We had a sports department staff meeting Wednesday, and it was mandatory, which means that almost everybody had to go. Attendance was much larger than usual, however, and the attendees were dressed more sporty, I guess is the term, than usual. Oh, I know. The Eagles were playing in Charlotte that night.
The Eagles are one of those bands that almost everybody of a certain age likes. Scott Fowler likes them, and wrote a nice review of their concert in today's CLT section. Mike Persinger likes them, David Poole likes them, Stan Olson likes them and Ron Green Jr. likes them.
I never got them. They always struck me as bland. I think you have to own three or more pair of khaki pants to appreciate them, and I don't.
I met Joe Walsh, the guitarist, when I was in high school. His band, the James Gang, was playing in a big tent with other unknown bands at the Minnesota State Fair. At least four people crowded around them. Walsh and I started talking and he said, "Watch." And a guy would walk past and Walsh would replicate the guy's walk with his guitar. The guy would stop and look and Walsh would stop playing. Then the guy would start walking and Walsh would start playing. Whatever sound the crowd made, he would play.
It was great stuff and I bought everything the James Gang put out. Then Walsh joined the Eagles and the Eagles had no room for a virtuoso. So he buried his gifts. He took one for the team.
See, when I bought my first records, they were R&B. I had to go downtown to find them. So while my friends were buying the Beatles -- and I like the Beatles -- I was buying Joe Tex and James Brown. When I bought my first DVD player, I bought two boxed sets: Led Zeppelin and Otis Redding.
Michael Bolton covered "Dock of the Bay," the brilliant song Redding wrote with Steve Cropper. I was hurt, offended and betrayed by Bolton's preening rendition. Years later I was dating a woman, and she was driving the car in front of mine, and the music was cranked up and her long blonde hair was flying as she shook her head to the beat.
When we reached our destination, I asked her what she was listening to.
Michael Bolton, she said.
Despite her long blonde hair, the relationship ended that night.
I never asked her if she liked the Eagles. But I suspect that she did.