An Old Debt, a New Decade: The Enduring Heartbreak of “Call It A Loan”
A plea to postpone the emotional reckoning after a heart is taken and broken.
For those of us who came of age with the heartfelt poetry of the West Coast singer-songwriter, the voice of Jackson Browne is inextricably linked to the soundtrack of our lives. It’s a voice of naked honesty, one that knew how to articulate the subtle ache of existence—the fleeting joys, the profound losses, and the heavy weight of self-reflection. His 1980 album, Hold Out, marked a commercial high point, soaring to Number 1 on the US Billboard 200 chart—his only album to ever claim the top spot. Tucked toward the end of that successful, if perhaps more electrified and polished, album is the collaborative gem “Call It A Loan,” a track that retains the classic, bruised soul of Browne’s earlier work, elevated by the signature, soaring fretwork of his long-time musical partner, David Lindley. Though the album featured two charting singles (“Boulevard” and “That Girl Could Sing”), “Call It A Loan” was not released as a single and thus did not have a chart position of its own, but its place in the emotional landscape of the album is undeniable.
The story behind “Call It A Loan” is a perfect microcosm of the collaborative genius between Browne and Lindley, a partnership that helped define the sound of the 1970s Los Angeles music scene. The song began not with a lyric, but with a beautiful, melancholic guitar melody gifted by David Lindley. That haunting, slightly eastern-tinged motif, played on either electric or lap steel guitar, was the emotional anchor that inspired Browne’s intensely personal lyric. Jackson Browne described the song as stemming from an “imaginary scenario,” yet one that “reflects what was going on in my life.” He explained the central, desperate plea of the song: it’s “about not being able to pay up, stealing someone else’s heart and not being able to go on with the theft—not knowing the complete cost, and wanting to call it a loan until you grow enough to pay for it.” The genius twist? Lindley, having provided the melody, believed the song was entirely about someone in his life. This duality underscores the universal, yet deeply private, meaning of the song—a testament to how deeply the music resonated on an individual level.
The meaning of the song taps into a profound, almost paralyzing sense of emotional bankruptcy. It speaks to a moment we’ve all faced, where the heart makes a promise the self can’t keep. The protagonist is caught in the devastating wake of having taken something precious—a love, an emotional investment—and realizing they lack the maturity, the fortitude, or perhaps simply the sheer capacity to repay the debt of affection and commitment. The song’s title is a desperate bargain: a plea to defer the consequences of a failed relationship, to acknowledge the failure without yet accepting the final, irrevocable loss. The lines paint a picture of regret and self-awareness, a realization that one has been “running on empty” emotionally and has overdrawn on someone else’s love.
When we listen now, the song is a bittersweet return to an era. The production on Hold Out sometimes leans into the slicker sound of the 1980s, but “Call It A Loan” remains true to the raw, lyrical honesty that made Jackson Browne an icon for our generation. Lindley’s guitar work, with its distinctive slide and mournful tone, is the perfect, aching counterpoint to Browne’s tender yet world-weary vocals. It’s a reminder that even when trying to “hold out” for a better tomorrow, the debts of the past—especially the debts of the heart—are the hardest to settle. It’s not just a song; it’s a nostalgic mirror reflecting our own youthful mistakes, that time we wanted to hit the pause button on the inevitable end, just long enough to gather the strength to face the music.