Heaven and Hell: My Life in the Eagles (50 page)
Read Heaven and Hell: My Life in the Eagles Online
Authors: Don Felder,Wendy Holden
Tags: #Arts & Photography, #Music, #Musical Genres, #Popular, #Rock, #Biographies & Memoirs, #Arts & Literature, #Composers & Musicians, #Entertainers, #Memoirs, #Humor & Entertainment, #Theory; Composition & Performance, #Pop Culture
BOOK: Heaven and Hell: My Life in the Eagles
11.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Don Henley, alias Grandpa, was scheduled to come in last, after everyone else had finished, because every hair on his entire body would have stood straight on end if he had heard the first takes.
Trouble was, we weren’t at the Record Plant or Criteria. Glenn was at his home in Hawaii, playing golf or doing some corporate show for big bucks—a lucrative new sideline of his. Don was on tour or busy in Dallas or promoting his new pet project, the Recording Artists’ Coalition, professing equality for musicians in the business, campaigning to change what he called the unfair practices of record companies.
Nobody seemed to be talking to anyone else. Joe and Tim were scheduled to come in at separate times from me. Nothing I said seemed to matter. I felt our sound had become glossy, corporate, less human, and in my opinion, downright lousy, if you want to know the truth. Then again, the album’s later sales show that millions of people disagreed, so what did I know? They just don’t know what they’re missing.
Despite Irving’s repeated warnings
not to make waves, I never stopped asking to see the various documents that would allow me and my attorneys to assess the deals that Don, Glenn, and Irving were making, especially this new one, which could potentially be our most important. Because of my continued interest in the current negotiations, many of the feelings that had been harbored against me in the seventies and eighties resurfaced. I was made to feel isolated and out of the loop once more. For whatever reason, the Triumvirate didn’t like me asking too many questions.
not to make waves, I never stopped asking to see the various documents that would allow me and my attorneys to assess the deals that Don, Glenn, and Irving were making, especially this new one, which could potentially be our most important. Because of my continued interest in the current negotiations, many of the feelings that had been harbored against me in the seventies and eighties resurfaced. I was made to feel isolated and out of the loop once more. For whatever reason, the Triumvirate didn’t like me asking too many questions.
Maybe because of my newfound courage from having just dealt with the unhappiness of my marriage, I didn’t take Irving’s warnings too seriously. Susan and I had a long way to go before we’d be talking again, but the fact that I had faced up to the demise of my marriage and come out the other side lulled me into a false sense of security as to how much I could push a situation. Incident after incident with Don, Glenn, and Irving made me realize that the time was coming when I would have to stand up to “The Gods” as well, and say or do something to stop them treating the rest of us like lowly subordinates. A classic example was that of Timothy Drury and John Corey. Timothy was a multitalented musician who toured with us for years and who’d played on Don’s solo tours before that. John, who played keyboards, was much the same and had cowritten some of Don’s solo songs.
Timothy had written a short classical segue, a beautiful piece of music that he played on a piano during the intermission of each show every night during the
Hell Freezes Over
tour. John played the string part so that it sounded like an orchestral introduction. When that music started, we knew, on cue, that half of us would walk out from stage left and half from stage right, our gait in perfect time to the music, and set up on five stools placed at the front of the stage. Just as we all sat down, the music would end, and Glenn would say, “Hi, and welcome back to the second half of our show,” and we’d launch into an acoustic version of “Tequila Sunrise.” It worked like a dream.
Hell Freezes Over
tour. John played the string part so that it sounded like an orchestral introduction. When that music started, we knew, on cue, that half of us would walk out from stage left and half from stage right, our gait in perfect time to the music, and set up on five stools placed at the front of the stage. Just as we all sat down, the music would end, and Glenn would say, “Hi, and welcome back to the second half of our show,” and we’d launch into an acoustic version of “Tequila Sunrise.” It worked like a dream.
When it came to putting together the music for the box set, I heard that Don, Glenn, and Irving decided that they wanted to use that little piece of music that Timothy had written and played live. He was delighted, thinking he’d have a tiny slice of the lucrative writers’ and publishers’ royalties on an Eagles record, but that wasn’t the deal.
Irving told him he just wanted to do a buyout and offered Timothy a couple of thousand dollars.
Timothy was horrified but had told me it was a take-it-or-leave-it deal.
Timothy couldn’t believe it. He’d let the Eagles use that piece of music over and over for six years. He’d been pounding around on the road with us for all these years. The music was not included.
Fred Walecki,
our old friend from Westwood Music, developed throat cancer that year and had to have his voice box removed. Days after his surgery, which cost six figures and wasn’t fully covered by his medical insurance, Bernie Leadon contacted Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt, and Glyn Johns—the English producer who’d put the first Eagles albums together and shared Bernie’s country rock vision—and the four of them decided to organize a benefit gig. Word hit the streets, and a veteran lineup of California’s finest musicians agreed to play the gig that August. Among them were Don Henley, Randy Meisner, Graham Nash, David Lindley, David Crosby, Linda Ronstadt, Chris Hillman, and Ry Cooder. Over two nights at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, the friends of Fred Walecki stepped up and played, as Fred sat, with his new electronic voice box, in a seat of honor at the front of the stage.
our old friend from Westwood Music, developed throat cancer that year and had to have his voice box removed. Days after his surgery, which cost six figures and wasn’t fully covered by his medical insurance, Bernie Leadon contacted Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt, and Glyn Johns—the English producer who’d put the first Eagles albums together and shared Bernie’s country rock vision—and the four of them decided to organize a benefit gig. Word hit the streets, and a veteran lineup of California’s finest musicians agreed to play the gig that August. Among them were Don Henley, Randy Meisner, Graham Nash, David Lindley, David Crosby, Linda Ronstadt, Chris Hillman, and Ry Cooder. Over two nights at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, the friends of Fred Walecki stepped up and played, as Fred sat, with his new electronic voice box, in a seat of honor at the front of the stage.
Randy, Bernie, and Don all played separately. Randy brought his own band and sang “Take It to the Limit” and “Already Gone,” Don sang “Desperado” and a couple of his solo hits. Bernie stayed onstage most of the night as a backup musician, but they never all played together. Randy’s wife, who wanted a photograph of her husband with Don Henley, approached him with her camera and asked him if he’d mind posing. Without saying a word, Don turned on his heel and walked away.
I was very hurt not to have been invited along. I knew Fred well and would have gladly volunteered my services. I knew most of the people on that stage intimately, and yet no one had thought to pick up the phone. I began to wonder how much my ongoing negotiations with Irving and “The Gods” were affecting every aspect of my life, including my associations with such good friends in the business.
Later that year, I finally moved off the boat and started looking around for someplace of my own to live. I decided to rent a house in L.A. to begin with, until I could find what I wanted to buy. The divorce negotiations were proceeding at a snail’s pace, now that Susan’s lawyers were involved—even though I’d told her from the start that I was happy for her to have half of everything I owned. I didn’t yet know exactly how much I’d be left with or even if I wanted to stay in L.A.
There were times when I wondered where my life was leading. I was homeless, divorcing, and without any sense of self-worth. I hated myself for what I’d done to my family, I resented Irving and “The Gods” for what they were doing to me, and I longed for a return to the happier days of my youth, when the Eagles were just starting out and Susan and I were different people.
“I feel like we’re on the brink of something here,” I’d said in the Miyako Hotel in San Francisco the night she’d first told me she was pregnant. “Like this could really be the beginning, you know?” Twenty-nine years on, and it felt like everything was ending. The brink I faced now was far less appealing.
During the extremely dispiriting process of being newly single after almost three decades of marriage, while searching for a small rental house on my own, something extraordinary and totally unexpected happened. I met Kathrin Nicholson who made me feel as if I’d tripped and fallen into heaven. From the moment I set eyes on her, it was like I’d been reunited with someone I’d been madly in love with for hundreds of years. Kathrin was beautiful and, although almost twenty years younger than me, had a wise head on her shoulders. She was like a bright light illuminating the darkest period of my life, a lighthouse on a stormy coast, as steadfast as could be, showing me the way. Believe me, I have clung to that light beam ever since.
After months
of trying to find out the details of the deal from Irving, I was finally told. A new company called NEA had been set up to handle the box set, with Don and Glenn as its sole owners.
of trying to find out the details of the deal from Irving, I was finally told. A new company called NEA had been set up to handle the box set, with Don and Glenn as its sole owners.
I was never told what NEA stood for. I assumed it was New Eagles Agreement, although it might well have been Never Expect Anything. Elektra, with distribution through Giant Records, Irving’s company, was releasing the box set, called
Selected Works 1972
-
1999
, in November 2000, in time for the Christmas market. Music from the Millennium gigs would feature on the last of four discs.
Selected Works 1972
-
1999
, in November 2000, in time for the Christmas market. Music from the Millennium gigs would feature on the last of four discs.
When I called Irving and dared to suggest that what he was suggesting might not be fair, the man who’d once said he had more money than God was unequivocal.
“If you don’t sign that fucking deal,” he screamed at me over the telephone with that terrifying, booming voice of his, “you’ll never set foot onstage with these guys again.” And I was paying him commissions?
Furious, I screwed all my courage up into a ball and yelled back. “Don’t talk to me like that, Irving,” I shouted. “Do you ever call up Don and Glenn and scream at them over the phone? If you want to talk to me reasonably about this, then call me back when you’ve calmed down, but don’t fucking scream at me. You’re supposed to be my manager too, remember?”
To my amazement, Irving apologized and seemed calmer for a day or two, but within the week, he was back on the phone, swearing and cursing and threatening. Don and Glenn were out of town and permanently unavailable. I hadn’t had any contact with either of them since New Year’s Eve. When I told Irving I wanted to speak to them, he went into the stratosphere. “Don’t you dare call those guys,” he shrieked. “They’ll freak out if you do, and that’ll be the end of it.” I didn’t know which way to turn.
I knew Irving was playing everybody off against everyone else, as he always did, and that I was probably being portrayed as the one who was unnecessarily delaying matters for the box-set deal, which had to be in the stores by Christmas. I was depicted as “the wrench in the works.”
Whatever reservations Timothy and Joe may have had privately, they signed the agreement without question, leaving me completely isolated. I agonized over what to do and spoke to my lawyers about my legal position, but it was obvious I had no real choice.
As one musician who worked with them had once told me prophetically, “We’re just pumping gas in Mr. Henley’s gas station.”
It felt to me like we’d all been on the same farm eating from the same trough, but two pigs had gotten so fat they were crowding everyone else out. If I were to try to force myself into the trough, I’d be run off the farm. I didn’t want that to happen. The farm was all I knew. Reluctantly and with bile in my throat, I signed their damn papers. The so-called equal partnership was over.
Christmas 2000
was to be my first on my own, without my family. I didn’t have any lights or any ornaments. I’d only just moved off the boat and was living in much reduced circumstances. Kathrin, ever sensitive to my emotional needs and worried for my health since the band had steamrollered me, came up with an idea.
was to be my first on my own, without my family. I didn’t have any lights or any ornaments. I’d only just moved off the boat and was living in much reduced circumstances. Kathrin, ever sensitive to my emotional needs and worried for my health since the band had steamrollered me, came up with an idea.
“I know,” she said, brightly. “Let’s buy a small Christmas tree and invite a few close friends and ask each one to bring an ornament for a festive tree-trimming party. That way, we can start again with our very own decorations.” Her suggestion was so genuine and heartfelt, I could have wept.
We invited a bunch of people, including Joe Walsh and Timothy Schmit, to come and help us in our small celebration. I didn’t invite Glenn, Don, or Irving, none of whom I’d seen since being forced to sign the new agreement, and not just because of the delicate situation with them, but also because, frankly, I was embarrassed about where and how I was living. Irving’s main house is a $25 million mansion in Beverly Hills. Glenn has a similar, $10 million house nearby, and Don’s, in Dallas, is even more impressive. I was renting a one-bedroom single-story building off Mulholland Drive, living out of suitcases, my belongings packed in lockers in a downtown storage unit.
I’ll admit that, with the way I felt that they were bludgeoning me emotionally and financially, I also didn’t feel inclined to invite them into my home at that time. Apart from the unexpected delight of having Kathrin in my life, I was miserable enough about everything without having to put on a fake smile. In any event, neither Joe nor Tim turned up anyway. Their ornaments arrived courtesy of Federal Express.
When Sean, a kid from Irving’s office, came around that holiday season with the usual van full of Christmas gifts from the Eagles and Irving’s office, the back of his “sled on wheels” was laden with huge baskets of fruit and flowers, toiletries and candy, ostentatiously wrapped in cellophane and ribbons, being sent out to everyone connected with the band.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Felder,” the young assistant told me as I opened the door to my house and prepared to help him carry my gifts inside.
“Merry Christmas, Sean,” I said, managing a smile.
As I stood watching, he reached into the back of the van and pulled out two small presents. They were from Timothy and Joe.
“Is that it?” I said, staring at him at disbelief.
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Felder,” Sean said, before jumping into the driver’s seat and driving off with the rest of his goodies. For the first time in decades, neither Irving nor Don had sent me a thing. I stood there shivering in the driveway as the electric gates slid shut behind him.
Other books
Two for Protection by Marissa Dobson
A Whisper After Midnight by Christian Warren Freed
Froi of the Exiles by Melina Marchetta
The Karma Club by Jessica Brody
IrishAllure by Louisa Masters
Casa capitular Dune by Frank Herbert
Almost an Outlaw by Patricia Preston
Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride by Sandra D. Bricker
Agent S5: Jaydan by Joni Hahn
Dark Possession by Phaedra Weldon