EDITOR'S NOTE: This story is the first in a two-part series in conjunction with Don Henley's appearance in Tyler on March 9, for a concert performance benefiting the Linden Municipal Hospital Authority.

By JONATHAN PERRY, Arts & Entertainment Editor

Don Henley likes corny jokes.

Alluding to the notion his sprawling lyrical compositions often achieve a cerebral - even baroque quality, he said, "If the record company stopped paying me I'd really be baroque."

The metaphorical cymbal crash is deafening. But Don Henley stands alone in the pantheon of would-be borscht belt humorists: he can provide his own rimshot.

His prowess banging the skins with L.A. arena rock juggernaut the Eagles is legendary - even though the self-professed "regular guy" discusses this part of his life with a humility that belies a 35-year journey, one that began with a set of "red sparkle" drums from McKay Music in Sulphur Springs.

"So many young drummers out there are so much better than I ever was," he said, describing his years of negotiating timpani with vocal tone. "I only drum when I'm with the Eagles. I can't do a two-hour show and play every song and play the drums too. It's a physical challenge to say the least. I'm 54 - I work out religiously."

Henley offers no sprawling explanations of "the process," no lofty musings about the visceral stage experience - just the road-tested perspective of a man who's banged and belted simultaneously for so long it's second nature.

"It's sort of automatic in a sense, not really a thought process," he said. "I've always said I can play and sing better when I do one at a time. When you sing and drum at the same time there's a little compromise involved."

He also picks the acoustic guitar and dips his poetic pen into the well of human experience on ... yes, baroque songs, seven of which grace the grooves of nothing less than the biggest selling album in U.S. history, "Eagles: Their Greatest Hits 1971-1975" - a feat not even The Beatles can claim.

Behind the snare and frequently at the mike of legendary music of the Eagles, Henley joined his bandmates as the quintessence of the American 70s success story, soaring to the top of the charts with "Desperado," "One of These Nights," "The Long Run" and the indelible "Hotel California."

Add to that a string of solo success that produced modern masterpieces - the expository screed "Dirty Laundry," the haunting "Boys of Summer" and the elegantly elegiac "The End of the Innocence" (a Grammy winner for Song of the Year, from 1989's incidental Album of the Year), plus the brisk sales and nostalgic adulation that accompanied his landmark reunion with the Eagles in 1993 - and the resume would seem to sketch the portrait of a man lacking little in life.

But music isn't everything. Above all, Henley is a family man.

Life as a husband (he married longtime girlfriend Sharon Summerall of Dallas in 1995) and father of three has brought a new dimension to a man known for vituperative lyrical screeds and private crusades.

"There's plenty of stuff left to complain about, but you have to balance that with the good things," he said. "And my family has helped me maintain a balance, helped me temper my anger about the world at large. My perspective really hasn't changed, but my children have helped to balance my perspective. ... I like to call them God's big mirror - they reflect back to you your best and your worst."

With a name - and a presence - as ubiquitous as Henley's in American pop culture (almost any 180-degree turn of a radio dial is apt to unearth the percussive snap of "Boys of Summer" or his tapestry of heartache in "Desperado"), a family could easily be caught in the peripheral glare of the spotlight. But for Henley, the trappings of fame and idolatry don't factor in to fatherhood.

"They know that daddy makes records for a living and that I do concerts, and they're not concerned with the fame and status part of it - which is fine with me," he said. "We don't hide anything from them, but we shed them from the glare of the spotlight for their own good."

Henley's description of domestic life at his home in Dallas (where he relocated following a 1995 earthquake that destroyed his L.A. home) is one of birthday parties and bedtime stories - aside from bi-weekly trips to the West Coast to record - a "normal" life.

"(My kids) get me up at 5:30 or 6 a.m., I make pancakes," he said. "When I get them home it's a very regular lifestyle. I flew home from L.A. to Dallas just to take my daughter to a (YMCA Guides) father-daughter dinner dance. It's very important to me."

Henley named two songs among the works he would want to see survive if a nuclear blast were to eradicate all other evidence of his recording career: "Heart of the Matter" ("a song that has elicited the strongest response," he said) - and "Annabel" (from 2000's "Inside Job").

"It's a song I wrote for my daughter," he said. "It's nothing like what people expect."

Although shielding his children from the spotlight's glare is of paramount concern to he and his wife, "we do expose them to music of various kinds because I want them to appreciate it," he said. "We play country music, classical music - what we want them to appreciate is the music itself and not all the trappings that go with it. I don't necessarily want them to be in the music business. My priority - as it was the priority of my mother and father - is that they go to college first, then they can do whatever they want."

WHAT'S NEW

Family life is at the center of Henley's universe, but creative destiny is still sounding its call.

Henley's current project finds him reunited with the Eagles for the first time in almost a decade, recording what is to be the band's first album of original material since 1978's "The Long Run." Henley said the gears of what was once one of the great well-oiled machines in modern rock are still clicking.

"Individuals will bring in the germ of an idea, sometimes we'll create things together simultaneously; sometimes it's a very fuzzy process," he said. "It happens in very small increments with occasional flashes of accomplishment - we write separately and together. Songwriting is a very nebulous process, but we have so much talent in the band, the best thing is to figure out how to utilize each person."

Henley said he has his own poetic pen fired up for the experience, but as in the band's halcyon days, he has help if he finds himself in a creative quagmire.

"A big steaming cup of coffee from Starbucks (can get me going)," he said. "Ideas often germinate from reading - a great book or sometimes an article in a newspaper or a magazine ... and when I get stuck I take it to Glenn (Frey, his frequent collaborator). He's very adept at finding ways to move things forward, to make it whole. We call him 'The Lone Arranger.'