Here's all you need to know about the actual concert last Sunday at the World Arena: Yes, they sounded great. Yes, they gave the audience what they wanted ("Take It Easy," "Witchy Woman," "Desperado," "Hotel California," "Life in the Fast Lane"). And yes, the audience (including this geezer) loved it.
That out of the way, let's get down to business.
First, the Eagles still look like the Eagles, but old. Glen Frey looks good, but age-appropriate. Don Henley, like any geeze trying to look a little younger, has a strangely spiky hairdo (little control paste there, huh, Don?). Timothy B. Schmitt still has bizarrely long, early-'70s hair and it's still brown (hmm, who's your colorist, Tim?). And Joe Walsh? -- Well, he's evolved from a strangely cheerful, weird little guy to a strangely cheerful, even weirder, old guy.
Absent a gleaming white sheet of ice, and with a profusion of raw concrete, steel girders and gray paint, the World Arena felt like a missile storage facility in South Dakota. But nobody cared; the crowd screamed its adoration like preteens at an 'N Sync show. And like an 'N Sync concert, one effect was conspicuously absent: the sweet smell of cannabis. It's still Colorado Springs, after all.
The stage show, if you can call it that, hasn't changed in a quarter of a century. It's just four badly dressed guys playing their tunes. They amble back and forth on stage, with expressions both pleased and gloomy. Once, in a Temptations-influenced move, they lined up together and did an arthritic little jump. The audience roared. Duuuudes!!!
And what about the audience? Mostly nonsmokers, judging from the tiny number of lighters brandished by folks begging for an encore at the end of the concert. And not quite as geezed as the performers -- lots of young folks and lots of pretty girls scattered among the gray hairs in the front few rows. In fact, the Eagles wrote a song about that ("a rich old man, she won't have to worry"), they sang it, and it was great. And if you disagree, well, you can go burn your AARP card for all I care.
-- John Hazlehurst