Published on Apr 12, 2000
Recorded nearly 20 years ago but sounding hardly dated at all,
The Long Run is the sound of one of classic rock’s most
misunderstood bands at both its creative peak and its demise.
On their previous release, 1976’s
Hotel California, the Eagles had made a clean break from the
feel-good California mellow country rock that characterized much of
their early work. The album often tried a little too hard, though;
while excellent for the most part, it is easier to view as a
collection of individual songs than as a cohesive statement. This
did no harm to its popularity, of course, and the title track is
still what most people think of when the Eagles are mentioned. But
the album that followed is ultimately a more complex, deeper and
better record.
The Long Run didn’t just change the Eagles’ modus operandi,
it was about that change itself. The title song, which opens the
album, is musically traditional Eagles faire, Don Henley’s gutsy
vocals over a southern-rock style guitar and a
drive-you-into-the-ground 4/4 rhythm, but listen to the words and
you know the band has grown up. “I used to hurry a lot / I used to
worry a lot / I used to stay out ’till the break of day” starts the
first verse, and we later hear “but I just couldn’t carry on that
way.” As an confessional introduction to an album that shapes up as
a stark portrayal of southwestern Sunset Strip culture in the late
’70s, it’s brilliant.
As the record progresses, each track contributes its own little
piece to the puzzle. “In The City” yearns for a more peaceful
existence “beyond the neon lights.” “Those Shoes” and “Teenage
Jail” dissect social pressures down to the core. “Heartache
Tonight” de-romanticizes the let’s-be-mellow-and-fall-in-love image
the Eagles and others had popularized only five years earlier.
Perhaps the most incisive is the one-two punch of “The Disco
Strangler” and “King Of Hollywood” at the end of side one. The
former tells the tale of a swaggering, gold-chain-wearing club rat
who will “sweep you off your feet if you let him.” The latter
shifts to the movie actress learning what she has to do to get a
part — “Are you willing to sacrifice / are you willing to be real
nice / all your talent and my good taste / I’d hate to see it go to
waste.” We’ve seen several films released recently about this sort
of scene in this era, but the Eagles were writing about it back
then — how cool is that?
But perhaps the most beautiful thing about this record, other
than the crystal clear production that distinguishes from much ’70s
rock that sounds like it was recorded under water, is that after
all the corruption, greed and desolation, there is some hope at the
end. In the gorgeous ballad “I Can’t Tell You Why,” unsung Eagle
Timothy B. Schmitt sings “every time I try to walk away / something
makes me turn around and stay.” In the title song, Henley is
confident that “when it all comes down I know we’ll make it
through.”
Sadly, the Eagles didn’t make it through another year, but in
“The Sad Café,” which turned out to be the last song on
their last album, the Eagles look back on the past, recall it with
emotions that are largely mixed — “some of our dreams came true /
some of them passed away” — but finish up with an invitation to
join them inside the very same café that they seem to have
outgrown.
All lovers of guitar-based rock who are looking for more
classics in their collection should own this album. The two
Greatest Hits records don’t do justice to the Eagles half as
well.