Music: Building On Prime Real Estate

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There is a good bit of manicured savagery in songs like New York Minute and If Dirt Were Dollars ("I was flyin' back from Lubbock/ I saw Jesus on the plane/ . . . or maybe it was Elvis/ You know, they kinda look the same"), and a memorably nasty cameo portrait of Ronald Reagan as a cowboy named Jingo in Little Tin God. That's vintage Henley, delivered with a snarl and a smile, but The Heart of the Matter, which ends the record, is the struggle for a different sense of place, another state of grace: "I've been tryin' to get down to the heart of the matter/ Because the flesh will get weak and the ashes will scatter/ So I'm thinkin' about forgiveness/ Forgiveness/ Even if, even if you don't love me anymore." Brand new, that song already sounds like a classic.

The reputation grew from a beginning that was so typically modest it could almost be mythic. The only child of an auto-parts salesman-farmer and an elementary school teacher in Linden, Texas ("Drive 20 miles to The Crossroads or, in the other direction, to Uncertain") -- Henley had a bedrock upbringing that permitted his musical excursions but gave him something to kick out against. When success with the Eagles hit fast and hard, he lived his share of the Los Angeles high life and paid a big price. In 1980 he found himself pickled in the press when he was given two years' probation for drug possession and fined for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. "I thought it was probably the end of my career," he says. But out of the scandal and distortions he salvaged a memorable song, Dirty Laundry, which could have just as neatly applied to his next brush with notoriety, as the host of the New Year's party at which Donna Rice met Gary Hart.

"Someone introduced them," he recalls, "but it wasn't me. I was off cooking for 60 guests, but I got the credit . . . or the blame, whatever your perspective. Donna's a nice girl, personable and fun, but I feel sorry for her, and saddened and aggravated by the way she chose to exploit the situation. She figured her life was ruined, and she damn well wanted to get something out of it all. That's O.K., as long as it didn't involve me."

If that kind of dirt were dollars, Henley would be flush enough. These days he lives in Los Angeles and travels to his small spread outside Aspen, Colo. ("my ranchette"). He also devotes time to social issues like the Southern Poverty Law Center, as well as a variety of environmental groups. But what he can always take to the bank is his gift for songwriting, which keeps growing. Talking about the legacy of the Eagles, he says, "The Eagles were another link in the chain, a logical extension of what came before. But I don't think the '70s will ever be as important in the history of rock as the '60s, because you don't have the cultural and sociological upheaval combined with music." Fair enough. But there's a corner of the '80s that ought to read "Property of D. Henley." And that real estate is prime space. He'll be building on it for quite a while yet.