Those not really in favor of the Eagles, where I count myself, often nonetheless seem to have one of their songs that they will admit to liking a lot. “Peaceful Easy Feeling,” “Desperado,” “Witchy Woman,” I don’t know, you name it—even haters seem to have a soft spot for one or the other in the widescreen catalog. They made the top 40 18 times, hit #1 five times, and I believe I’ve heard their best-of is the bestselling album of all time. This is not an unpopular act. They reached me in the winter of early 1975 with their first #1. Product of collaboration between Glenn Frey, Don Henley, and J.D. Souther, it is sweet and melancholy with no (make that little) (make that arguably verging on rancid) bitterness, a tale of resignation straight out of the freewheeling breakup / get a divorce / got to move on ‘70s. Don’t, don’t do it, don’t use the word insipid. I’m feeling a little sad here. What appealed to me chiefly was the hit off the vibe of Carole King’s immortal “It’s Too Late,” the resignation to a relationship ending. I always found these breakup songs of the time the ultimate in romantic, which may explain too much. Related: “That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be” by Carly Simon and “Someone to Lay Down Beside Me” by Linda Ronstadt. The sadness in these songs is abundant, but “It’s Too Late” and “Best of My Love” also bear an undertow of liberation, a certain ecstasy of anticipation. “Best of My Love” (I strongly suspect the irony of the title was lost on the authors, but then I’m a hater) is perhaps more specific on how the cookie is crumbling, referring directly to the toxic back and forth when they are in full tailspin: “We try to talk it over / But the words come out too rough / ... / I wake up and worry / What's gonna happen today?” This one filled me with a delicious self-satisfied melancholy then and it can still make me ache a little now.
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