Don Henley
Cass County

Introduction:

I was born in the countryside. In some random place in this Italy, but definitely in the countryside.

With all the advantages and disadvantages of the situation: better in some ways (short distances, easy and widespread friendships, healthy outdoor life, genuine food, more united families, less complex neuroses…) and worse in others (narrow-mindedness, less presence of state and institutions, limited cultural and job opportunities and so on).

So, at twenty, I left. To continue studying, and to open my mind a bit, in a big city. Where I then decided to stay after, at twenty-six, having graduated but still without a job and without a penny, my father declared: “Here at home, there's always a bed, lunch, and dinner for you. However, if you intend to continue living away from home, then you're on your own.”

Okay, bye bye… I decidedly chose to stay permanently away from my dreadful family, and fend for myself (ahem, initially helped by my girlfriend, who was already working).

For thirty years, I lived, worked, started a family with that girlfriend, bought a house, had a child, faced a painful separation, spent years and years as a single all in that big city. And if at first, I wouldn't have tolerated living anywhere else, little by little, with the end of youth and the deteriorating quality of life, that sense of exclusivity, recognition, and admiration towards that city has greatly faded.

So when I met and then fell in love with one of my parts, I seized the opportunity without the slightest hesitation and returned to the base, to the more closed and suffocating yet more familiar and “easy” environment of the countryside. Because at fifty, it's different from at twenty… by then, I had long been saved from the curses of the provincial environment, the mind had “opened” irreversibly, I had had enough lively life experiences, I could lower the sails a bit and better tolerate the lack of diversity, the limited stimuli, that feeling of being in a periphery of an empire, little considered and assisted yet rich.

Context:

This existential path of mine mentioned above is not particularly peculiar…I would rather say that it's common, with due and different nuances, to many other people, including Donald Hugh Henley from Linden, in the far eastern edge of Texas at the border with Arkansas, that is, in the middle of the vacuum of central USA, a boundless plain where nothing changes for thousands of kilometers, nothing happens, nothing is invented nor decided, and everyone who happens to be born there can either stay and live, ignorant and narrow-minded like no other part of the world, or just as soon as they grow, dash away to some less oppressive and more stimulating corner of that great country.

Don Henley fled from Linden in the early seventies to go, like many, to seek fortune in Los Angeles in the musical environment. After a bit of struggling, he was fortunate to connect with the perfect guy for him, a bold and enterprising musician, courageous and project-oriented, perfectly complementing his character instead doubtful and introverted, although concentrated and precise and ambitious. Glenn Frey solved many of his problems and gaps and allowed him a career… and in return, he provided for the other, offering his greater talent as a singer, melodist, and lyricist.

The partnership (“marriage”) gave birth to one of the most successful bands of all time. They were years of glory and arrogance, of dissoluteness and vice, of neurotic submission to the rigid rules of Californian rock stars: mansions, cars, parties, women, alcohol, cocaine, megalomania, envy, baseness.

Once the Eagles' merry-go-round was over, Henley stayed in place to try to extend the party alone (“single”), occasionally releasing nice solo albums that kept him well afloat, meanwhile indulging himself in more years of jet set, annoying and smug running in the fast lane, with the usual marriage to the actress of the moment ending soon, troubles with the law due to drugs, etc.… all quite standard.

Then, tackling the nineties now over forty, he began to get tired of that world, and also fight for serious things and suffer from serious problems: he started channeling quite a bit of his money into charitable and ecological enterprises and foundations; he fought bitterly against his record label, winning the case and proceeding to establish a musicians' association to safeguard the usual shady business practices; he remarried, this time to the right person, a former model suffering from multiple sclerosis who gave him three children.

Finally, he left Los Angeles and returned to Texas, where the horizon is lower but the sky higher. And the first solo album (the fifth and so far last, dated 2015) that no longer sounds Californian but rather of his parts (roughly) is this one. Made in Nashville and Dallas, with a plethora of instrumentalists almost all regulars of those places (I've counted forty-three from the liner notes!) and singers (nineteen!).

Strengths:

“Take a Picture of This” is certainly not special but at least it is not filled with any country guest and therefore instantly shifts the mood to the Eagles zone (almost… lacking the richness, accuracy, and intelligence of the choirs, an indispensable added value for my tastes).

“Praying for Rain” is vaguely Dylan-esque, very well sung by Don, and then the inevitable country guests (three of them: again Alison Kraus and Trisha Earwood, plus Ashley Moore) are kept in the background, on the vocal harmonies in the choruses.

“Train in the Distance” has the right tension. Finally, the tension of rock with multiple sound planes, not just the dobro and mandolin (delightful, on this occasion). The umpteenth country singer, Lucinda Williams, appears on the vocal harmonies.

Even the penultimate on the tracklist “Younger Man” is very lyrical, reminiscent of some other intimate song from Henley's old albums. Great voice, and great lyrics: he tells her it's better to look for a younger man, not him. Melancholic and romantic, emotional.

The concluding “Were I Am Now” is the most rock, the loudest, the least Nashville-like of the bunch. We are fully in the "Eagles who want to be considered rockers" realm that has pervaded the whole career of the group.

The rest:

They are almost all ballads, and there are sixteen of them! Luckily the best pieces are towards the end, otherwise, personally, I would struggle not to interrupt the listening before the end.

The opener “Bramble Rose” is a sleepy mandolin-laden and steel-guitar song, in duet with country singer Miranda Lambert, but the second verse is sung by certain Jagger (a known admirer and plunderer of American country along with his partner Richard), who with his powerful and mocking tone instantly, albeit momentarily, shifts the ballad towards a Rolling Stones realm.

The following “The Cost of Living” is an anonymous slow song, and this time a verse is sung by the elderly Merle Haggard, a countryman who passed away four years ago.

The guest in the moderate and very predictable rock‘n’roll, which at least breaks the sequence of ballads, “No Thank You” is Vince Gill from Pure Prairie League.

In “Too Far Gone,” it's the turn of two more Nashville dwellers, namely Alison Krauss and Jamey Johnson, but it's yet another waltz full of steel guitar and with a worn-out harmonic pattern.

In “When I Stop Dreamin’,” the famous, curvaceous, and explosive Dolly Parton, whose super country bold and sonorous tone eats what's left of Don's voice in one bite.

That's enough, and more than enough. There would be another half dozen, also slow, well-sung, professionally played by a horde of perfect and measured musicians, all more than predictable and boringly country.

Final verdict:

A tribute album, filled with clichés and appearances by professionals of that country that, the more it remains in its “pure” form, the less I like it.

Nothing personal, I could say the same about blues, or jazz. Is it strange? I can't stand country but adore the Eagles, Poco, Loggins & Messina… and similarly, blues by pioneers like Johnson and Muddy Waters respectfully bores me, but I go crazy for Led Zeppelin, Gary Moore, Joe Bonamassa, and so on. The same goes for jazz… on its own, it “bounces off” me… used to shake up and embellish rock and pop things (Steely Dan!... for example) drives me mad. Contamination, that's the secret.

Therefore, this record is largely outside my jurisdiction. If it weren't for its owner Don Henley, one of my primary musical idols, I wouldn't own it. I hope that old Don will get help to set his pieces to music with people less ghettoized in the Texan and Nashville country universe. He can, his voice is aged but still versatile and can fully reside in rock.

But maybe it's late, old age looms, and I might have to endure more records so out of my taste, and away from my excellent memories and eternal gratitude for the previous Henley.