California Cool
Town and Country, June 2001
By: Margy Rochlin

THEY NEVER THOUGHT OF THEMSELVES AS THE kind of people who’d live in a planned community, or that the color of their home would be one of a limited number of pale earth tones sanctioned by a rules committee. But a few years ago, musician Glenn Frey was competing in celebrity golf tournaments in Palm Springs, California, often enough that he started to think, "Why not get a house out here? Wouldn’t it be nice not to stay in a hotel?" The next thing his wife, Cindy, knew, she was touring gated golf colonies, wondering if she could find a suitable get-away house for herself, her husband, and their daughter, Taylor, ten, and son, Deacon, eight. (They live most of the year in Los Angeles and already have homes in Hawaii and Colorado.) What Cindy, a low handicapper herself, remembers most is the sight of houses stretching to infinity, all with the same façades and the same scraggly primrose borders.

"Glenn?" she recalls saying quaveringly to her husband. "This is a little scary." That was until a realtor took her to a partially built four-bedroom house located at a far end of one of the nicer enclaves. These days, it’s easy to see what won her over. The sliding-glass doors that lead from the living room to the backyard pool frame a postcard-perfect view of a pond and an unobstructed stretch of the Santa Rosa mountains. In between is hole fourteen of a lush, challenging course edging so close to the back patio that Cindy Frey’s (pronounced "Fry’s") children can come down to greet her midgame.

"I thought, ‘Ooooh. This is good,’ " she says, though her spirits dipped again when she found herself faced with the task of locating her own sensibilities within an array of pre-approved paint chips, flooring samples and light fixtures. Cindy realized that she could ease the pressure by having Los Angeles-based Barbara Barry by her side. Barry, an interior and product designer whose old-Hollywood touch is all about diffused light and muted, neutral-tone rooms, had designed the interiors for the Freys’ Italianate home in L.A. in 1996. What turned them into true believers? The fact that Barry’s work looks glamorous but also feels welcoming. "It always seems as though decorators fill up rooms with everything they possibly can in order to show off their talent and taste," says Glenn, an enthusiastic reader of design magazines. "There isn’t a place on the coffee table to put down a thermos bottle. You’re afraid to sit on sofas, because the pillows have been arranged just so. That’s not Barbara’s way--her rooms breathe. There’s a certain amount of space and air."

It’s not apparent from a quick drive-by just how Barry altered the Freys’ single-story Palm Springs retreat. Appreciating the changes requires closer inspection. Their Mission-style dwelling is painted a sand-colored shade that is slightly richer and more complicated than those of the adjacent homes; the standard-issue wrought-iron front gate has been replaced with thick wooden doors. But push your way into the Freys’ palm-treed interior courtyard and the transformation is suddenly clear: you’re in an uncluttered, distinctly nonsuburban universe.

"I like to call it ‘Golf Goes Zen,’" says Barry, who used dark, smooth lake stones in the courtyard as a no-maintenance ground cover and to introduce a subtle Japanese theme. Indoors, the theme expresses itself in the openness of the spaces and their reductive palette, as well as in the Noguchi paper lamps, rice-paper sconces from Charles Jacobsen in Los Angeles and area rugs of rush matting, an allusion to tatami. An Edo-period wall hanging in the foyer and a brush painting of swimming koi over the living room mantel reinforce the reference. "The minute I saw the space, I thought, ‘It’s a vacation house in an elemental landscape,’" Barry says. "It should be easy. Less is more here."

As in more Zen, less golf. "There are no golf photos, golf books or golf stuff inside the house," says Glenn--although there are a dozen golf bags, as many pairs of golf shoes and a Champagne-colored golf cart charging its electric-powered engine in the garage. (Then again, aside from a beige Eagles baseball cap resting on a table and a collection of Douglas Kent Hall’s black-and-white concert photographs of famous rhythm-and-blues performers, you wouldn’t know that a musician, one partly responsible for the best-selling album of all time, Eagles-Their Greatest Hits: 1971-1975, lives here, either.)

"What we wanted was a place that would reflect everything our life isn’t, a place to slow down in and give ourselves a chance to think," says Glenn. And Barry seemed the perfect choice for the job. Except for the Freys’ one overriding concern--and that was disposed of in a single conversation.

"Barbara has amazing taste, especially for the finer things in life--and so do we," says Cindy. "But we also had to get across to her that this would be a sporty, outdoorsy house for the whole family. We’d be tracking in grass clippings, and the pool is right outside. We didn’t need the $200,000 Chinese silk carpet here. All those gorgeous things wouldn’t be given the care they needed or even be appreciated. And I think she really got it."

Indeed, the custom-made chairs and sofas by Charles Jacobsen and Christian Liaigre in the living room and adjacent television room are elegant and restrained. But they’re upholstered with durable canvas and sit atop sturdy area rugs made of rush matting imported from England. The high-gloss floors--actually the same poured concrete decking the designer specified for outdoors, except that it’s been scored, stained in a color Barry calls "pond-scum brown" and then treated with wax--are kid-friendly too. "It’s just one solid, hose-able surface," Glenn points out with satisfaction.

Barry considers it a stroke of luck that the house was only half-built when she came on board. While she didn’t have much sway regarding the overall structure, she did triumph in getting the builders to leave out certain spec-home "bonus frills." "They wanted to put a built-in bar there, and we said no," she says, pointing to a small alcove off the television room, where a low fifties-era chest of drawers and a sleek cocktail tray now stand. Gone is the bulbous, faux-adobe trim around the windows and over the doors that was used in the rest of the development; Barry even persuaded the builders to leave the trim off the house’s two hearths. She pats one of the modern-looking bronze-and-wood fireplace surrounds she designed to be almost flush with the wall: "We kept it clean."

True, these changes sound minor. But in a new town that heavily enforces visual uniformity; it’s amazing what Barry got past the rules committee. ("There no other home like ours out here, trust me," says Glenn.) Which isn’t to say it’s sui generis. The Freys’ Palm Springs house bears a striking resemblance to their house in L.A. The spatial relationships feel the same, as do the wonderfully varied textures and neutral colors. Of course, one explanation is that Barbara Barry is the common denominator. "This is one of my vases," says Barry, who designed not just the beautiful glass pitcher she holds (Baccarat), but the Freys’ bedframe and the crisp linen sheets they sleep on (Bagni Volpi Noemi). To the couple, the similarity makes going back and forth between the two cities less jarring. "I think that’s such a good thing," says Glenn. "It feels familiar here--it’s not such a departure."

When the Freys first bought the desert house, they didn’t know how often they’d be using it. Then they bought a place for Glenn’s parents that is so close, they can tool over on their golf cart and drop off the kids for a visit. Somewhere along the way, the couple started inviting about thirty of their good friends out once a year for Thanksgiving in the desert. "It’s great, says Cindy. "We put floating candles in the swimming pool. The gals get together and we cook, and the kids play football. It’s warm and everyone is together and it’s safe. We didn’t know this tradition was going to happen--it’s been such a nice surprise."

Other, smaller family rituals have developed as well. "One of the nicest things to do is to sit on the terrace at around four-thirty in the afternoon and have a glass of Champagne," says Glenn. "The kids are in the pool.The light is beautiful, there’s a breeze. It’s very healing."


A calm center for a high-spirited family--that’s what Barbara Barry set out to create for the Freys (opposite, clockwise from top): Deacon, Glenn, Taylor and Cindy. This page, top: The simple elements of the dining room include a Barry-designed table and a 1950s American sideboard from City Antiques in Los Angeles. Bottom: Barry suggested adding the courtyard’s ornamental pool.

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