50. “Business as Usual” (Long Road Out of Eden). Henley spent the first decade of his solo career transforming righteous indignation into an art form. Accordingly, it’s no surprise that one of the best tracks he contributed to Long Road is a snarling screed, cowritten with Smith, about the cross-pollination between business, money, and politics. Sonically, “Business as Usual” is yet another Long Road track that seems to have emerged from an earlier time; the tune would have fit perfectly on Henley’s 1989 The End of the Innocence LP, right down to the beating-a-dead-horse repetition of the phrase “soul-sucking.” (Once Henley gets his teeth into a juicy aphorism, he’s loath to let go.) Giving the tune extra muscle is an intense tempo and a ground-assault arrangement—heavy drums, moody harmonies, and slashing guitars cohere with the tough lyrics to form a bleak but powerful statement. Whereas too many Long Road rants resemble sloppy carpet-bombing, this one’s a lethal drone strike.
49. “Take the Devil” (Eagles). Anyone doubting Meisner’s versatility need only listen to the three cuts he sings on the band’s first LP. Interpreting Frey’s “Most of Us Are Sad,” he’s a high-lonesome troubadour. Delivering his own “Tryin’,” he’s a blue-collar rocker. And in his best moment on Eagles, he’s a storyteller nearly of Henley’s caliber. Written by Meisner, the song itself isn’t fantastic, another spooky grind pulled from the same poisoned well the band tapped for “Witchy Woman,” but, together with his buddies’ big-canvas performances, Meisner’s singing elevates the piece to something eerily beautiful. Bearing a resemblance to CSN’s “Wooden Ships,” the tune starts small and gets big, suggesting a vessel sailing into foreboding waters before getting swallowed by an apocalyptic storm. Meisner’s vocals are emotional and authoritative, climaxing with a chilling high note before the track settles into a minute and a half of fierce vamping.
48. “Do Something” (Long Road Out of Eden). Lost amid the vapid love songs the band threw Schmit’s way while chasing the success of “I Can’t Tell You Why” is this earnest country ballad about exactly what the title suggests—making the most of life because “you’re not ready for the rocking chair.” While not the most challenging song, “Do Something” expresses a poignant theme for middle-aged musicians tackling new material instead of simply coasting on their old hits. Written by Henley, Schmit, and Smith, the tune has a pleasing blend of lyricism and twang. Better still, the give-and-take vocals between Henley and Schmit toward the end convey camaraderie while also juxtaposing the band’s gentlest voice with its toughest.
47. “The Disco Strangler” (The Long Run). The title alone makes the song dated, but it’s not as if the Eagles dove wholeheartedly into late-’70s dance-floor fashion the way that, say, ELO or KISS did. Exactly the opposite. Except for the snapping hi-hat, this one’s all about sticking it to disco—and the debauched culture it represents. Felder steers the song with one of his most blistering hooks, as nasty as it is nocturnal, while Henley supports the guitar with a groove as twitchy a tweaker’s heartbeat. Henley’s lead vocal is all slap and slice, mercilessly describing the seductive powers of avarice, lust, and narcissism all the way to the lethal climax. Songs like “The Disco Strangler” contribute to the band’s not-undeserved reputation for biting the hand that feeds, since they enjoyed partying so much that it’s disingenuous for them to judge others for doing the same, but the attitude works for “The Disco Strangler” in a way it doesn’t for “King of Hollywood.” Rather than using an outside-in perspective, “The Disco Strangler” captures the late ’70s with such immediacy you can almost see the jittery band members gnashing their teeth as the blow hits their systems.
46. “Most of Us Are Sad” (Eagles). After Frey died, Leadon expressed his admiration for “Most of Us Are Sad,” a deep cut from the band’s first album that Frey wrote and Meisner sang. While the melancholy ballad’s lyric is self-explanatory, Leadon correctly noted that it reflects a simple truth—we all get blue sometimes. On a deeper level, the song reveals something about Frey that he rarely expressed in his music. He generally played the roles of the cool observer, the party animal, the smooth-talking stud, and the tough guy. By penning “Most of Us Are Sad,” he showed unadorned vulnerability. One could easily play pop-culture shrink by postulating that he stepped away from the mic when the time came to record the song because he knew that he’d exposed a nerve, though the real explanation is probably more mundane, something to do with making sure band members had parity on the first LP. In any event, “Most of Us Are Sad” is an affecting track that Meisner serves well.
45. “Outlaw Man” (Desperado). Speaking of Frey the tough guy, take a few steps back out of respect for this badass number written by David Blue because “Outlaw Man” is a key part of the six-gun symphony that comprises the band’s only outright concept album. Whether you take the song literally, a frontier robber warning a woman not to get close because he could die any minute, or whether you take it metaphorically, the rock star as high plains drifter, it’s an attitudinal jolt, with the heavy reverb on Frey’s vocal lending a suitably mythic quality. A dissenter could quibble that the group-harmony flourishes unhelpfully soften the track. Yet once Frey leads the band charging out of the second chorus like they’ve just knocked off the First National Trust—Meisner’s throbbing bass notes echoing racing hoofbeats—the tune approaches the excitement of a Howard Hawks oater.
44. “Is It True?” (On the Border). Calling this attractive song typical of Meisner’s early output isn’t exactly a compliment, and it’s not exactly a condemnation. A mid-tempo number about the girl who got away and the man who’s matured enough to realize it was his fault, the song is straightforward country rock executed by the genre’s most polished practitioners, with Frey’s nimble slide-guitar accents lending scope. In many ways, this is the most satisfying solo composition Meisner brought to the band short of “Try and Love Again,” as the cut benefits from not only economy but also execution. “Is It True?” makes its point in three minutes and change, just long enough to tell the story but not long enough to demand more complexity. Better still, the band was in such a good pocket when they cut On the Border that the playing couldn’t be smoother.
43. “On the Border” (On the Border). Despite featuring the band’s muddiest lyrics this side of “Take It to the Limit,” the title track from the Eagles’ strong third album—the symbolic end of their twang time—has so many interesting feels and hooks and turns of phrase that it’s a great listen. (Frey, Henley, and Leadon share writing credit.) The groove combines funk and soul elements into something loud and rude, the sound of the guy you bumped into on the street who’s ready for a fight. However, the track’s also filled with humor—the mid-song stretch during which each Eagle sings a line in succession conveys playfulness and unity, two qualities in short supply during the band’s darkest periods. Henley leans into the R&B side of his musical persona with a vengeance on this one, and by the time the song settles into the vamp-and-trill outro, the Eagles let a little Booker T. & the M.G.’s grit into their usual please-don’t-spill-crumbs-on-the-carpet vibe.
42. “Too Many Hands” (One of These Nights). The only Meisner-Felder composition, “Too Many Hands” would have benefited from a Henley lyric pass, but the central idea is so cogent and the musicality is so powerful that the track overcomes its verbal shortcomings. Meisner’s springy bassline and Felder’s all-over-the-neck pyrotechnics amplify the anguish of the song’s observations about a beautiful woman transferring her affections from one unworthy lover to the next, even though “her heart is still yearning to be found.” Meisner delivers an authoritative lead vocal, Henley’s percussion helps give the song its sinister propulsion, Frey trades squawking electric figures with Felder during the dual-guitar solo, and all five Eagles circa 1975 contribute spooky harmony refrains. Casting its spell for nearly five minutes, “Too Many Hands” is one of the group’s most atmospheric deep cuts.
41. “Get Over It” (Hell Freezes Over). What a thrill to hear Walsh’s revving-engine opening licks on the radio in early 1994, confirmation that the impossible had finally happened, that hell had indeed frozen over. Featuring one of Henley-Frey’s chattiest lyrics and, as Frey has said, straight-up Chuck Berry guitars, “Get Over It” is a middle finger not only to the self-involved whiners pilloried in the song but also to the haters. The critics who never got behind the idea of the Eagles as rockers. The detractors who cheered when Mojo Nixon sang “Don Henley must die—don’t let him get back together with Glenn Frey!” The gripers who consigned the Eagles to the corporate-rock slagheap. With its punchy verses, confrontational choruses, and pedal-to-the-metal guitars, “Get Over It” announced the Eagles were back and ready to rumble, with something to say about a whole new generation of self-involved jerks. Kinder and gentler? Not quite. “I’d like to find your inner child,” Henley snarls, “and kick its little ass.” Preach!
49. “Take the Devil” (Eagles). Anyone doubting Meisner’s versatility need only listen to the three cuts he sings on the band’s first LP. Interpreting Frey’s “Most of Us Are Sad,” he’s a high-lonesome troubadour. Delivering his own “Tryin’,” he’s a blue-collar rocker. And in his best moment on Eagles, he’s a storyteller nearly of Henley’s caliber. Written by Meisner, the song itself isn’t fantastic, another spooky grind pulled from the same poisoned well the band tapped for “Witchy Woman,” but, together with his buddies’ big-canvas performances, Meisner’s singing elevates the piece to something eerily beautiful. Bearing a resemblance to CSN’s “Wooden Ships,” the tune starts small and gets big, suggesting a vessel sailing into foreboding waters before getting swallowed by an apocalyptic storm. Meisner’s vocals are emotional and authoritative, climaxing with a chilling high note before the track settles into a minute and a half of fierce vamping.
48. “Do Something” (Long Road Out of Eden). Lost amid the vapid love songs the band threw Schmit’s way while chasing the success of “I Can’t Tell You Why” is this earnest country ballad about exactly what the title suggests—making the most of life because “you’re not ready for the rocking chair.” While not the most challenging song, “Do Something” expresses a poignant theme for middle-aged musicians tackling new material instead of simply coasting on their old hits. Written by Henley, Schmit, and Smith, the tune has a pleasing blend of lyricism and twang. Better still, the give-and-take vocals between Henley and Schmit toward the end convey camaraderie while also juxtaposing the band’s gentlest voice with its toughest.
47. “The Disco Strangler” (The Long Run). The title alone makes the song dated, but it’s not as if the Eagles dove wholeheartedly into late-’70s dance-floor fashion the way that, say, ELO or KISS did. Exactly the opposite. Except for the snapping hi-hat, this one’s all about sticking it to disco—and the debauched culture it represents. Felder steers the song with one of his most blistering hooks, as nasty as it is nocturnal, while Henley supports the guitar with a groove as twitchy a tweaker’s heartbeat. Henley’s lead vocal is all slap and slice, mercilessly describing the seductive powers of avarice, lust, and narcissism all the way to the lethal climax. Songs like “The Disco Strangler” contribute to the band’s not-undeserved reputation for biting the hand that feeds, since they enjoyed partying so much that it’s disingenuous for them to judge others for doing the same, but the attitude works for “The Disco Strangler” in a way it doesn’t for “King of Hollywood.” Rather than using an outside-in perspective, “The Disco Strangler” captures the late ’70s with such immediacy you can almost see the jittery band members gnashing their teeth as the blow hits their systems.
46. “Most of Us Are Sad” (Eagles). After Frey died, Leadon expressed his admiration for “Most of Us Are Sad,” a deep cut from the band’s first album that Frey wrote and Meisner sang. While the melancholy ballad’s lyric is self-explanatory, Leadon correctly noted that it reflects a simple truth—we all get blue sometimes. On a deeper level, the song reveals something about Frey that he rarely expressed in his music. He generally played the roles of the cool observer, the party animal, the smooth-talking stud, and the tough guy. By penning “Most of Us Are Sad,” he showed unadorned vulnerability. One could easily play pop-culture shrink by postulating that he stepped away from the mic when the time came to record the song because he knew that he’d exposed a nerve, though the real explanation is probably more mundane, something to do with making sure band members had parity on the first LP. In any event, “Most of Us Are Sad” is an affecting track that Meisner serves well.
45. “Outlaw Man” (Desperado). Speaking of Frey the tough guy, take a few steps back out of respect for this badass number written by David Blue because “Outlaw Man” is a key part of the six-gun symphony that comprises the band’s only outright concept album. Whether you take the song literally, a frontier robber warning a woman not to get close because he could die any minute, or whether you take it metaphorically, the rock star as high plains drifter, it’s an attitudinal jolt, with the heavy reverb on Frey’s vocal lending a suitably mythic quality. A dissenter could quibble that the group-harmony flourishes unhelpfully soften the track. Yet once Frey leads the band charging out of the second chorus like they’ve just knocked off the First National Trust—Meisner’s throbbing bass notes echoing racing hoofbeats—the tune approaches the excitement of a Howard Hawks oater.
44. “Is It True?” (On the Border). Calling this attractive song typical of Meisner’s early output isn’t exactly a compliment, and it’s not exactly a condemnation. A mid-tempo number about the girl who got away and the man who’s matured enough to realize it was his fault, the song is straightforward country rock executed by the genre’s most polished practitioners, with Frey’s nimble slide-guitar accents lending scope. In many ways, this is the most satisfying solo composition Meisner brought to the band short of “Try and Love Again,” as the cut benefits from not only economy but also execution. “Is It True?” makes its point in three minutes and change, just long enough to tell the story but not long enough to demand more complexity. Better still, the band was in such a good pocket when they cut On the Border that the playing couldn’t be smoother.
43. “On the Border” (On the Border). Despite featuring the band’s muddiest lyrics this side of “Take It to the Limit,” the title track from the Eagles’ strong third album—the symbolic end of their twang time—has so many interesting feels and hooks and turns of phrase that it’s a great listen. (Frey, Henley, and Leadon share writing credit.) The groove combines funk and soul elements into something loud and rude, the sound of the guy you bumped into on the street who’s ready for a fight. However, the track’s also filled with humor—the mid-song stretch during which each Eagle sings a line in succession conveys playfulness and unity, two qualities in short supply during the band’s darkest periods. Henley leans into the R&B side of his musical persona with a vengeance on this one, and by the time the song settles into the vamp-and-trill outro, the Eagles let a little Booker T. & the M.G.’s grit into their usual please-don’t-spill-crumbs-on-the-carpet vibe.
42. “Too Many Hands” (One of These Nights). The only Meisner-Felder composition, “Too Many Hands” would have benefited from a Henley lyric pass, but the central idea is so cogent and the musicality is so powerful that the track overcomes its verbal shortcomings. Meisner’s springy bassline and Felder’s all-over-the-neck pyrotechnics amplify the anguish of the song’s observations about a beautiful woman transferring her affections from one unworthy lover to the next, even though “her heart is still yearning to be found.” Meisner delivers an authoritative lead vocal, Henley’s percussion helps give the song its sinister propulsion, Frey trades squawking electric figures with Felder during the dual-guitar solo, and all five Eagles circa 1975 contribute spooky harmony refrains. Casting its spell for nearly five minutes, “Too Many Hands” is one of the group’s most atmospheric deep cuts.
41. “Get Over It” (Hell Freezes Over). What a thrill to hear Walsh’s revving-engine opening licks on the radio in early 1994, confirmation that the impossible had finally happened, that hell had indeed frozen over. Featuring one of Henley-Frey’s chattiest lyrics and, as Frey has said, straight-up Chuck Berry guitars, “Get Over It” is a middle finger not only to the self-involved whiners pilloried in the song but also to the haters. The critics who never got behind the idea of the Eagles as rockers. The detractors who cheered when Mojo Nixon sang “Don Henley must die—don’t let him get back together with Glenn Frey!” The gripers who consigned the Eagles to the corporate-rock slagheap. With its punchy verses, confrontational choruses, and pedal-to-the-metal guitars, “Get Over It” announced the Eagles were back and ready to rumble, with something to say about a whole new generation of self-involved jerks. Kinder and gentler? Not quite. “I’d like to find your inner child,” Henley snarls, “and kick its little ass.” Preach!
