Bowling With Joe Walsh

I noted not long ago that my relationship with the music of the Eagles is complicated.

(a complication compounded by never being able to remember if it’s The Eagles or simply Eagles)

Whatever the name, the Eagles were done just about the time I wandered in and started listening to music. The Long Run was released as I was entering sixth grade and the thumping Heartache Tonight was guaranteed to be heard blaring from the bowling alley juke box where those of us not old enough to drive spent hung out.

(actually, the bowling alley was a hub for even the high school kids on winter afternoons)

I Can’t Tell You Why is still etched into my memory from Q102′s top 102 songs of 1980. I’d taped much of the countdown from the radio and sandwiched between Christopher Cross’ Ride Like The Wind and Gary Numan’s Cars, both of which I loved, was the wistful Eagles’ hit.

Though that was the Eagles’ swan song – at least until hell froze over in the ’90s – their music remained inescapable on radio.

Scanning the radio dial, sifting through the heartland rock of Journey and Styx, the soulful pop of Hall & Oates, and the more modern sounds of Duran Duran and Missing Persons, it was a given that I would come across Hotel California.

The song was less than a decade old, but from the perspective of a fourteen-year old, it was ancient.

It didn’t help that the Eagles were one of the few rock acts that our town’s radio station – which leaned toward light pop and country – would play.

The Eagles were old and something that my parents could handle over morning coffee.

So, I mostly dismissed the Eagles and their music with a shrug, but I soon became openly hostile toward the group as radio pummeled me with the songs.

But time marched on and, as I finished high school, I was listening to the radio less. Absence made the heart grow less hostile and, over the years, I’ve come to appreciate the Eagles and dig songs like Take It Easy, Lyin’ Eyes, and Life In The Fast Lane when I hear them.

Not that I think I’d ever want to go bowling with the band.

(though I certainly wouldn’t express this thought to a cabbie in the wee hours)

I can imagine Don Henley being surly and arguing over foot fouls or he and Glenn Frey might be hitting on some underage girl working at the snack bar.

(I also imagine both spending an annoying amount of time fussing over their hair)

Of course, I have no doubt that bowling with Joe Walsh would be more fun than killing a drifter.

Here are four songs by former US presidential candidate Joe Walsh…

Joe Walsh – Life’s Been Good
from Sounds Of The Seventies: 1978 (1990)

Being a rock star sounds like a lot fun.

During the late ’80s, Glenn Frey did commercials for some fitness club. Upon seeing one, a roommate mumbled, “Joe Walsh is sitting on a couch somewhere, right now, with a bong and laughing his ass off after seeing that.”

Joe Walsh – All Night Long
from Urban Cowboy soundtrack (1980)

I didn’t see Urban Cowboy in the theater and I’ve seen less than a few minutes here and there on cable throught the years, but I do remember hearing the sweaty and raucous All Night Long a lot that summer.

It was likely my introduction to Joe Walsh. A few years later, a high school friend would be a devoted fan who probably did more to promote Walsh’s music during those years than his record label did.

Joe Walsh – Space Age Whiz Kids
from You Bought It – You Name It (1983)

The high school friend had a knack for knowing street dates and I recall his anticipation for the arrival of You Bought It – You Name It.

If I’d hadn’t been aware of the album from him, I would have known soon enough as the quirky Space Age Whiz Kids got played a lot on one of our rock stations.

I heard a lot of Joe Walsh on the radio during the early ’80s, both his ’70s stuff – which seems to be better regarded – and songs from then-current new releases.

Joe Walsh – The Radio Song
from Got Any Gum? (1987)

Got Any Gum? brought me and a college roommate more hours of delight than probably anyone in America. The title and the back cover photo of Walsh mopping a floor caused us to laugh like hyaenas.

(it was a staple when we worked a shift together at a record store)

The critics hated the album and perhaps it was best heard as a college kid working in a record store. Still, there is a goofy, bubble gum charm to The Radio Song.

The Voodoo Economics Of Morgan Freeman And A Bunch Of Fish

My concerns are more than some sensationalistic ballyhoo.

They are more than some flimsy, baseless caterwauling from someone possessed by the spirit of a carnival barker, newsstand tabloid, or Republican pundit.

No, I fear that, sadly, there is considerable truth behind it.

Like many people, I have been a fan of the award-winning thespian, but I now realize that I might have been lulled into a false sense of admiration.

I used to look at him as a kindly fellow – compassionate and wise. I mean, if he wasn’t offering rides to cantankerous, elderly women, you might find him engaging in the much-needed rehabilitation of falsely convicted criminals or lending logistical support to masked vigilantes wishing to rid our cities of such criminals.

(of course, lily-livered, bleeding-heart types would rather that we not rid our streets of falsely convicted wife-killing bankers and, instead, target bankers who merely engage in casual games of multi-billion dollar three-card Monte)

The existential threat posed by Morgan Freeman to America’s economy didn’t really register until this morning when I saw a commercial for Visa before I’d ingested enough caffeine to think straight.

(oftentimes things only make sense when you don’t really think about them)

In this commercial, serene images of undersea flora and fauna fill the screen accompanied by the soothing strains of The Moody Blues’ Tuesday Afternoon.

Then, the earnest voice of “the only guilty man in Shawshank,” asked, in a somewhat accusatory tone, “When was the last time you went to the aquarium, with your daughter, on a Tuesday?”

Sure, an aquarium crawl sounds like a lovely way to spend the day after Monday. One of the finest aquariums in the country is a two-hour drive away and, though I have no daughter, the way some of my co-workers squeeze out offspring of both sexes as though it was a bodily function, I could likely borrow one…

But that is exactly what Morgan Freeman wants me to do. In other words, he is promoting not only truancy, but he is espousing a fiscal policy that encourages absenteeism from work.

This would all be well and good for aquarium barons, fishmongers, and oceanographers who would likely see profits that would make those of Exxon be mere pocket change, but at what cost?

The rest of the economy would fall into a death spiral. If people were relaxing at aquariums instead of engaging in the daily grind of commerce, consider the revenue lost simply by those treating bleeding ulcers, intense malaise, and depression.

And think of the children…

Instead of learning how to take tests at a level that places them smack dab at mediocre compared to the rest of the world, these kids might end up as ichthyologists or marine biologists.

Fortunately, today is Sunday and I suggest we all give Morgan Freeman (and his dubious, probably Socialist economic theories) the finger and head to the nearest aquarium today.

Here are four Sunday songs…

Blondie – Sunday Girl
from The Platinum Collection (1994)

From the beginning of my real interest in music in the late ’70s/early ’80s, Blondie has been a favorite. The fetching allure of lead singer Debbie Harry and the percolating Heart Of Glass provided the first hooks, but it was soon the musical diversity of the group that charmed me.

On Sunday Girl, which according to Wikipedia topped the charts in the UK where Blondie has received more consistent love over the decades, the chameleonic quintet recreates a ’60s girl group vibe that drew me in the first time I heard it.

Joe Jackson – Sunday Papers
from This Is It! (The A&M Years 1979–1989) (1997)

Speaking of musical chameleons, I’d certainly classify Joe Jackson as such. Though best known in the States for the sophisticated pop of the hits Steppin’ Out and Breaking Us In Two from his breakthrough album Night And Day, Jackson has jumped between styles including rock, big band, swing, and classical.

On Sunday Papers, Jackson opts for staccato, reggae-inflected tones as the musician takes to task both the media and those who drive the demand for meaningless fluff pawned off as newsworthy information.

John Prine – He Forgot That It Was Sunday
from Lost Dogs And Mixed Blessings (1995)

Not long ago, I recounted the good fortune of having had a preview listen of folk singer John Prine’s Lost Dogs And Mixed Blessings with a small group of people that included the artist.

The loping He Forgot That It Was Sunday would seem to be a cautionary tale punctauted by Prine’s offbeat take on things which includes a chartreuse, foor-door Lincoln, Charlie Parker’s teddy bear, and a masterbatory Beelzebub.

The Pretenders – Everday Is Like Sunday
from Boys On The Side soundtrack (1995)

Paloma and I tend to be fairly sympatico, but I have never been as enamored by The Smiths as she is.

(appreciative, yes, but far from devoted)

This difference of opinion was seemingly benign until the day she declared The Smiths to be a more formidable musical entity than Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band.

(I quickly branded this claim as kooky talk)

However, we both seem to like The Pretenders in equal measure, so here is Chrissie Hynde and company’s rather faithful take on a Smith’s classic from Boys On The Side, a flick that may or may not have been about cannibalistic lesbians.

“I Don’t Want To Make Money, Folks…I Just Love To Sell Guns”*

Recently, Paloma and I caught a late-night showing of a movie called Equinox, a sci-fi flick from the early ’70s which has a cult following due to the fact that it began as a student film by Dennis Muren

(Muren would earn acclaim for his special effects work on numerous films, including the Star Wars series)

Equinox was a familiar feature from my childhood as it seemed to be shown every other week on WTTV’s Science Fiction Theater. Seeing it again also brought back vivid memories of a personal bogeyman spawned by consumerism run rampant…

…Don, erstwhile proprietor and namesake of Don’s Guns.

Don was a regional phenomenon, his advertising reach relegated to central Indiana where his lone storefront/armory was located. His budget allotment for marketing apparently only great enough to purchase face-time in the wee hours on an independent television station, but his leering mug made quite an impression as I have learned from fellow Hoosiers, few of whom seemed to have escaped seeing Don hawking his wares.

His commercials were like an ambush. One minute, I’d be sitting there, a nine-year old in pajamas, huddled under a blanket, watching Channel 4 only to have Don practically burst from the screen and into the living room. If Equinox or Night Of The Lepus wasn’t frightening enough, there was Don.

Don epitomized snake-oil salesman, approaching a level of smarm that would be the envy of any elected official and doing it so effortlessly.

Perhaps it was his resemblance to an extremely dodgy Kenny Rogers.

Possibly, it was the sheer, unadulterated glee with which he made his pitch.

Most likely it was the manner in which he closed every commercial – Don gazing maniacally from the screen, toothy grin flashing as he delivered his mantra, “I don’t want to make money, folks. I just love to sell guns.”

(this clip is of more recent vintage)

And then he’d be gone.

DeForest Kelly would return – battling the bunnies in Night Of The Lepus – but somehow it lacked the punch to follow-up the spectacle of Don.

And where is Don now?

Googling him, my computer screen was filled with results, most of which sullied my fond memories of Don as many alluded to numerous alleged improprieties involving his business. One item feted him as “the nation’s sixth-worst dealer” based on the number of firearms sold that were used in criminal activity.

And all the daffy bastard wanted to do was sell guns.

Thirty-five years ago, I was a third-grader and far more interested in late-night horror flicks than music. And I was certainly already well acquainted with Don and steeling myself for him popping up onscreen.

(I’m not sure if Don listened to music or not)

Here are four songs that were on Billboard magazine’s Hot 100 this week in 1977…

ABBA – Dancing Queen
from Thank You For The Music (1994)

I stumbled upon an unopened copy of ABBA’s four-disc box set for six dollars and couldn’t pass it up. Not that I really need that much ABBA.

(few people do other than a buddy who was fanatical about the band long before revisionism and a hit Broadway show made such adoration socially acceptable)

I enjoy the hits from the bell-bottomed, sequined Swedes more dispassionately, but I’d have to offer up S.O.S., The Winner Takes It All, and Dancing Queen as transcendent.

Eagles – New Kid In Town
from Eagles Greatest Hits, Vol. 2 (1982)

My relationship with the Eagles is complicated, but even with little interest in music in 1977, I was familiar with the group. The radio station in our small town was light rock with a bit of pop-leaning country thrown in and the wistful New Kid In Town was a perfect fit.

10cc- The Things We Do For Love
from Super Hits Of The ’70s: Have A Nice Day, Volume 19 (1993)

I know little more of 10cc’s catalog other than a handful or so of songs, but those I do know have impressed me with their musicianship, craftsmanship and quirkiness.

The Things We Do For Love is a breezy and flawless pop song.

Steve Miller Band – Fly Like An Eagle
from Greatest Hits 1974–78 (1978)

I seem to recall hearing Fly Like An Eagle constantly blaring from radios at the pool during the summer of ’77. It struck me as a bit strange and unsettling.

The song still has a trippy vibe though it’s no longer strange and/or unsettling, but I’d have to think the stoners of 1977 were digging the song’s groove.