Concert review: Don Henley at WinStar World Casino (May 17)

by Brett Ryder of McKinneyNews.net

What do you do when you find out one of the most prolific and talented singer-songwriters of the last century is playing within (bionic) earshot of McKinney? Well, hell, you jump in the car, smash the gas, and blow down the highway about seventy miles or so to Thackerville, Oklahoma – if, of course, you’ve got the cash ($75-$110) to play with the big boys.

Sunday evening, Don Henley (perhaps you recognize the name) of the Eagles fame (surely you’ve heard of them) took 80 minutes of his spare time (the mother ship is heading for Europe in a couple of weeks to continue its tour in support of the band’s latest multi-platinum selling, The Long Road Out of Eden) to set the historical record straight to about 1,500 mostly gray hairs (or at least salt and peppers) at the WinStar World Casino who were more than willing to be schooled by Henley’s particular brand of intellectual artistry: poignant and poetic social commentary presented in a go-down-smooth pop musical format.

Henley, in what appeared to be a clean black button-down shirt and faded jeans, took to the stage with a throbbing – and scathing – “Dirty Laundry,” a nod to the superficial, “bubble-headed bleach blonde” sensibilities of a sensational national press, winding his way through a plethora of hits from his first three solo albums, mixing in a handful of 70's-era Eagles classics – that he penned – for good measure.

The infamously curmudgeonly Henley was quite affable on this Saturday night, taking time to regale the audience with a chalk-dry wit and juicy asides related to the songs known the world over.

“It was 42 degrees….a real picnic,” Henley deadpanned referencing an outdoor gig he had just performed the night before in North-Eastern Oklahoma.

At another juncture, Henley introduced the foreboding guitar and drum-driven “Witchy Woman,” a song about a woman – “not Stevie Nicks” – that he knew in Los Angeles in 1972.

Later, Henley, born in Gilmer, Texas, tantalized the audience with an introduction to his mid-80s hit, “Last Worthless Evening.”

It’s about a “beautiful blonde actress who I will not name,” said Henley. The woman, Henley said, was the object of abiding sexual interest at an LA party stuffed with famous people, sitting at a table with no less than Jack Nicholson. Henley approached her and was rebuffed. Nicholson noticed and made a sarcastic comment. Ultimately the woman left with neither man. Henley, rejected yet inspired, “went home and wrote [a] song” about the experience.

It wasn’t until 61-year-old Henley, his distressed, rusted-nail voice easily as strong as it was thirty years ago, tackled the “Heart of Matter,” that a defining glimpse -- for those paying strict attention -- was offered into the heart of a man wrestling with his legacy – and mortality.

Within the context of a song about time and forgiveness, Henley, in an obvious acknowledgment of the passing of time and his own fleeting relevancy, sang, “fans seem to scatter” instead of “friends seem to scatter.”

An insignificant error, you might be tempted to surmise. But for a guy like Henley, this was no error.

Indeed, it must be difficult – no matter what the paycheck – looking out at a roomful of relatively sedentary baby boomers and the inevitable downslide of one's career.

And perhaps this, though unspoken, was what the night was about. It was about an aging rocker-poet coming to terms with his own demise in front of an aging audience confronting its own.

“This is a show for has-beens,” a woman said with an air of regret before the show began. I didn’t want to honor her repellent suggestion. But in the end, she was right. Time, no matter the magnitude of talent, will not be denied.

Surely Don Henley knew – and knows – as much.

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