And to a very great extent, the process of creation itself is subliminal, automatic, outside conscious control. It is often rather chilling, when actually meeting an artist, to see how quite often they are very ordinary people, sometimes even rather unpleasant. It makes you wonder “how could that insight have come from that mind?”. In the case of music, and especially drama and cinema, the artistic communication is collaborative, it involves the coordination of multiple artists, operating on many different levels. The final product somehow transcends the sum of its parts.

Maybe we’re making it all up, and maybe its all nonsense, maybe there is no great hidden truth or insight, that we make it up in our own minds just to justify or explain the way it affects us emotionally. Maybe its all just bullshit.

But still, isn’t it unexpected (and wonderful!) when someone elses bullshit can affect and move us so profoundly?

And enough people I respect find stuff, so I’ll just have to go along with it.

And on my limited behalf, I’m experiencing serious health problems which seriously limit my mobility and activities. I am not handling that gracefully, am quite cranky. Usually I can control it. Usually. Not all the time. I apologize for my rudeness, it’s a reflection of me and not you.

Sincerely.

As for what I wrote, I just made it up as an example of gibberish in which folks can look and find deeper meanings, all kinds of them and each a figment of their own preconceptions.

So I’m not going to say anything more about it.

He was a hard-headed man
He was brutally handsome, and she was terminally pretty
She held him up, and he held her for ransom in the heart of the cold, cold city

He had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude
They said he was ruthless, they said he was crude
They had one thing in common, they were good in bed
She’d say, “Faster, faster. The lights are turnin’ red.”

Life in the fast lane, Surely makes you lose your mind,
Life in the fast lane, Huh
Are you with me so far?

Eager for action and hot for the game
The coming attraction, the drop of a name
They knew all the right people, they took all the right pills
They threw outrageous parties, they paid heavenly bills.

There were lines on the mirror, lines on her face
She pretended not to notice, she was caught up in the race
Out every evening, until it was light
He was too tired to make it, she was too tired to fight about it

Life in the fast lane, Surely makes you lose your mind
Life in the fast lane, Huh
Life in the fast lane, Everything all the time
Life in the fast lane, Huh

Blowin’ and burnin’, blinded by thirst
They didn’t see the stop sign, took a turn for the worst.
She said, “Listen, baby. You can hear the engine ring. We’ve been up and down this highway, haven’t seen a goddam thing.”

He said, “Call the doctor. I think I’m gonna crash.”
“The doctor says he’s comin’, but you gotta pay in cash.”
They went rushin’ down that freeway, messed around and got lost
They didn’t care they were just dyin’ to get off

And it was life in the fast lane, Surely makes you lose your mind
Life in the fast lane, Huh
Life in the fast lane, Everything all the time
Life in the fast lane, Huh

“The Moon was orange, the Sun was white and everything flew by like starlings in flight.

“We hugged the Earth, the Mother Earth, confused as virgins giving birth.

“And one by one the the light grew dark, as some of the birds hit the mark.

“I stayed through it all, and answered the call. And cried and cried, like a jilted bride as others celebrated in Central Park.

Forgive them Father, for they know god damned well what they do.

My point was that the Eagles, being partial victims, as well as admitted participants in that excess, are particularly well qualified to write about it. And they have done so admirably. This is why I was a bit taken aback by B’s remarks, and felt they were a bit unfair.

“Hotel California” and “Life in the Fast Lane”, the latter especially, are some of the most profoundly cautionary warnings against that culture of excess that exist, and they should be acknowledged for communicating that so effectively–and eloquently.

“Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .

History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.

My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder’s jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . .

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . .

And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .

So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

As for the line in question, substitute “attitude” for “spirit”. Pretty simple.

(I wrote this while you posted your reply to bowser, but am posting after having read your reply.)

Here’s one of my favorites, from a fan site…

http://www.shmoop.com/hotel-california-eagles/meaning.html

In the title track of their hit 1976 album, “Hotel California,” the Eagles warn listeners of the two most dangerous things known to man – women and California. Or, to be more precise, California girls. They turn the Beach Boys’ plea from 1965 (“I wish they all could be California girls”) on its head. Apparently something drastic happened to girls from the Golden State between 1965 and 1976. By the time they wrote “Hotel California,” the Eagles had come to the conclusion that the “cutest girls in the world” also came with a lot of baggage.

But before we dive a little deeper into this song, let’s go over the basic sequence of events described in this ballad. As the story unfolds, the speaker is driving on a dark desert highway late at night. He feels the wind in his hair and smells some desert flowers. Before long, he starts to feel drowsy and stops at a hotel for the night. You guessed it: it’s the Hotel California. A mysterious woman stands and greets him at the door like a Homeric siren, luring the weary traveler with her seductive song. This female figure plays a central role in the song, though we never learn all that much about her. All the while, the speaker isn’t sure what to make of the place. He starts to hear voices singing about how lovely and pleasant it is to stay at the hotel. The woman is rich and fun loving, and her friends are beautiful.

So far, so good.

The speaker orders up some wine from the Wine Captain, who remarks that the speaker has brought the playful spirit of the 1960s along with him. The speaker passes out and hears the voices again singing about the Hotel California. This time, however, they mention something about having an alibi to prove their innocence. This tidbit is the first suggestion that all might not be well at our quaint hotel.

The speaker notices how swanky the place is, but then the woman tells him that everyone at the hotel is a prisoner of his or her own making. (We spit out our champagne: “Whaaa?”). Everyone shows up for a dinner in the room of the “master,” and they stab at some animal or “beast” that won’t die. Naturally, this sends our speaker running for the exit, but now he can’t find the exit. The person who watches over the hotel tells him not to worry because he won’t ever be able to escape from the hotel.

And such is the fate of our weary traveling narrator.

The very first few lines of the song take us to the long, straight highways of California and the American southwest, which serves as a powerful symbol of freedom, desolation, and recklessness in songs by The Eagles. The song title suggests a sunny, laid-back place where people drink lots of pomegranate juice and practice yoga, but it also hints that the state of California (or, more accurately, the idea of California) is not really home to anyone. It’s a place for people who are between destinations: transients. One central theme in “Hotel California” is the disconnect between popular perceptions of California versus the reality.

Don Henley’s masterful lyrics focus much of their attention on this theme of perceptions of California in the American collective imagination versus the reality of the Golden State. Don Henley’s lyrics certainly have a flair for the dramatic, as he effortlessly transforms the mood and tone of the story. What once seemed like a small desert paradise quickly turns into a gothic horror.

In many ways, this is a story about California in general, and Los Angeles in particular. Don Felder, the guitarist for The Eagles who wrote the tune for “Hotel California,” has talked about how the song was inspired by driving into Los Angeles filled with high expectations that were later disappointed: “If you drive into LA at night you can just see this glow on the horizon of lights and the images that start running through your head of Hollywood and all the dreams that you have.” To many – the speaker in “Hotel California” included – Los Angeles seems like a beautiful oasis on the edge of a dark, squalid desert. Hundreds of thousands of people have migrated to California in search of sunshine, beautiful women, money, and fame. Yet many find this dream to be a mirage. As the nightman of the Hotel explains, “we are programmed to receive.”

And in many ways, California has been “programmed to receive” from its very inception. After all, in 1848, before California even officially became American territory, gold was discovered at Sutter’s Mill in the Sierra foothills, bringing in droves of immigrants from other regions in the United States, as well as Asia, Europe, and Latin America. The “California Dream” was born, and it was a dream of instant wealth waiting to be claimed by anyone bold enough to take it. Hundreds of thousands of people poured into the state, hoping and expecting to find a fortune in the goldfields. But most of them never found it; the easy placer gold was soon panned out, and it didn’t take long for huge industrial mining operations to take over. Within a few years, most individual miners were reduced from independent treasure-seekers to dependent wage laborers. So in some sense, a kind of false hope was written into the fabric of California from its very inception.

And this is just what the Eagles found in California more than a century later. Despite their inextricable connection to the state of California, no member of the Eagles was originally from there. According to Don Henley, “we were all middle-class kids from the Midwest. ‘Hotel California’ was our take on the high life in Los Angeles.” Don Henley, originally from Texas, and Glenn Frey, a rocker from Detroit, came to Los Angeles in 1970 to pursue musical careers. Together, they formed the Eagles in 1971, along with Bernie Leadon and Randy Meisner, after all four had toured as members of Linda Ronstadt’s band. The Eagles managed to create a laid back California sound that effortlessly combined elements of country with rock music. The music they constructed was intended as a soothing antidote to the turmoil of the late ’60s. This was a sound that appealed to American listeners of all stripes, as the band’s huge record sales soon proved. Between 1975 and 1979, the Eagles released four consecutive #1 albums – One of these Nights, Their Greatest Hits, 1971-1975, Hotel California, and The Long Run. Greatest Hits still remains the bestselling album of all time in America.

With all this money and success the Eagles soon found that they had become “prisoners of their own device.” Fame, excessive partying, and drug use took its toll on the band members. According to Glenn Frey, “we weren’t the [Rolling] Stones, but we weren’t the Osmonds either, somewhere in between. But closer to the Stones.” According to some interpretations, “Hotel California” is a song about drug addiction; others have viewed it as a song about a mental hospital, or devil worship, or – in one especially oddball take – even a real hotel run by cannibals. (That one sure puts a delicious new spin on “you can check out but you can never leave.”)

Most likely, however, it is a song that chronicles the culture of excess, wealth, decadence, and self-destruction in the Southern California cultural milieu of the mid-1970s. In a 2007 interview with 60 Minutes, Don Henley described “Hotel California” as “a song about the dark underbelly of the American dream and about excess in America, which is something we knew a lot about.” What’s interesting here is that Henley and the Eagles are not trying to argue that the “American Dream” is a sham – no, they themselves are living examples of the American Dream (four Midwest boys come to California with the dream of becoming rock stars and five years later release the best-selling album in American history). Yeah, we’d say they got a pretty good deal. But instead, the Eagles are criticizing the culture of excess surrounding the rich and famous in Los Angeles – a culture that they were a part of. It turns out the old adage is true: “mo’ money mo’ problems.”

For extra credit, and for a real advertisement to your favorite 12-step self-help program, I suggest another Eagles Tune (lyric text included at the top of the comments of the YouTube video).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tcXblWojdM

As far as the singer refusing to explain the metaphor, he can’t.

One of the best defenses of nonsense I’ve seen, though. You are right.