{"id":22553,"date":"2025-07-04T09:06:47","date_gmt":"2025-07-04T13:06:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/?p=22553"},"modified":"2025-07-04T09:06:47","modified_gmt":"2025-07-04T13:06:47","slug":"soft-rock-denim","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/moans-from-the-condiment-fridge\/soft-rock-denim\/","title":{"rendered":"SOFT ROCK DENIM"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cI\u2019ve had a rough night, and I hate the fucking Eagles, Man!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

–Jeffrey \u201cThe Dude\u201d Lebowski.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

 <\/p>\n

OCTOBER 12TH 1976, MIAMI, FL<\/b><\/p>\n

Smooth vibes lit up the corner inside Criteria Recording Studio. Chill vibes. Loose vibes. Pop rock and gooey gum love vibes. Let\u2019s all get along and touch the possibility vibes. Mom\u2019s inspirational notes tucked inside a lunch box vibe. For both Don Felder and Randy Meisner, those were the right vibes to start recording the song Felder wrote, \u201cSmooth and Soft Times Across Denim Dreams.\u201d Both Felder and Randy were positive they\u2019d finally be able to get one past Glenn and Henley. Felder had spent the previous month writing the lyrics, rewriting, and strumming his air guitar in his cardboard box in the Hamptons. He called Randy to assure him he had the song of the century. Randy masturbated, not because he wanted Felder, but because to finally get a song onto an album not written by Henely and Frey was the chalice of their dreams.<\/p>\n

Through the door, the new band member, Joe Walsh, walked in. Stinking of rum, cocaine, and hookers, he shook his head, \u201cI can\u2019t believe it has come to this. I\u2019m the mother fucker who wrote the killer tune, \u2018Funk 49,\u2019 but now I am here among velvet couches and James Taylor posters.\u201d Randy waved to Joe. Joe didn\u2019t return the wave. He walked over to his corner of the studio and started to strum his guitar. Felder, in awe, untucked his Poco shirt, and rolled a spliff.<\/p>\n

\u201cFeel like getting into the smooth zone, Felder?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure thing, Randy. I think I need to be good and smooth if I\u2019m going to let Henley and Frey read my song.\u201d<\/p>\n

Next through the studio doors, a slender figure, who looked more like he spent the last decade free basing coke than being on a creamy vegan diet, appeared underneath the lights in front of the microphone. Joe Walsh didn\u2019t care about the man standing there in nothing but cutoff jean shorts. No shirt to speak of, no shoes, nor shirt, like he\u2019d woken up in his king-sized bed and walked over to the studio.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Felder, it\u2019s Frey,\u201d Randy said passing the joint.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe isn\u2019t just smooth, Randy, he\u2019s yacht rock delicious.\u201d Felder Replied.<\/p>\n

Randy had no idea what he meant by “yacht rock delicious,” as the term had yet to be invented, but he liked the vibes brother Felder was putting down.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey guys, I had JD Southerner on the phone, and we were writing lyrics for a song. Check out these lyrics,\u201d Glenn said. \u201cIt\u2019s sure to be a hit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Randy and Felder sat adoringly at the feet of Saint Frey, unfortunately seeing his nut sack dangling from his cutoff shorts. Joe Walsh didn\u2019t budge from his spot, choosing to think about the time he shot up heroin with The Mamas and The Papas. \u201cWhat kind of denim shirt nightmare have I gotten myself into?\u201d he mumbled, taking a swill from a bottle of Jack Daniels.<\/p>\n

Frey straightened his back and sang the gospel of delight, \u201cJohnny-come-lately. The new kid in town. Everybody loves you. So don\u2019t let them down.\u201d<\/p>\n

Felder fainted; Randy spread his arms like an airplane and started to fly himself around the room. \u201cGlenn, after hearing that, I\u2019m convinced you are better than Jagger and Richards. Holy, jingle bells, Frey, it\u2019s like I consumed a bunch of Frey Fiber, and I feel regular now. Brilliant lyrics, brother, brilliant.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTalk about some John Lennon shit,\u201d Felder said, pulling himself up off the floor. \u201cWhen you tore into those lyrics and said, ‘so don\u2019t let them down,’ I was like damn man, it doesn\u2019t get any more chill than that. Chill like a vegetable garden dripping with morning dew.\u201d<\/p>\n

Glenn stuck out his hand like the Pope of Miami and let both Randy and Felder kiss his hand a dozen times. Glenn stuck his hand towards Walsh. Joe strummed his Les Paul and gave Frey the middle finger. Glenn shrugged his shoulders, understanding all too well that Walsh would eventually conform to the brand of oat milk Glenn was singing.<\/p>\n

\u201cHenley\u2019s going to love that shit, Glenn,\u201d Randy said. \u201cFuck man, ‘The New Kid in Town,’ indeed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou just cussed, Randy,\u201d Felder said, holding up the swear jar.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere is the maestro?\u201d Glenn asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s on his way,\u201d Randy said. \u201cHe had to make a few stops.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHope he\u2019s bringing the vibes tonight. I\u2019m getting tired of Henley thinking he\u2019s all that just because he got a man perm,\u201d Glenn replied.<\/p>\n

The three of them gathered around the microphone and belted out the lyrics Glenn provided.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what this tune needs?\u201d Randy said. \u201ca little razzle dazzle, some guitarron Mexicano.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I have a boner,\u201d Frey replied. \u201cWow, your time in Poco really supplied the missing smooth ingredient to the song. Let me go call Southerner. Fuck. I\u2019m bumping you up from two percent to three percent of the royalties.\u201d Felder looked at Frey like a puppy dog. \u201cNo Felder, you are still working for free.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Joe Walsh strummed a riff on his guitar, unbeknownst to him, which would later become the riff to \u201cA Life of Illusion\u201d six years down the line. He wanted to share it with his new bandmates, but watching Felder and Randy have tickle fights pissed him enough to forget the riff instantly. But they all stopped when the doors opened, and dry ice smoke blasted into the studio.<\/p>\n

A mariachi band playing fifty guitars walked through the smoke and formed two lines. They kept playing in the two uniform lines. Next, two priests tossing holy water around the room, they both prayed in Latin. They were followed by two bikini-clad women riding tigers through the two mariachi lines. They waved at the entire room as if they were queens at the Rose Bowl Parade.<\/p>\n

Through the smoke one leg stepped on the plush carpet, clad in tight flared denim pants. It was simply how Don Henley arrived everywhere he went. A man-perm extravaganza exploded all around the studio. Henley, with his denim shirt only halfway buttoned up, showed chest hair regalia. Tiny women disco danced on his tight brown perm. His boots were made of pure smooth denim from a town outside Fresno called Denim City. With each step Henley took a woman in another city had an orgasm. He snapped his fingers and everything instantly vanished, Joe Walsh belched and went back to strumming his guitar.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait til you hear Glenn\u2019s new tune, Sir Henley,\u201d Randy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, Sir Henley, the tune is killer,\u201d Felder said.<\/p>\n

Henley leaned back on a cool leather couch that no one else was allowed to sit on, the crisp leather snugged his body and made him feel like cologne.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it called?\u201d Henley asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNew Kid in Town,\u201d Randy said.<\/p>\n

Henley tossed his head to the side. \u201cPfff. Wait to you to hear what I wrote. I was ripping rails with Boz Scaggs and this tune, it just fucking came to me. Like it was God sent.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are the ear of the lord,\u201d Felder said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it called,\u201d Randy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHotel California.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCrispy title,\u201d Felder said. Let me go strum my guitar, see if I can produce a riff.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can see it now,\u201d Henley explained. \u201cThis song is so massive, so fucking annoying, so bloated and full of silky tendencies, that radios will play it for decades to come. In the year 2025 there will be some industrious guy named Frank driving home from work. See Frank wants to hear something aggressive like Sabbath.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot Black Sabbath,\u201d Randy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cShut the fuck up, Randy. I\u2019m talking.\u201d Henly continued. \u201cAnd this Frank guy he\u2019s trying to make it as an artist, but he can\u2019t quite get there so he keeps a day job, and it makes him angry. So, he\u2019s driving home wanting to crank aggressive rage. He hates Jackson Browne, he can\u2019t stand Seger, nor me. He fucking hates me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHenley, Browne, Seger, that\u2019s the holy trinity of tight denim,\u201d Randy interrupted.<\/p>\n

\u201cI said, shut the fuck up, Randy or you\u2019ll be working for free like Felder,\u201d Henley continued. \u201cAnd out of nowhere, ‘Hotel California’ will come on, and Frank has a choice, listen to it, or shut it off and listen to the wind smack against the windows. He thinks he\u2019s sly and changes the channel, but it\u2019s on there too, and it\u2019s not only on the classic rock channels but also on the smooth rock channels, the pop rock channels. ‘Hotel California’ will take over the planet. This Frank guy might hate me in the year 2025, but he sure as shit will have to listen to me for eternity. Smooth, my brothers, smooth like my Denim.\u201d Henley stuck out his flared denim leg, and Randy rubbed it for good luck.<\/p>\n

Glenn walked out from the office, \u201cHenley, you showed up!\u201d Henley and Glenn shared a hug, then they both picked up a piece of paper and signed autographs for each other.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hear you wrote a killer tune,\u201d Henley said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI got a few more lyrics from JD on the phone, want to hear them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck yes I do,\u201d Henley said, taking his place back on the crisp leather sofa.<\/p>\n

Glenn took his place on the stage and belted out the new lyrics into the microphone, \u201cThere\u2019s so many things you should\u2019ve told her. But night after night, you\u2019re willing to hold her. Tears on your shoulder.\u201d<\/p>\n

Henley\u2019s man perm caught on fire due to the extreme craftsmanship of the lyrics, the genius, Randy put out the fire like he always does. Henley stood up and applauded.<\/p>\n

\u201cGlenn,\u201d he said, \u201cyou standing there in those creamy cutoffs, belting out those highly original lyrics never thought of before, my man, you just punched a ticket into the legends. One day a person will say, \u2018Elvis Presley.\u2019 But then those of us who are civilized, those of us who love fresh squeezed juices will say, \u2018Glenn Frey,’ you\u2019ll be up there my man.\u201d<\/p>\n

Frey and Henley embraced in the middle of the recording studio. Randy took four hundred polaroids of the embrace. Walsh nodded out from too much whiskey. Felder clapped tirelessly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI got a song, too, Glenn. I was just telling the music paupers about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it called, Henley?\u201d Glenn asked.<\/p>\n

\u201c’Hotel California.’\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBitchin\u2019 title,\u201d Glenn said, \u201cLet me hear what you\u2019ve written.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Henley walked up to the microphone and leaned in. \u201cWait I need my aura,\u201d he said. Randy turned a single light on behind him. A glowing light wrapped around Henley, like a saint candle. \u201cOn a dark desert highway. Cool Wind in my Hair.\u201d Henley stopped singing. \u201cThat\u2019s all I got.\u201d<\/p>\n

Glenn stood up and began a slow clap that grew contagious with everyone but Joe Walsh.<\/p>\n

\u201cEffortless, tranquil, steady, velvet,\u201d Glenn shouted. \u201cBravo maestro. You are the REAL boy of summer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks. I like that boys of summer thing, I might use that one day to annoy the shit out of billions of people in the eighties, but not right now. Like when I go solo because I\u2019ve enough of you peons.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUs break up. That\u2019s funny,\u201d Randy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cShut up, Randy,\u201d both Henley and Glenn said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THREE HOURS LATER, DEEP INTO THE SMOOTH RECORDING OF NEW KID IN TOWN:<\/strong><\/p>\n

What the Eagles didn\u2019t know when they were busy dipping their sensitive vibes into the nutsack of \u201cNew Kid in Town,\u201d was in the studio next door at Criteria, Black Sabbath showed up to record their brutally loud but subpar album, TECHNICAL ECSTACY (true story look it up.) Every time Felder tried to drop a lick, Tommy Iommi shredded his guitar, so loud Felder fell and cried. Every time Henley tried to hit a drum groove, Bill Ward hit a beat so ravenous, so thunderous, the smooth left Henley\u2019s perm. When Glenn tried to sing like a delicate flower, letting the boring find even more boring in life, an incoherent Ozzy shouted his lyrics, drowning out the vibes Glenn\u2019s cutoffs were trying to put out.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is really crushing my mellow,\u201d Henley said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMine too, let\u2019s go kicks Sabbath\u2019s ass.\u201d\u00a0 Glenn said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI got an idea,\u201d Henley said. \u201cSend Ozzy and the boys some fresh squeezed juices, cocaine, oat milk, and my autograph and everything will turn out chill, and we can have a good relationship with those brits, like the new kid in town. Randy go squeeze some lemons and oranges for our neighbors.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOn it, Sir Henley.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

TWENTY MINUTES LATER:<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cGuys,\u201d Randy said with his face painted in bat\u2019s blood. \u201cThey took the coke but told me to \u2018go fuck off with the oat milk and freshly squeezed juices.\u2019 Those guys aren\u2019t smooth at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d Glenn said, \u201canyone down for vegan tacos? We can finish this song tomorrow morning after a killer session of yoga on our denim yoga mats.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow you\u2019re talking,\u201d Henley said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut before we go, may I suggest something,\u201d Joe Walsh said, finally talking to his new bandmates.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d Henley replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow about a kick ass silly tickle fight!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew he\u2019d come around,\u201d Glenn said, bumping Henley in the arm.<\/p>\n

The soft rock gods gathered in the middle of the studio and began a giggle filled tickle fight to the thunderous rock n roll of Black Sabbath blasting through the wall. The vegan tacos they ate that night inspired Henley and Frey to sit in the sauna together and write the soft rock anthem, Life in the Fast Lane.\u2019 Because nothing says, life in the fast lane, quite like Don Henley and Glenn Frey sitting in a sauna and ripping vegan taco farts into the music universe.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This is the ACTUAL true story about the recording of the soft rock album full of douche-chills, \u201cHotel California.\u201d I\u2019m not a music journalist. I\u2019m not even a journalist. I simply write a column for the independent magazine BULL FICTION. My column is titled, MOANS FROM THE CONDIMENT FRIDGE. I\u2019m with Jeffrey \u201cThe Dude\u201d Lebowski; I hate the Eagles. I hate them more than any band in the history of bands. I hate them more than Journey and U2, and I REALLY fucking hate those bands. But I felt the world needed to know the truth about the actual story behind the recording of the dull, annoying, sugary, craptastic album. Not the \u2018Behind the Music,\u201d version. Every word in this column is a metaphor for how their music makes me feel, yet every word is also a true account. The year is 2025, my name is Frank, and I shut off the song \u2018Hotel California\u201d one thousand times this year already and it\u2019s only June.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Henley says, “This Frank guy might hate me in the year 2025, but he sure as shit will have to listen to me for eternity. Smooth, my brothers, smooth like my Denim.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":22554,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4069],"tags":[4307],"class_list":["post-22553","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-moans-from-the-condiment-fridge","tag-the-eagles","writer-frank-reardon"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22553","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=22553"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22553\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22555,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22553\/revisions\/22555"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/22554"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=22553"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=22553"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=22553"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}