Steely Dan: Walter Becker and Donald Fagen

It was about 9:30 a.m. on a relentlessly frigid morning when I got the e-mail. Having just topped off a book review of a new Jonathan Richman biography, I was jonsing for my next assignment. And for my sins I was given one. Steely Dan, the virtuoso combo of Donald Fagen and Walter Becker who dominated 1970s FM radio with their trademark fusion of satiny smooth grooves and cryptically cool lyrics, were back. And before you can say "Where Are They Now?" the band had scheduled a special "insiders only" concert as part of an upcoming TV special on the band's history. Obviously, I jumped at the chance to cover the show, a rare performance by a group as famous for their reclusion as for their hits like "Rikki Don't Lose That Number," "Aja" and "Reeling in the Years." An event of such cultural import I thought was not to be missed and surely would involve plenty of drinks for the press.

Looking back, I should have known this couldn't be good. Back in their day, Steely Dan epitomized all that had gone wrong in rock 'n' roll: endless self-indulgent wanking by musicians so good you could never hope to come close to playing like them, no matter how many years you spent locked away practicing in your bedroom. (Thank God, or is that thank Malcolm McClaren for the invention of punk rock where any pimply kid who knew three chords and could count to four could be a rock star.) All the more foreboding, Steely Dan were notorious for not getting along with the press. Well, like the cliché says "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

We arrived at Sony Studios, promptly at 2:30 p.m. as per the invitation's instructions and were told that not only were our names not on the list, there wasn't any list, or any afternoon show. The band was in the middle of its sound check for a concert set to go on that night, for which absolutely no seating or standing room was available. But after a few exchanges of "You're who from where?" we were allowed to look in on the dress rehearsal/sound check. "Cool, I thought, a private concert."

Steely Dan

A very nice guy named Eddie, who's part of the TV production, ushered us in and said that if anyone asked to say that we were there on his say so. All couldn't have been better for a full five minutes. The band was on stage and grooving like they'd been on tour for ten years. Walter and Donald, aided and abetted by a three-piece horn section, drums, piano, back-up singers. The whole shebang was cooking through a blistering version of "Babylon Sisters" from Gaucho. The sound was so good, if you closed your eyes, it was like listening to a CD. Better still was seeing how it all came together, the band stopping at various times to work on vocal arrangements or tweaking a solo by one of their wold-class sidemen. Still, "Shouldn't they know their parts by now?" I thought. I also should have known that Kodak moments like this couldn't last for long.

About eight measures into the second number, a note-for-note rendition of "Kid Charlemagne," we got the news that the band was "uncomfortable" having us there and we were moved to the back of the room, out of their sight lines but still in view of the behind-the-scenes proceedings. Apparently our presence could still be felt, for right after another flawless take, this time "Deacon Blues" from the Aja album, we were again whisked even further from the action into the most remote corner of the sound stage. Eddie returned to try and sort things out, but it was clear that we weren't welcome and a reluctant retreat was made back into the stark afternoon daylight. I suppose witnessing three songs is better than none, but let me tell ya, it's no way to get a good review.

So much for the indigestible Steely Spam. But, like the gonzo journalist that I am, I can't wait to "Do It Again" on the next big comeback story. Could Tony Orlando really be getting back with Dawn? Just Knock Three Times and stay tuned for further details.

February 2000