[ed. The author, not me. I've always loved them.]
This is my story.
Back in those days, I thought Steely Dan music was too slick. It was too polished and radio-friendly, with no rough edges. And that meant (or so I thought back then) that it must be shallow and contrived. (...)
Back in those days, I thought Steely Dan music was too slick. It was too polished and radio-friendly, with no rough edges. And that meant (or so I thought back then) that it must be shallow and contrived. (...)
Walter Becker and Donald Fagen, the purveyors of this absolutely perfect studio sound, didn’t set their instruments on fire or trash their hotel rooms. They didn’t hang out with genuine Indian gurus who were teaching them a better way. They didn’t jam on the rooftop until the cops shut them down.
Instead, they were the kind of people who pave paradise and put up a parking lot. (...)
Sure, I couldn’t deny the skills of these ace session players. But sometimes I felt their versatility worked against them. I craved music with more prickly individualism—that’s probably why I gravitated towards jazz.
My attitude is much different nowadays.
I’ve seen such a decline in musicianship on commercial recordings over the years—even worse, the actual disappearance of real flesh-and-blood musicians. They’ve been displaced by loops, samples, and various pieces of hardware and software. And now the AI robots are coming. So, from the standpoint of the current moment, the idea of a recording studio packed with skilled professionals seems like a lost golden age of the distant past.
But that was all in the future back then. So I resisted the Dan during its glory years. It was slickly produced pop music. I had higher concerns.
In truth, I really didn’t know the band’s music very well. I didn’t own any Steely Dan albums—I only heard the stuff on the radio. On the other hand, their music was always on the radio. So I thought I had a pretty good handle on it.
Sure, I couldn’t deny that this stuff was catchy. But I had reservations:
- The guitar solo on “Reelin’ in the Years” (by session player Elliott Randall) did earn my begrudging respect. But this same guitarist played on TV commercials for Pepsi and Burger King, so I still couldn’t really trust him.
- The intro to “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” at first annoyed me with its mindless rip-off of a riff from Horace Silver—but when I learned that Victor Feldman (formerly with Miles Davis) was on the track, I realized this was more of a homage or inside joke.
- I laughed at the lyrics to “My Old School” with those outrageous rhymes—California with tried to warn ya. I had to admit that this was the kind of thing I would try to do myself if I was writing commercial songs. Even so, it was a tune about school. C’mon.
I still resisted the notion of buying an entire album of this music. The very idea of walking up to the counter of Tower Records with the Art Ensemble of Chicago in one hand and Can’t Buy Me a Thrill in the other was more than I could conceive.
But sometimes a lesser known Dan song found its way on to the radio—usually on one of those FM stations that played deep tracks. (I love that phrase—why did we ever stop using it?) These deep tracks contained surprises, musical twists that I wouldn’t expect from a pop band.
Frankly I was dumbfounded when I heard Steely Dan’s recording of “East St Louis Toodle-Oo”—a Duke Ellington hit from 1927. Walter Becker somehow imitated Bubber Miley’s distinctive plunger mute trumpet solo from the original recording, using only his voice and a plugged-in talk box.
Now that was a radical departure from the slick pop aesthetic I associated with those studio rats.
But the track that really stirred my enthusiasm was a fairly obscure number (another deep track) that closed side one of Steely Dan’s 1975 album Katy Lied. I don’t even recall how I stumbled upon this song, entitled “Dr. Wu.” I must have heard it on the radio, like the others. But this definitely wasn’t hit single material.
The lyrics of “Dr. Wu” were absolutely bonkers. It’s a story song, but the narrative is incomprehensible.
You meet Katy—for whom the entire album is named—in the opening line. But then she disappears, except for a brief appearance later, when we’re told that “Katy lies.”
And that’s it. That everything we know about Katy, and it ain’t much.
Then an even more mysterious personage enters the tune—Dr. Wu. That’s another unexpected rhyme. Dr. Wu might just be an ordinary guy, but his presence serves as the centerpiece of the unfolding drama. At least for a time—because the scene soon shifts to Biscayne Bay, “where the Cuban gentlemen sleep all day.” (Where do they find these rhymes?).
Hearing this song was like getting a movie script with most of the scenes missing. But the forward momentum is insistent—how could it not be with Jeff Porcaro and Chuck Rainey in the rhythm section? So the music conveys a sense of narrative coherence that the lyrics can only hint at.
But the real kicker here was an unexpected alto sax solo—and from Phil Woods, of all people. Woods was a jazz heavyweight, and especially in those days. He’d even married Charlie Parker’s widow Chan and played Bird’s own horn.
In short, he was a genuine jazz star, not a studio musician. But somehow he went from Chan at home to Dan in the studio that day, and channeled his serious bebop chops into “Dr. Wu.”
I listened to that track over and over.
You meet Katy—for whom the entire album is named—in the opening line. But then she disappears, except for a brief appearance later, when we’re told that “Katy lies.”
And that’s it. That everything we know about Katy, and it ain’t much.
Katy triedFrankly, I didn’t know you could use the word ‘crucified’ on AM radio. Except maybe on KLAC (570 on your dial), where Oral Roberts had his Sunday show. You certainly didn’t rhyme it with “lied,” “tried,” and “side” in a pop song.
I was halfway crucified
I was on the other side
Of no tomorrow.
Then an even more mysterious personage enters the tune—Dr. Wu. That’s another unexpected rhyme. Dr. Wu might just be an ordinary guy, but his presence serves as the centerpiece of the unfolding drama. At least for a time—because the scene soon shifts to Biscayne Bay, “where the Cuban gentlemen sleep all day.” (Where do they find these rhymes?).
Hearing this song was like getting a movie script with most of the scenes missing. But the forward momentum is insistent—how could it not be with Jeff Porcaro and Chuck Rainey in the rhythm section? So the music conveys a sense of narrative coherence that the lyrics can only hint at.
But the real kicker here was an unexpected alto sax solo—and from Phil Woods, of all people. Woods was a jazz heavyweight, and especially in those days. He’d even married Charlie Parker’s widow Chan and played Bird’s own horn.
In short, he was a genuine jazz star, not a studio musician. But somehow he went from Chan at home to Dan in the studio that day, and channeled his serious bebop chops into “Dr. Wu.”
I listened to that track over and over.
These things put a dent into my Dan-o-phobia. But it was just the start.
Finally, when Wayne Shorter appeared on a Steely Dan track, I waved the white flag. Fagen and Becker were no longer studio rats but major dudes with street cred.
It helped that Shorter delivered a blistering solo that is the total antithesis of the AM radio ethos I had assigned this band. The same is true of Steve Gadd’s drumming on this same deep track (“Aja”) which deliberately undermines the ultra-controlled dance grooves I had long associated with Steely Dan. Add to this the extreme length of the track—eight full minutes—and you could only assume that Fagen and Becker were playing slash-and-burn games with their radio-friendly image. (...)
Finally, when Wayne Shorter appeared on a Steely Dan track, I waved the white flag. Fagen and Becker were no longer studio rats but major dudes with street cred.
It helped that Shorter delivered a blistering solo that is the total antithesis of the AM radio ethos I had assigned this band. The same is true of Steve Gadd’s drumming on this same deep track (“Aja”) which deliberately undermines the ultra-controlled dance grooves I had long associated with Steely Dan. Add to this the extreme length of the track—eight full minutes—and you could only assume that Fagen and Becker were playing slash-and-burn games with their radio-friendly image. (...)
But the larger truth was that Steely Dan now had a new image, at least in my mind. I now started describing what they did as jazz-inflected art pop. And I was increasingly aware of an edgy quality, especially in the lyrics. In fact, the words to the songs now struck me as deliberately designed to mock the conventional pop aesthetic. (...)
So, in a strange sort of way, Steely Dan ended up representing the exact opposite of what I initially thought—it challenged pop banality, resisting pre-packaged sentimentality and conventionality. The fact that the band did all this while generating top 40 airplay just made that fact all the more impressive. Fagen and Becker were like a resistance force operating behind enemy lines.
by Ted Gioia, The Honest Broker | Read more:
Images: Marc Meyers/YouTube
[ed. I'll give Ted a pass on this one. Do a search on this site for many other tracks from SD, like these: here and here (and buy Citizen, a great retrospective). Not only were they exceptional musicians - employing more exceptional musicians - but great lyricists, too. See also: Steely Dan’s “Aja”: Eight Minutes of Genius; and, Looking for the Ultimate Steely Dan Expert? We Found Him! (Culture Sonar).]
