Eagles
Hotel California

THE REVIEW

"If only a beautiful song were enough..." now that's an erudite quote. Forget Oscar Wilde or Karl Kraus aphorisms, let alone La Rochefoucauld's maxims: this is the sound folk wisdom from our export sales champion, the one who represents Italian music worldwide: Eros Ramazzotti! And then we wonder why Italy's esteem abroad is plummeting, or even worse, we blame the Government... Well, let's forget about it and restart from Ramazzotti's brilliant hypothesis.

If a beautiful song were enough to make an album a masterpiece, "Hotel California" by the Eagles would undoubtedly be one, given that it contains the equally stunning ballad that both opens and, in a sense, closes the album, tyrannically dominating the rest. From the very first guitar chords of the introduction, you know a great tune is coming, and when the drums kick in with their unmistakable syncopated rhythm, the promises are amply fulfilled. "On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair...": the first verse already introduces us to the Eagles' world, one of endless, sun-drenched expanses, often desert-like, of the American West Coast states, and it doesn't matter that the members of this group actually come from all corners of the USA. It is from these legendary settings that their inspiration for country-rock arises, more rock than country (the country component is limited to the virtuosic and heavy use of acoustic guitars). Or rather, it's from the myth, one of the many American myths, now mostly good for car advertisements, because, as Bruce Springsteen teaches us with crude yet wise realism, the reality of American roads is quite different. But at least with music, you can dream of an America that no longer exists, and perhaps never did.

The rock enriched with warm country colors by the Eagles, despite being quintessentially American, has been very well-received abroad, making them, despite a relatively short career, one of the top-grossing acts of the '70s, but at least in their case, "commercial" is not synonymous with "trash," and while their content is what it is, we cannot ignore their admirable, painstaking technique, along with a certain melodic inventiveness. For all six and a half minutes of "Hotel California", up to the long and masterful final electric guitar solo, we are immersed in the haze of a warm Californian sunset, from which emerges the glitter of an hotel's neon signs in the desert, a longed-for yet indefinite destination that represents the American dream. But then? Then comes the cold sensation of a gradual return to the ordinary. First with the good slow "New Kid In Town", an impeccable blend of soft bass and clear electric guitars, certainly among the highlights, then with a rock track like "Life In The Fast Lane" that is neither here nor there, finally with the romanticism of "Wasted Time", with its classical piano introduction and string orchestra accompaniment, which somehow harmonizes with the group's usual sounds. The syrup is dangerously looming, but a well-placed tune saves it all. "Victim Of Love" attempts to recreate the serene country-rock balance of the early Eagles, succeeding only in part. So far, the album has proceeded more than decently, but banality lurks towards the end: first with "Pretty Maids All In A Row", which, upon closer listening, is a clone of "Take It To The Limit", then with "Try And Love Again", with its predictable melody, redeemable only for the beautiful sound effects of the guitars, and finally with the sugary slow "The Last Resort", whose piano start promises a lot, only to lead into a rather cloying refrain. Notably, this finale's theme and vocals were entirely lifted by Umberto Tozzi and transposed into his forgotten "Dimentica dimentica", and that alone gives an idea of the Eagles' slip at this point. A slip that closes an album steadily declining, but since "highs and lows even out," decent overall.