From where I see it, there are two - make that three - bands called Eagles.

The first version, the one I preferred and the one I'm most familiar with, is the first version, which, depending on how close you want to cut it, lasted through One Of These Nights, or On The Border.

The kind of music I most enjoyed from this band was the country-based rock that I considered the stepchild of The Stone Ponys and The Flying Burrito Brothers. Call it a California thing; call it the result of too many nights wandering around the moonlit curves of the Santa Monica Mountains; call it the search for The Angel Of Rapture before last call at the Topanga Corral ("we fix broken hearts").

So when Bernie Leadon, a musician I'd been listening to for a very long time, departed, it made a huge difference to me and to a lot of the folks (many of them musicians themselves) who considered themselves fans of the Eagles. There were numerous reasons why Leadon left, some of them widely known and others that no one outside of the principals was aware of.

Remember, this was a group that, on occasion, would perform bluegrass songs; Leadon was (and remains) a virtuoso banjo, mandolin, and dobro player. Neither Frey nor Henley thought that was the path to fame and fortune, and of course they were right.

Then Randy Meisner, the other country-rock guy, left. He had that High And Lonesome sound that, like Bernie's playing, was a throwback to what seemed like better, less complicated days. Again, there were lots of reasons for his quitting, but the result was similar: the Eagles embarked in a change of direction.

The last Eagles album I could really relate to, in a romantically intoxicated Full Moon Over Malibu sort of way, was One Of These Nights, partly because some of the songs were about people I'd come to know.

I certainly appreciate the later material (Eagles Number Two)- great harmonies, awesome chops, outrageously tight and intelligent lyrics. Now we have Eagles Number Three, which I've got to admit I have not seen live.

But this is a way different generation, with visions and romantic excesses of their own. I hope that they find what they need from this band. As for us old Lonesome L.A. Cowboys, we're still out here, driving along in old trucks, a funny looking cigarette between our lips, Desperado on the stereo, searching for the saloon of our dreams...

Fooled again...