Ex-Eagle Glenn Frey--The Party is Now!
BAM 1982

"Do you know me? I was co-leader of the most popular American band of the 1970's. I was co-writer and lead singer of hits like 'Take It Easy,' 'Already Gone,' 'Lyin' Eyes.' 'New Kid in Town' and 'Heartache Tonight' I've won four Grammys, have played to more people than the Pope, have enough gold and platinum records to open a bank, yet people don't always know my face. That's why I carry this--The American Express Card. Whether I'm buying a six-pack in Singapore or a gram in Ghana, the American Express Card lets me live my life in the style to which I am accustomed. If I didn't carry it, I'd be making a long run to the bank every day. The American Express Card. Don't leave home without it."

Chances are you won't be seeing Glenn Frey doing this fantasy commercial any time soon, though he would be perfect for the clever ad campaign. Virtually everyone who has listened to pop music during the past decade has heard his voice--warm with just a touch of sandpaper rasp--yet he could probably walk down the street of most American cities without drawing a second glance from young people who have committed entire Eagles albums to memory. The Eagles were always slightly mysterious and strangely aloof--an easy band to like but a difficult band to know. And that can be a problem if you're a member of a defunct band attempting to launch a solo career. Glenn Frey is aware of this problem, and that explains why the first two working titles of his recently released first solo album were Prelude to Obscurity and Do You Know Who I Used to Be?

Frey eventually settled on the title No Fun Aloud for his debut, a collection of ten songs that, with their occasional similarities to vintage Eagles tunes, should instantly inform radio listeners of who Glenn Frey "used to be." The first single pulled from the album, and infectious love celebration called "I Found Somebody," is already an AM hit, no doubt the first of several. Like every Eagles record, the album offers an appealing blend of mid-tempo rockers and ballads. Listeners will hear echoes of "The Long Run" in "I Found Somebody" and the lilting "I Volunteer." "All Those Lies" recalls "Witchy Woman," a hit on the first Eagles album. With its soft Spanish slant, "She Can't Let Go" brings to mind the mega-hit "New Kid in Town" to a degree. Frey says he doesn't think the record sounds much like an Eagles album but does comment, "I hope that hen they hear it people will say, 'Hey, I feel like I know this guy."

Lyrically, the album has none of the acid bite of an Eagles album. The songs are, with the exception of the rowdy frat anthem "Partytown," standard tales of love lost and found, albeit unusually literate and uncliched ones. Frey chalks this up to the happiness he's felt since the Eagles disbanded. "I'm having the best time of my life right now," he says. "It was time to lighten up a little bit. I wanted to enjoy this, you know what I mean?" It's clear that with he breakup of the Eagles, a great weight was lifted from Frey's shoulders. Though he is justifiably proud of that band's accomplishments, he also seems eager to leave the group in the 70s.

Frey used none of the Eagles on No Fun Aloud, opting instead to work with the cream of Muscle Shoals' musicians--drummer Roger Hawkins, bassist David Hood, guitarist Duncan Cameron and others--plus some LA studio regulars like guitarist Dan Kortchmar and bassist Bob Glaub. For all the variety of musical pairings, the album has a remarkably alive and cohesive sound. Frey himself handles all the lead guitar parts and some keyboard lines, proving himself to be an original stylist all the way around. In the Eagles' later days, guitarists Joe Walsh and Don Felder got most of the credit for the band's distinctive guitar sound, but Frey was always right in he middle of that hurricane, too, effortlessly interjecting tasteful runs and solos that lacked flash but that exuded taste. His solo on "I Volunteer" is an example of Frey's expressive style at it's best.

Five of the new album's ten songs were co-written by Frey and Jack Tempchin, best known for writing the early Eagles smash "Peaceful Easy Feeling." In addition, Frey co-wrote a beautiful ballad called "That Girl" (featuring some stunningly atmospheric electric piano work by Frey- with old friend and fellow Detroit native Bob Seger; ""All Those Lies" was penned by Frey alone; and there are two cover tunes: the classic rocker "Sea Cruise" and an obscure Johnny Taylor romp called "I've Been Born Again." The album as a whole has more of an R&B feel than most Eagles records, not surprising when you consider Frey's roots in Motown, but still jarring because in the Eagles, drummer/vocalist Don Henley (who co-wrote virtually every Eagles hit with Frey and usually one or two others) generally sang the more R&B oriented material, from "Witchy Woman" to "One of These Nights" to "The Long Run." Frey always seemed to reflect the group's softer side, and with the slight twang in his voice, he was best suited to the group's country-tinged material--ironic since Henley is a Texan.

The chemistry between Henley and Frey is clearly what made the band as successful as it was. Indeed, it would not be overstating matters to compare the duo favorably with Lennon and McCartney, for they never wrote a bad song. Their lyrics reflected a consummate craftsmanship yet rarely sounded forced, and their tunes, coupled with fine vocal work, and instrumental arrangements, landed them on or near the top of the charts with an almost frightening regularity. Out of six albums of original material (they also put out a greatest hits collection and a live LP), I think three qualify as genuine poop masterpieces: Desperado, a thoughtfully conceived and brilliantly executed country-rock concept album that masterfully equated rock and rollers with gunslingers of the old West; Hotel California, a razor-sharp, album-long indictment of modern California decadence that included two of rock's greatest songs, "Hotel California" and "Life in the Fast Lane", and hat turned out to be the group's last studio album, The Long Run, a dark, perceptive collection of tunes dealing with youth, the loss of innocence, corruption and survival. Pretty weighty stuff for a group of guys who started out as Linda Ronstadt's back-up band.

The actual break-up the Eagles is hard to pin down. As their manager Irving Azoff told Bib Hilburn of the LA Times recently, "The Eagles talked about breaking up from the day I met them." There were several personnel changes during the group's eleven year history, but the core of Henley and Frey was strong until the making of The Long Run. The pressure on the Eagles to top Hotel California was intense, to say the least, and in the end it was probably the group's perfectionism and their own desire to continually progress as artists that did them in. After the agonizing sessions for The Long Run Henley and Frey just sort of drifted apart, each eventually beginning work on solo projects. (Henley's LP, which reportedly has more of the Eagles' old lyric slants than Frey's record, should be out this month.) The Eagles dissolved more than hey split up. It's strange in a ways that this band of volatile talents ended to quote T.S. Eliot, "...not with a bang, but a whimper."

The Eagles were never fond of interviews; in fact there were rumors at one time that they used to carry a black book filled with names of critics they were going to "get" for writing nasty reviews of the band. I once had a firm commitment to do an Eagles piece in Dallas during The Long Run tour, only to have it fall apart two days before it was supposed to happen because another writer published something Henley and Frey didn't like. So it was with some trepidation that I entered into this interview with Frey. His reputation, as they say, preceded him.

As usually, I found the man nothing like the reputation. In a lot of ways Frey reminded me of his long-time friend and occasional collaborator JD Souther--warmly engaging, sometimes witty, and just a little bit cautious. With his rugged good looks and his obsession with sports, he comes off a little like a grown up fraternity brother. The day we spoke at a Hollywood sushi restaurant (of course) he seemed as concerned about how the LA Lakers were going to do in the sixth game of their playoff with Dr. J and the Philadelphia '76ers that evening, as how his record was doing on the charts. (He even had flown to Philly for the previous game.) At any rate, we did manage to get his mind off of Kareem and Magic Johnson long enough to chat about his album, his production work on Lou Ann Barton's impressive debut LP, and, of course, the Eagles

I'm a little unclear on the chronology of your album, whether you started it before or after the Eagles broke up.

It was after, basically. Two Septembers ago I had already told the band that it just wasn't happening and that I wasn't going to work on the live album. This was after the tour for The Long Run. I'd had it, I was fed up. I had some musical ideas I wanted to put on tape as demos, although at the time I didn't really have any idea they would become an album. So I called together some musicians that I wouldn't have called together except for demos and we cut a few tunes. Three takes each. It took us two days to do everything, but I was really pleased with them. They were a little rough but they sounded great.

Then I stopped to produce Karla Bonoff's record. I worked on that for six or eight weeks and then we went our separate ways and Kenny Edward finished it up. I went into the studio to cut my songs again but I realized that the demos were stronger than the new versions, so "I Volunteer" and "Don't Give Up" are actually the demos with just a little polishing. After that I cut some new stuff and then did some more writing. I set out to not spend a lot of time on it. I'd work in two week bursts an then live a little.

That sounds like the antithesis of the Eagles' recording experience.

Exactly. The studio should not be a negative experience. After a while it'll wear on you, and for the last nine months of The Long Run sessions I found myself like a kid in high school that doesn't want to get up and go to class in the morning. I felt like I'd rather sleep all day than work on the record. Usually, my attitude about the studio is, "This is fun. I have all these fantastic instruments to play with..." It should be uplifting, but it got to be a drag. I'm not the only one who thought so, either. We all did.

Poor Tim Schmit coming into the band then.

Oh yeah. Poor guy. (Laughs) "Tim here's a lot of money. How'd you like to be a witness to seven years of neuroses coming to a head?" Tim was great, really. He followed the path of least resistance and was a joy to work with, which was great because making The Long Run was such a struggle. That's when I decided I had to work in a different way, taking more time off. The whole time the Eagles were together that's all we did. I can count the number of two week vacations I've had over the last five years on one hand, and all of those weren't vacation as much as they were hospitalizing myself on a beach in Hawaii (Frey owns a house on Kauai's lush north shore, as well as a house in Coldwater Canyon.) I just ran out of gas finally.

Did you produce Lou Ann Barton's album before or after you'd finished yours?

Before, I was spending some time in New York and I ran into Jerry Wexler, who got me involved in that project with him. I scouted her in Dallas, loved what I heard, and then spent the summer of '81 working with Jerry and her down in Muscle Shoals. I didn't work on my album at all during that period, but I was so impressed with the players down there that I told 'em I'd be back to work on my album. I even wrote a couple more songs that I thought would be great for the Muscle Shoals rhythm section. Those guys are the best, man. After working there on my record, I went back to LA, wrote some more tunes with Jack Tempchin and finished it up fairly quickly.

How was it working in Muscle Shoals compared to LA?

It was great, but it was hard work. Up until recently, Muscle Shoals was in a dry county, so there was absolutely no night life. You have to drive 20 miles into Tennessee to even get a mixed drink. So there weren't as many distractions as there are in LA. It's very serene. You get up, you do your work, and you go home. I like that. I like to work when I'm "working". When you have five guys in a band like the Eagles, somebody's always late, and I hate that.

I did my fist demos for David Geffen, before the Eagles were even put together, at Muscle Shoals. It was called "Chug All Night" a song that's not exactly etched in the mind of record buyers. (Laughs). I cut that tune in 1971 and I came back to Muscle Shoals in '81. These cats down there can sure play.

I guess you get good when you play on a thousand records.

They work so well together. See, the Eagles weren't exactly the best-rehearsed studio band in the world. It took us a long time to cut the tracks, partly, I think, because Don and I were more gifted songwriters and singers than players. It took us a while to get it together on tape.

I always felt that the Eagles, and you in particular, were underrated as players. there was great variety on your tracks, and on your solo album you play some pretty hot guitar.

Well, I don't always bend 'em in tune and I don't have the greatest quiver in rock, but I get the job done usually. I kind of enjoyed playing a slightly more subordinate role in the Eagles. I was more like a Director of Player Personnel. I took a less active vocal role in the Eagles' last couple of albums, too, because Don is such a great singer. Don was perfect for most of the material we were writing. The last two years of the Eagles I might have been sandbaggin a little, too, thinking I might go out on my own. I didn't want people to hear too much of my voice and my playing.

So you were thinking about a solo career that long ago?

I'm a schemer. It crossed my mind. I began thinking about it seriously right about the time we started The Long Run

Was it at all strange working with different players for your own album? I' think that being the band for a long time would force you into writing for those particular players' eccentricities to a degree?

It did. But I must say, the guys in the Eagles were very versatile players. The nice thing about having three guitar players was that there wasn't a guitar part that one of the three of us couldn't handle. Unless a song absolutely called for an outside player--like using a sax or adding strings--we tried to cover it in the band. I can't think of a time when that didn't work out well, too. The Eagles was a strong band, and we really tried to use everybody's talents to the fullest.

Working with studio players is a little different in that you can match different players with the sound you're after and you're not limited. Each way of working has its good and band points.

You said that sometimes you would write with Don's voice in mind. Are those songs any less representative of what you were thinking and feeling than the ones you sang lead on?

No at all. Take a song like "One of These Nights," which Don and I wrote and I still feel real close to. We wrote that when we were just getting into our R&B period. With his gravelly voice, Don as the ideal candidate to sing anything that was in an R&B or hard rock vein. So we wrote it with his voice in mind. I can picture me at the piano playing chords and Don sitting next to me making stuff up. Those kinds of songs came easily, beautifully. The best Eagles songs sounded natural.

Even so, I consider it a major accomplishment any time I finish a song. (Laughs).

You're not prolific, eh?

Nah. I start a lot of songs but I don't finish one unless I think it's great. If prolific means churning out songs and having one out of five be good, then I'm not prolific. My attitude is, if I start a tune and it hangs around a little while--a couple of weeks--and it doesn't do anything for me after that, I can tell the song isn't worth finishing so I don't devote my energy to it. I think Jackson Browne is prolific. He writes a lot of songs and they're all good.

How in control was Bill Szymczyck on the Eagles albums? I always sensed that you and Henley were right behind him calling the shots in the studio.

We were all involved with those records. Bill provided a very unique and invaluable service for us. He was a great "listener" and he knew what all of us could do. "Producer" is such a nebulous term. You look at each person who calls himself a producer and you'll find he does something different. One thing I've found out since I started producing is that the more the artist knows the less I have to do. That doesn't mean you're less involved or that you couldn't get more involved if you need to, but you've got to give the artist some reins. Bill was very understanding in that regard which was more valuable than having him jack around with every arrangement on every basic track.

What I do when I'm producing is basically the same thing I did with the Eagles--get the basic track together, work on the arrangement for the rhythm action and the vocals. I was basically the arranger for the band, especially the vocals.

On Lou Ann's album, Jerry Wexler worked with Lou Ann, leading her through the recording, whereas I worked with the band more. Wexler had to leave after a point, though, so I supervised recording the overdubs, lead vocals and missing.

That's a great R&B record. I'm surprised it didn't do better commercially.

I think it was too real. She has a great original sound. You have to institutionalize yourself in the record business to get anywhere these days and that sometimes takes a few albums. She's going to happen. She's got great press, and I think the word is out that this gal is one hell of a singer. I think we made a record I'll still be listening to years from now.

Was it at all intimidating working with a producer with credentials like Jerry Wexler's?

Not at all. He's so fatherly and warm and together about everything. I think working with him, will be one of my greatest memories. What an incredible guy--he's like the Jewish Magellan, who sailed down the Mississippi and stopped in Memphis and then took the Tennessee River to Muscle Shoals. Aretha, Wilson Pickett, all those great soul singers did their best work with him.

Has working on your own album taught you anything about recording that you didn't know?

Not technically, but I think I've learned that I'm tired of making perfect records. I want to make natural records. There is a difference. Most of my favorite records aren't perfect. Jim Ed Norman reminded me about that, and it helped me get through the usual crises about whether everything was good enough, or in tune enough, or in time enough.

You're given to that sort of paranoia?

Not really, but I was exposed to a heavy dose of it from other people in the Eagles. (Laughs). That's not really true, because I wanted everything to be perfect in the Eagles, too. It's just that now I feel like people listen to what's good about your record. They don't listen to one note that you sang sharp in the second chorus of what is an otherwise perfect vocal track. Listen to Stones records. Mick Jagger doesn't always sing in perfect tune, but it doesn't matter. The sounds great. The records are natural sounding. So now I'm thinking about that when I make records. Not that I'm going to cheat, but you get to the point where you say, "Any more is just for me, and do I really want to put myself through this--sing this song for another three days so four more notes are in tune?" On No Fun Aloud I had Jim, Ed and Allen saying, "Sounds great. Close enough." And usually I agreed.

So you did have critical ears. I had wondered whether you missed the input from Henley and the others.

I was never without critical ears and conspirators. But also, if I may toot my own horn for a minute, I think I know what sounds good. I don't bring a song into the studio unless I'm totally satisfied with it. I like to have it wired top to bottom before I record it. At the same time, I'll fiddle with arrangements in the studio. I try to be flexible. I'm like Don Shula (coach of the Miami Dolphins). I've got a game plan, but I can coach during the game, too. I wonder how many people in rock and roll know the value of sports to a total understanding of life? (Laughs)

Do you carry a cut-throat sports mentality into your work?

I'm highly competitive. (Laughs) This is a highly competitive business we're in. There are a lot of bands, a lot of songwriters and there's only a certain amount of room on the top of Mount Moolah.

I see the Monstertones (a wild amalgam of crazed back-up singers first introduced on The Long Run's "The Greeks Don't Want no Freaks") appear on "Partytown" on your album.

Yeah. Jack Tempchin and I have written quite a few funny tunes for The Monstertones that didn't make it onto the album. We've got one called "The Transformation" about a Jekyll-Hyde character, and other that's an ode to Frankenstein called "My Monster Loves You," Actually, there's been some talk about putting out a whole Monstertones album.

Where does this obsession come from?

You don't know about "monstering"? (laughs) "Monstering" is when you start imbibing foreign substances--we'll call them that for the sake of my political future--that alter your consciousness and turn you into the party person you really are, a.k.a "monster." We started calling it "monstering" seven or eight years ago in the Eagles, so that when we'd all see each other the day after a gig we'd be getting on the place for the next city saying, "Did you monster last night?" or "How big a monster were you last night? Oh, a half monster." Or "Hey, I saw you last night and you were a FULL monster!" You know, your face does actually change when you party too much. (Laughs)

So the Monstertones are this backup group, and you can't even be in it unless you're really fucked up. You can't even get in unless you've had six beers, a few joints, some margaritas, you name it. The Montstertones don't even START singing until midnight. Normal people need not apply (Laughs)

How was writing with Jack Tempchin compared with writing with the Eagles?

Well, it's a different thing. Jack and I worked well together and we had a great time doing it. But there was less pressure on us because we'd never written before.

I don't follow you.

See, words are not really a renewable resource, Once you've used up certain symbols as a writer you've used them. One of the problems Don and I had near the end it that we'd used up our symbolism and it because harder to write. We'd written love song, life songs, fast lane songs. We'd sit down and try to write a song and remember that we'd used an idea in an earlier song.

I'm surprised you were that self-conscious about it.

Well, we cared. We didn't want to say the same thing over and over. Songs are like tattoos. You wear them the rest of your life. You can certainly deal with larger themes in different ways, but you have to keep an eye on it.

You said in an interview a few years ago that you and Don consciously moved away from desert and western imagery after a point, that you'd done it.

Yeah, and I've also now done a five-piece rock band so I don't have to do it again. (Laughs). No, that's true. On our first albums we used a lot of Southwestern imagery in our songs and on our covers, but when Bernie Leadon left and Don Felder came in, we started moving more towards R&B. For a while there we really were sort of the Songs of the Desert. Around the time of Hotel California we started to understand the tarnished side of all the stuff we'd been glorifying.

A major critic back East lambasted Hotel California because he felt that the Eagles were criticizing a lifestyle that you helped create.

I think that's totally false. First of all, we put ourselves right in the middle of the fold-out picture inside the album--right in the middle of the crazy stuff around us. We always felt that when we wrote songs like "King of Hollywood" that we were in those songs too. We'd had our "King of Hollywood" experiences. We were never throwing stones at glass houses. We always felt we were busting ourselves when we wrote "Life in the Fast Lane." it wasn't just us pointing a finger at other people. We were living it.

Is the darkness on that album and The Long Run reflective of your own feelings at the time?

I think Don and I were living in mutual darkness, though I don't think I felt as many pressures as Don did.

You know, I've been having so much fun away from the Eagles. It stopped being fun not because of the people involved, but because of the immensity of the band I helped build. It just got too fuckin'' big. It got so we had to sacrifice everything for this monster we'd created. I had a dark underbelly  we couldn't see for a while. And when the monster turns around you see that it owns you. To be real honest, I try not to think about the dark period at the end. I don't look back in anger because I'm trying to not look back at all.

I'm in a new cycle. Ten years ago I was 23. "Take it Easy" was on the radio and I wanted to be in a band that sold a lot of records, made me a lot of money, let me see the world and meet exciting people. I did all that and now I have other dreams. I want to be a respected producer who has never blown a project. I want to make my own records and have people enjoy those.

I need to get more involved with more things in my 30s. I don't want to work that long. I'm basically lazy. If had my druthers, I'd have my satellite dish and go to Kauai. I could pack it in. I don't have any problems financially, but I want to work for the next 10 years. I want to produce and be involved with 40 or 50 songs a year instead of the seven or eight Don and I would work on for a year and a half. That was good for my   20s, but I want a saner life where I'm more in control now. I was a good soldier of nine years. Fuck that. (Laughs).

I think people will be surprised at how soulful you sound on parts of your album. You're image is sort of, well, "white bread," though I gather you grew up listening to soul music.

I'm at least Roman Meal whole wheat. (Laughs) My roots are in R&B, in Motown. I grew up listening to the coolest black records in the world because Detroit was the center of the business. I used to drive around on this big eight-lane boulevard--Woodward Avenue--just like in American Grafitti, listening to the radio. So I heard The Beatles and the British Invasion stuff, all the California music--the Beach Boys, Byrds, Buffalo Springfield--and all the great soul records coming out of Motown, Memphis and New York. I listened to it all.

When did you first start playing an instrument?

I started taking piano lessons when I was 5. I did recitals, the whole thing. Actually, I think I was a better piano player than I am now. I got into the guitar a bit later.

What made you decide to move to California in the late '60s? Detroit had a decent rock scene. it had spawned Mitch Ryder and a few others.

Only a few were making it out of Detroit. And in the late '60s, Detroit was in a fake music boom. There were all these really terrible bands getting the attention--the MC5, the Scott Richard Case. As far as I was concerned, nobody except Bob Seger had a single ounce of talent. As soon as I got out of high school, I wanted to go to California. I'd sit and watch the sun set in the west every night and wonder, "What's going on in San Francisco right now?"

Do you still feel an affection for the late '60s?

Sure, a bit. The '60s had the right message but without the right sense of responsibility. I had a ball in the '60s. I didn't know what I was doing but I had a good time. Ed Sanders has a good quote. He said, "The 80s are going to punish the 70s for not being nicer to the 60s." I like that idea.

Why did you chose LA as the place to live when you came out here?

Simple--more record companies, more sunshine, more beautiful women.

JD Souther told me that when the two of you and Jackson Browne were living in Echo Park and starving, you all knew that eventually you'd make it in the music business.

You can never really know, but you've got to act like you know. you can't be short on confidence and expect to do well in the entertainment business. Having a lot of friends around helped. When one of us was down, the others would get us up. "Hey man, let's go down to the Troubadour. They love us down there." We met some great girls down there.

The first two Eagles albums had a lot of country flavors on them. Neither Poco nor the Burritos had been that successful, so what made you think the Eagles would catch on?

Two things: we had some good commercial songs and we had David Geffen behind us. Geffen was a big difference. He was a star on radio because he was the manager of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and Joni Mitchell. There was an article on him in Time that called him music's "Golden Boy." We benefited by having him become a star along with Asylum Records. Because of him we got our initial notoriety.

How does the whole Desperado image look to you in retrospect?

It looks like me when I was 24. Some things don't change, though. I'm still pissed off about certain things, and there are certain truths on Desperado that I still believe.

One thing we were conscious of in the early days was keeping and underdog frame of mind to keep us working hard. You never want to stop and pat yourself on the back and say, "You did it!" You've got to think that success hangs in the balance of the next project to keep that vitality, that edge. Desperado was partially us trying to remind ourselves not to let success go to our heads.

Did the East Coast criticism of the Eagles and the other West Coast bands bother you?

Not at all. It meant we were making money! (Laughs)

It's sometimes hard for me to think clearly about the way things were back then. It's like looking at another person's life. I see myself with hair down to my shoulders, chewing on a peyote bud, sitting on a rock looking for Mescalito, and I think, "Who is this hippie?" I don't relate to that anymore. The party is now.

It seems as though the last few years of the Eagles, you played stadiums and huge arenas exclusively. Did you ever miss the intimacy of smaller venues?

Sure, but really, there's nothing more exciting in the world--though I haven't witnessed the birth of a child, which I imagine would supercede this--than when you take a jet helicopter from Manhattan, fly around the Statue of Liberty and over to Meadowlands Stadium and see 90,000 people there waiting to hear you play. You land, go to your dressing room, tune up, and then suddenly you're out there playing the opening chords of "Hotel California" while everyone goes crazy. There's nothing like that rush. No drug in the world will get you that high.

We played a few shows at the Santa Monica Civic for the live album, and that was a lot of fun because it does have some of that intimacy. We hadn't played a 3,000 seater in six years when we played those shows. I'm going to be playing halls that size with a band this fall.

Your albums have produced on hit after another over the past ten years, and now it looks like No Fun Aloud is going to be a big hit too. Do you consciously write commercial material?

You bet. I feel my job is to communicate and that means reaching a lot of people. I'm not making records for 50 people in Coldwater Canyon to get together and say, "This is the best use of a sequencer every done but nobody outside of our elite will know about it." I write in the art form of the popular song. I think America wants songs it can sing and tap its foot to. That's what I'm writing. And it's hard to do.

Are you ready for the inevitable Eagles comparisons?

I'd be proud to be compared with the Eagles, just like when we were starting out, we got compared with Crosby, Stills & Nash, the Everly Brothers, Poco, the Beach Boys. That was fine. Being compared with the Eagles would put me in pretty good company.

Blair Jackson

Return to Article Index