When discussing the legacy of Don Henley, most people think of his voice, songwriting, and the soaring harmonies of The Eagles. What often gets overlooked, though, is his perspective on the art of drumming—a craft he knows intimately, having started his musical life on the kit.
Although Henley could hold his own behind the drums, his own ambitions shifted toward singing and songwriting fairly early. Yet he never lost that drummer’s instinct for rhythm and space: play for the song first, play with feel, don’t try to dazzle. That guiding principle was learned from listening to the clean, musical approach of Ringo Starr, whose Beatles work influenced Henley when he was young.
When Henley began his solo career—most notably with his first album I Can’t Stand Still in 1982, which produced hits like Dirty Laundry—he called on top session players rather than trying to replicate everything himself. It was in these studio settings that he worked with—and learned from—some of the best rhythm masters in the business.
Among those musicians, Jeff Porcaro stood out. Porcaro was a drummer who could bring both precision and feel to any session. Whether laying down tight grooves or adding tasteful accents, his playing was the kind that didn’t call attention to itself but made everything else sound better.
Henley didn’t mince words about Porcaro’s greatness. He described him as “one of the most generous, giving people I’ve ever met”—someone who showed up for music first, not money or ego. Henley noted that Porcaro would light up a studio, fully committed to his craft, and focus on serving the song above all else. It was that attitude, as much as his technical skill, that made him so respected.
A great example of Porcaro’s subtle genius appears on Henley’s Dirty Laundry. The drum part doesn’t explode with flashy fills; instead, it delivers a sharp, consistent pulse that perfectly mirrors the song’s theme of media cynicism and cutting commentary. It’s a performance that many listeners feel more than consciously notice—an indication of its emotional effectiveness.
Though Porcaro passed away in 1992, his influence remains. In an era where digital editing and quantisation often dominate pop production, the organic feel he brought to every track reminds listeners exactly what a human groove feels like—something that can’t be replicated by software alone.
