music.

Well, we're rehearsing now,
and before we're even playing

and guys are just noodling around

and getting their amps going
and stuff, we hear Joe go...

You know, and everyone would
kind of go, "What did you play?

Play that again."

That was an exercise I was doing
because it's a coordination thing.

You know,
it's like one of these deals.

So, I was doing that to warm up,

and they said,
"Well, what is that?"

And I said, "Well, that's just
something I have, you know?

There you go."

That's the lick.

That's what we should
build the song around.

I was riding shotgun in a corvette
with a drug dealer

on the way to a poker game,
and the next thing I knew,

we were going about 90 miles
an hour, holding big time.

I was like, "Hey, man.
What are you doing?"

You know, and he looked at me,
and he grinned.

He goes, "Life in the fast lane."

And I thought immediately,
"Now, there's a song title."

Then they put out the greatest hits.

There was a period

where we sold a million records
a month for 18 months.

It's a little-known fact
that the Eagles

had the biggest-selling album
of the 20th century.

But the music business never ever
got honest of its own volition.

No record company ever went
to an artist and said,

"You've done a great job.

We're gonna increase
your royalties."

So we created
our own promotion company.

We created
our own management company.

We had our own booking agency.

Stop any time.

We achieved an amount of success
beyond our wildest imagination,

and Randy really had trouble with it.

Bam! Bam!

Randy used to have trouble
singing the high note

at the end
of "Take It To the Limit."

Oh, yeah, I was always
kind of scared, basically.

"What if I don't hit it right?"

It was a pretty high note.

And in the middle of the fade,

you crank the volume knob
and go, "What?!"

Randy could do it,
but if you made him do it,

"Oh, no, man, I, uh..."

Thank you.

Randy Meisner.

He'd call the road manager and say,

"Tell Glenn I don't want to do
'Take It To the Limit' anymore.

Take it out of the set."

I confronted him about this.

I called him up,
and I said, "Randy,

there's thousands of people
waiting to hear you sing that song.

"You just can't say,
'Fuck them. I don't feel like it.'

Do you think I like singing
'Take It Easy'

and 'Peaceful Easy Feeling'
every night?

I'm tired of those songs,
but there's people in the audience

who've been waiting years
to see us do those songs."

We just got fed up with that
and just said, "Okay, don't sing it.

Why don't you just quit?
You say you're unhappy. Quit."

Randy never knew
how great he was.

He wasn't Alpha.

Confrontations were
really hard for him.

All I want to see is five guys
happy playing together, you know?

And that's what makes the music.

We were backstage,
and the crowd was going wild.

And our encore number
was "Take It To the Limit."

People loved that song.

They went crazy when Randy
hit those high notes.

But Randy didn't want
to do the song that night.

He'd been up partying all night

with a couple of girls
and a bottle of vodka.

And Glenn kept trying
to talk him into it.

He said, "Man, the people
want to hear that song.

You got to do it."

And Randy kept saying, "No."

So after about the third or fourth
time that Randy refused,

Glenn just backed up
a couple of steps and said,

"Well, fuck you, then!"

There were police officers
standing backstage,

and when they saw us about to go
at it, they started to move in.

And Henley turned
right to the cops and said,

"Stay out of this.

This is personal,
and it's private --

real fucking private."

The writing was on the wall
that Randy was gonna leave.

There was only person
to ever replace Randy Meisner

in the Eagles in my mind,
and it was Timothy B. Schmit.

He replaced him in Poco

and plugged in
and sang the same parts.

And I remember sitting with Irving
and saying,

"Irving, I think we should
get Timothy Schmit."

He said, "Well, I just saw Timothy.
I was out on the road

when the guys in Poco
were in the hotel bar,

and Timothy was smashed
out of his mind.

He was gacked up.
Are you sure about this?"

I said, "Irving," I said,
"If you'd been in a band

for 11 years and you were still
making $250 a week

working 40 weeks a year,

maybe you'd be a little smashed
and gacked-up yourself."

They asked me to join their band

before I even played
a note of music with them.

I just said, "You know,
where do you want me? When?

I'm definitely in."

We want to introduce you
to the newest member of our band.

He's our new bass player,

and we got him
from a really fine band -- Poco.

Please give a nice Houston, Texas,
welcome to Timothy Schmit.

I went on the road with them
in 1978 as the new guy.

And I heard a few, "Where's Randy's"
from the audience, you know?

But I knew it was a good move
for them and me.

There were a lot of decisions,
business-wise,

that needed to be made
in a secret session --

Glenn and Don and Irving
in the back of the plane.

I didn't like
that I wasn't part of that,

but I knew that it was good
for the Eagles.

Don Felder really didn't like it.

Glenn and I saw ourselves
as the leaders of the band,

but other people saw us
as dictators.

You just cannot have
five leaders in a band.

It doesn't work. People have to do
what they do best.

There was all this undercurrent
and resentment

and, you know,
plotting and complaining.

And I'm sure Timothy thought,
"What have I gotten myself into?"

I was just really happy to be there,

and all these tensions --
it's not that I didn't feel it,

but I had no idea how deep it was.

In my experience,
all rock-'n'-roll bands

are on the verge of breaking up
at all times.

The band at that point
had begun to split up into factions.

Don Felder, in an effort
to gain more control,

had co-opted Joe Walsh.

So much of the time,

it was Felder and Walsh
against me and Glenn.

At that point, even Glenn and I

were beginning
to have our differences.

And it was tearing the band apart.

The magic ingredient
that made the band successful

was the relationship
between Don and Glenn.

Through years of touring,
years in the studio --

all of that friction
really started driving a wedge

in between that relationship.

It reached a point where we were
just tired of each other --

tired of the hoopla,
tired of touring,

tired of pretty much everything.

At that point, songwriting
was becoming very difficult.

How much sleep did you guys get?

When did you get finished
loading out?

-2:00?
-5:30.

-5:30 this morning?
- Yeah.

Okay.

After the success
of "Hotel California" --

Grammy winner, mega sales --
top that.

And we show up at the studio,
and nobody has one song done.

I don't know
what we'll do first, but...

I had enough of a piece
where they both went,

"That's great.
Let's develop that."

And I was really pleased
that they wanted to develop that one

because it came out more
as an R&B song.

And it's very simple.

Very simple instrumentation.

Very simple arrangement.

There's a lot of air in it.

That's why it works.

About halfway through,
Don comes up to me and says,

"There's your hit."

We're on top of the world.
We're young.

We were overdoing everything.

There was a lot of chemical
dependency going on within the band.

And that was rough.

During all of that time
of writing and recording

"The Long Run"
and all the time on the road --

we were on the road
during "The Long Run,"

we were all using cocaine.

When we first started snorting coke,
it was like a writing tool.

Do a couple bumps and kind of
get started talking about stuff,

get yourself going

and launch into some sort
of idea for a song.

But in the end, cocaine brought out
the worst in everybody.

Yes, this half-hour of the show
is brought to you by cocaine --

the makers of hits.

Making that album was excruciating.

We were just completely burned out.

We had driven ourselves really hard
for almost a decade,

and we were just fried.

It was long, too.

I mean, the days and hours
would drag on,

and it would feel like
we weren't getting anything done.

It was more painful
than "Hotel California."

It was more of a painful birth

because all of this stuff
was going on,

and we were getting
pretty frazzled.

And the record company didn't care
if we farted and burped.

They would put that out.
They didn't care.

"When can we have it?"

Because that was
their whole corporate quarter.

At that point, we inked in
"The Long Run" as the title.

I think Henley said,
"Well, I know what to call this one.

Look at us."

Hold it. Stop.

That's it!

Song two.

Eagles -- "The Long Run" --
song two take one.

It was a struggle --
an endless start-stop-start-stop.

We called it "The Long One."

It was the beginning of the end,

even though I don't think
I saw it right then.

There were a lot of things
building up

and a lot of things I tried
to overlook for the good of the band.

And ultimately, I just couldn't
look past some of this anymore.

And it festered because
we didn't talk about these things.

It finally came to a head
in Long Beach.

We were doing a benefit
for Senator Alan Cranston.

He was concerned
about a lot of the same issues

we were concerned about,

including environmental destruction
and the war,

so we wanted to support him.

Now, Felder didn't like us
doing benefits.

He just thought that was money
that should be going into his pocket.

Why were we doing it
for Jerry Brown or anti-nukes?

Alan Cranston and his wife
are coming around

to personally thank every member
of the Eagles for doing this.

I was very uninformed
about politics.

I could care less about politics.

I didn't even know or care
who Alan Cranston was.

And Senator Cranston
went up to Felder and said,

"I want to thank you."

And Felder looked at the Senator
and said, "You're welcome."

Then as he was turning away,
he said, "I guess."

"I guess."

"I guess." And Glenn heard it.

And I just got really mad.

I was drinking a longneck Bud
and then walked into the tuning room

where Walsh and Felder was
and took the beer bottle

and threw it against the wall
and smashed it.

I stormed out.

I got more mad and more mad.

By the time we went onstage,
I was seething.

I wanted to kill Felder.

Thank you again very much
from all the Eagles

and from Senator Cranston

for coming out here
and checking it out.

One, two, three, four.

A lot of tensions
between Glenn and Felder,

and the real manifestation of it
came that night.

So now we're playing the show

and trying to act
like everything's okay,

and we'll get through a few songs.

And I just keep
looking over at him.

"You ungrateful son of a bitch."

The scene there --

I really saw how serious it was
at that show.

They were fighting onstage.

Szymczyk's got audio of it.

So we started getting
towards the end of the set,

and I'm looking at him going,
"Three more songs, asshole."

You know, and I'm looking at him,
and I am ready to go.

I can't wait
to get my hands on him.

"When we get off the stage,
I'm gonna kick your ass."

Whoa. When that kind of stuff
is onstage

and you're in front of people,
you got problems.

Thank you very much.

We got through the show,
and it just --

all hell broke loose backstage.

When the set ended,
he was out ahead of me,

took his cheapest guitar...

...busted it in a million pieces

and jumped in his limousine
and drove off.

And that was it.

That was really the straw
that broke the camel's back.

Someone wrote, "The Eagles went out
with a whimper, not a bang,"

which was true.

I didn't want to hear it.

This was, like,
my super dream had come true.

So I called Glenn, and I said,
"What is the status?

What's going on?
Is this thing really broken up?"

He said, "Yeah, it's over."

We were beat,

and it was really affecting
the foundational core --

the soul of the band.

We hit the wall.

You work, work, work, work, work.

You get up to a peak,
and then it's almost, you know,

invariably people head-butt
and, "Whose band is it?"

And, "I'm in charge," and,
"No, you're not," and there you go.

We had always said
that we wanted to step off the wave

just before it crashed
into the beach.

And we did.

The Beatle guys say
they never thought --

McCartney never thought
that band was gonna last

more than two years
because no pop band did.

I think it's part of it.

It comes together.

It's magic,
and it falls apart, you know?

But, you know, how cool
that it even happens at all.

It was magical.

They wrote
a lot of great, great songs

that will be celebrated
and listened to

and loved for a long time.

We managed to represent
that period of time in the '70s,

Southern California,
which was very artistically creative.

I hope that's remembered
like the Roaring '20s are, you know --

our generation and what we did.

We set out to become
a band for our time,

but sometimes
if you do a good enough job,

you become a band for all time.