The solo career that Eagles co-founder Glenn Frey navigated between the band’s 1980 breakup and 1994 reunion doesn’t get a lot of attention, possibly because the man himself never seemed to give it much of his own. Aside from a handful of memorable movie and TV soundtrack placements, his efforts during this period seemed mostly half-hearted, an already-successful artist passing the time until something more interesting comes along.
That said, Frey’s solo debut No Fun Aloud—its title a snarky commentary on the humorless final days of the Eagles’ initial run—does have its moments. Teaming with old pal/songwriting pro Jack Tempchin, Frey turns out a passable set of tunes with a handful of notable highlights.
If there was a real surprise here, it lay in the genre Frey gravitated toward as a solo artist—not rock, not country, but a kind of lounge-y, late-night-at-the-club white soul with horns. It’s an unexpected vibe, but one that Frey leans into, singing these tunes with a commitment that was too often missing from later solo albums.
No Fun Aloud offers a surprise right off the bat: saxophone leading the way on kickoff cut and first single “I Found Somebody,” as it does on several tunes here. It’s an easy-going, upbeat number with a sing-along chorus hook that reached #31 on the charts. Frey smartly segues directly into second single “The One You Love,” a yearning ballad that hit #15 on the Billboard Hot 100 and made it all the way the #2 on the Adult Contemporary chart.
From there, things get sketchier. “Partytown” is exactly what it sounds like, a 2:57 horn-decorated hoot with a raucous chorus answering Frey’s calls… that you really don’t need to hear more than once. Tempchin’s “I Volunteer” is sweet, sincere, and slight. Both are eclipsed by a snappy, exuberant cover of Johnnie Taylor’s r&b/gospel shouter “I’ve Been Born Again.”
Side Two opens with an even more exuberant and horn-heavy cover of “Sea Cruise,” a late ’50s novelty; it’s a blast, even if it’s basically a 2:36 vamp with Frey veering into 1968 Elvis territory on the vocals. From there the album fades steadily into filler-land; the best of the bunch is Frey’s co-write with Bob Seger, the somber, string-drenched ballad “That Girl,” but even it feels a touch predictable. The rock-ier “All Those Lies” and “Don’t Give Up” both manifest the dark energy of Long Run-era Eagles, while in between, “She Can’t Let Go” is a rewrite of a dozen dusty Frey-Tempchin weepers before it.
Frey handles most of the guitars and keyboards and co-produces, aided and abetted by co-writer Tempchin, co-producer Allen Blazek, and a small herd of session players. The sound is crisp and professional, but the music only occasionally exceeds that mark.
The thing about Glenn Frey’s solo career was that he didn’t really need one, and only once in a while seemed to want one. By the time Travis Tritt reconvened the Eagles for a video shoot in 1993, there was really no reason left for Frey to say no to a reunion of the band he had co-founded and with whom he had experienced tremendous success. He didn’t.
