By day, the stardom-obsessed City of Angels depicted on the Eagles' The Long Run is a dreary land of blank vistas and empty promises, baking slowly under an unsentimental sun. But when the night comes, the landscape is suddenly infested with mad shadows: inky, menacing configurations that provide an ominous depth. Unbridled by reality, this is the time when desperate dreams emerge from their lairs. Such dreams stalk the back streets, bistros, board rooms and bedrooms where the deals for success are struck -- and then metamorphose into nightmares.

The Long Run, the Eagles first album in three years, is a chilling and altogether brilliant evocation of Hollywood's nightly Witching Hour, that nocturnal feeding frenzy where the desperado and the ghoul are employed as antiromantic symbols of the star caught in the devil's bargain. And both eventually come to realize that they have to give up the guise of observers and confess their roles as participants.

On first listening, The Long Run seems a modest, flawed project that's virtually devoid of gloss, catchy hooks and flashy invention that typified earlier Eagles records. The title tune sets an unambitious tone: the group lopes along in a familiar country-rock framework, singing about youthful hopes and the virtues of tenacity. But it slowly comes apparent that the "long run" is a metaphor for a host of secret concerns and passions that are either career- or relationship- oriented. The cards have all been dealt and played, and all that remains is to tally the terrible cost: "Who is gonna make it/We'll find out in the long run."

Overall, The Long Run is a synthesis of previous macabre Eagles motifs, with cynical new insights that are underlined by slashing rock & roll. There's a stark simplicity to the album, especially when compared with the hyperslick Hotel California. Not a collection of hot car-radio singles, The Long Run is easily the band's most un commercial effort. Vocally, instrumentally and lyrically, the Eagles' trademark of coy cleverness has largely been replaced by a raw, direct approach. The songs are of a piece, each one complementing and building on the other with a total effect that's shattering.

The Long Run closes with "The Sad Cafe," a dirgelike hymn to the Troubadour, the legendary Los Angeles saloon that sheltered the Eagles and so many of their cohorts in their scuffling days, providing a stage on which they could express themselves, and a bar at which they could forget about themselves. Clustered around the bar, the Eagles admit that the long run was never a roll of the dice as much as a conscious attempt to outrace their demons. It seems that the drive for success is a kind of black hole in the center of the soul -- a black hole that sucks in and devours most of the feelings, lovers or oneself.

The Long Run is a bitter, wrathing, difficult record, full of piss and vinegar and poisoned expectations. Because it's steeped in fresh, risky material and unflinching self-examination, it's also the Eagles' best work in many, many years.

- Timothy White, Rolling Stone, 11-15-79.

Bonus Reviews!

The first Eagles' album since Hotel California was issued in December 1976 is a perfectly balanced set of midtempo ballads and raw, urgent rockers. There's even one oddball number thrown in for comic relief: "The Greeks Don't Want No Freaks," with its weird background vocals by the Monstertones featuring Jimmy Buffett. Two of the best cuts are "Those Shoes," featuring a talk box guitar gimmick that seems to say "butt out" and "The Sad Cafe," a midtempo ballad featuring a striking alto saxophone solo by David Sanborn. Outside writers here include Barry DeVorzon, who cowrote "In The City" from the film The Warriors, and Bob Seger and J.D. Souther, who cowrote "Heartache Tonight," the vital, dynamic rocker that is the first single from the set. Best cuts: "Heartache Tonight," "In The City," "The Disco Strangler," "King Of Hollywood," "The Sad Cafe."

- Billboard, 1979.

At first listen, the new Eagles album, The Long Run, sounds like a press release from the ontology department of the California Institute for the Mellow. Cuts such as "In the City," "The Disco Strangler" and "King of Hollywood" describe that vapid kind of angst, that vague existential discomfort Southern Californians are prone to contract. Bimbo starlets, power-crazed moguls, urban cowboys all dressed up with nowhere to go -- haven't we had enough of that already? Evidently not. But be forewarned: One man's plaintive melody is another man's whine. It's not that the album is terrible -- some of it is very good ("I Can't Tell You Why," "The Sad Café") -- but after three years, one hoped for better things to come from so stellar a group as the Eagles. The Long Run caused them to get out of breadth.

- Playboy, 3-80.

The long-awaited follow-up to Hotel California and the Eagles' last studio album proved a considerable disappointment, although it sold in the expected multimillions and included the hits "Heartache Tonight," "The Long Run," and "I Can't Tell You Why." * * *

- William Ruhlmann, The All-Music Guide to Rock, 1995.

The Long Run is another sharp, skillful work marked by the title track and Timothy Schmit's aching love song "I Can't Tell You Why." * * * *

- Gary Graff, Musichound Rock: The Essential Album Guide, 1996.

The disjointed but catchy batch of tunes that presaged the breakup of LA's famous band on this cynical follow-up to Hotel California is even darker, but a great swansong. Fans feel it has some wonderful moments and newcomer Timothy B. Schmit's high-range vocals on "I Can't Tell You Why" are excellent, yet critics carp that "Joe Walsh is the album's only saving grace -- it's bloated '70s indulgence at its worse," so let's make it a short run! * * * *

- Zagat Survey Music Guide - 1,000 Top Albums of All Time, 2003.

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