I Had A Dream … About The Eagles

I’ll be upfront about this:  I can’t stand The Eagles.  I loathe Don Henley and Glenn Frey’s egomania, and when Henley decided that he was going to be the spokesperson for political progressives back in 1992, it made me detest him more. It’s not that I disagree with his politics (I don’t), I just couldn’t stand how self-righteous he was.  I mean he made Bono look modest by comparison — and that’s not an easy thing to do!

But it’s really their music that I’ve grown tired of, and I really blame radio for that.  You see, because so many radio stations play the Eagles as part of their core artists, and they play their songs over and over and over, whatever joy I used to derive from their music has completely evaporated.

Also, after reading about what douchebags Don Henley and Glenn Frey were back in the day, it’s just fuels my rage.  I know people just love this band, and can listen to their classic country-rock without any emotion other than delight, but for me there’s just something about their music that makes me groan and grit my teeth.  So it may come as a surprise that I had a dream about the band that was kind of weird — weird because I was at one of their concerts.

In the dream, I show up at some venue where they are supposed to play (but it’s only Henley and Frey), and there are a bunch of really old people in the audience all pretty happy to be there.  The lights eventually dim, and the Henley and Frey take the stage, and start tuning their guitars.  This goes on for an inordinate amount of time (about 20 minutes), but he audience is really forgiving.  I hear comments like “Oh, they have to get it just right before playing.” Or, ” I love it that they are such perfectionists!”  Then at one point, the guys get it together and start playing “Desperado,” only to stop after the opening verse and start tuning their guitars again.  Henley eventually walks off the stage to look for another guitar, and Frey is busy trying to tune his guitar to his satisfaction.  Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I start to leave, but people in the audience ask me to stay because they just know that it’s going to be a magical show.  I tell them I’m going to the bathroom, and head for the exit.  Once outside, I can still hear the feint sound of Frey tuning his guitar and people praising every note his striking.  Me?  I’m shaking my head at the fact that 1. I actually went to see the band in concert. And 2. That people were so in to the band they would sit there watching them wank away at fine tuning their guitars.

Once I woke up, I told Julie about the dream and wondered why my subconscious would mess with me like that.  Who really knows, but Mojo Nixon kind of sums up how I feel (in a metaphorical sense):

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