Let me start by saying that I’m listening to a lot of Steely Dan as I write this, so if it comes off as rambling, dark and sarcastic, I apologize. Every time I put on a Steely Dan record, I find myself thinking why am I not spending every minute of every day listening to Steely Dan? Becker/Fagen are to my 30s as Morrissey/Marr were to my 20s, a constant, reassuring soundtrack. Every time I listen to an album, I discover something new to love about a song I’ve heard a thousand times before. (How could I forget about “Caves of Altamira?” Was “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” always this brilliant?).
Matthew & I saw our third Dan show at the Beacon on Wednesday; last time we saw them play Gaucho in full and when they played “Josie” I thought my heart would explode. The first time we saw them, they busted out “The Second Arrangement.” And I’ve seen Donald Fagen play with the Dukes of September Rhythm Review, as well as seeing fellow Dukes Boz Scaggs & Michael McDonald on their own tours. (Also, I am kind of in love with Donald Fagen and wish he would write a charmingly sleazy song about me, more “Slinky Thing” than “Cousin Dupree.”)
But Wednesday night, they opened with “Black Cow” (one of my favorites) and played “FM,” which made me so insanely happy that I screamed. They played “Josie” too, and “Peg,” and “Black Friday.” If they had played “What a Shame About Me,” I might have died of happiness.
In addition to the show, Matthew and I took a few days to work on some writing. The way I’ve been barreling through notebook pages, I’m on Dutch’s last signature, and he’ll only last another week, at most. And Gail, hale and hearty as she is, is nearing the end of her line, with only a signature left before she’s retired to the bookshelf.