The countdown to ecstasy officially commenced when the train doors shut. Befitting a Friday evening that marked the beginning of Halloween weekend, the Long Island Rail Road was so crowded, you could barely find a place to stand. Situated by the doors, a couple in their fifties were conversing, when the man noticed a younger woman with a colorful bag from CVS across from them. Intrigued by this bag, he asked the woman bag-related questions for a few minutes. The man appeared to be so blown away by the sight of this particular item, he was like a kid in 1978 hearing “Eruption” by Van Halen for the first time.
The younger woman holding the bag was with her husband, headed out to see Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden. When the Chris Christie clone next to them became aware of this, he pointed out that “Tommy” was friends with him. This was Tommy Byrnes, Lynbrook native and longtime lead guitarist for Joel. The couple could barely feign interest, each contributing a lethargic “Oh wow.” Perhaps sensing their indifference, fake Christie added that he once “partied with the band.” He had to be a big shot. Since Joel’s residency at the Garden, how many Long Island dudes have used that line to pick up women? Meanwhile, the other guy was still going on about the bag.
In the middle of all this, I was headed to see Steely Dan (who influenced Joel’s classic ’78 album 52nd Street) at the Beacon Theatre. As the train whisked by Kew Gardens, Forest Hills, and my old neighborhood Rego Park, childhood memories of Queens from the ‘70s and early ‘80s flashed before me just as rapidly, with Steely Dan a gateway to certain recollections. It’s difficult to imagine that period without them. Between their constant presence on the radio, 8-track and vinyl, Steely Dan was as ubiquitous as oxygen. Co-founder/songwriter/guitarist/bassist Walter Becker partly grew up in Forest Hills. It’s somehow fitting that this music which evokes a certain time and place was, by coincidence, partially created by someone from that exact same setting.
Riding the LIRR also brought to mind that before Becker and Donald Fagen downsized to a duo with session musicians, they were an actual band with a heavy Nassau County presence. Their late drummer Jim Hodder came from Bethpage and guitarist Denny Dias (best known for his hypnotic, exotic electric sitar solo in “Do It Again”) grew up in Billy Joel’s hometown of Hicksville. These four, along with future Doobie Brother/defense consultant Jeff “Skunk” Baxter on guitar, released Steely Dan’s stellar second album Countdown to Ecstasy in July 1973, the same time I was released into the world. For this concert, Fagen, Becker and their exceptional touring band would be recreating the album.
Steely Dan was more of a guitar-based group around the time of Countdown to Ecstasy. In general, early material like “Reelin’ in the Years” and “Bodhisattva” are similar to Van Halen and Thin Lizzy, hard rock acts with a lot of swing in their step. However, no matter how much they would later adjust their sound, jazz has constantly been their bedrock. As a reminder, while walking up the balcony, the sad and sexy saxophone of Coleman Hawkins greeted everyone with “I’ll Never Be The Same.” It’s from 1961’s appropriately titled The Hawk Relaxes, and played from the PA. The dulcet tones of Kenny Burrell’s guitar were as tasteful as the chandelier hovering from the endless ceiling.
As usual, the band, sans Fagen and Becker, opened with a jazz standard. On this night it was “November Afternoon” from Donald Byrd & Booker Little. Not one to waste time, their longtime drummer Keith Carlock, always one of the highlights of a Steely Dan concert, was already in beast mode. At the end, the two architects of Steely Dan, looking like recently retired advertising creative directors, were welcomed like kings of the world, ready to go back to ’73.
“Bodhisattva,” a hybrid of hard rock and big band jazz, leaned more towards the latter, as the horn section handled what was normally the dueling guitar melody. On “Razor Boy,” Steely Dan’s backup singers, The Danettes, took over lead vocals. “The Boston Rag” featured the band going into a slow, steady groove, while guitarists Becker and Jon Herington took turns doing extended solos, earning the occasional short, sharp “OW!” from the crowd. Keyboardist Jim Beard was showcased on “Your Gold Teeth,” alternating between Latin rhythms and Bill Evans-style cascades.
“Show Biz Kids” retained its chain gang melody, while transforming the slide guitar paradise of the original to pure stank funk, with Carlock channeling James Brown drummers John “Jabo” Starks and Clyde Stubblefield. You almost expected Fagen to get up from the keyboards, break out into splits and spin turns, and point to the crowd during the “They got the Steely Dan T-shirt” lyric.
He and Becker couldn’t possibly have known that the last line, “Show biz kids making movies of themselves/you know they don’t give a fuck about anybody else” would be more relevant today than in ’73. As if on cue, a guy in his twenties a few rows ahead, got up and started texting, blocking everyone’s view. A man from the back yelled, “Yo! Beavis! Sit down!” This went on for a few minutes. Not wanting to get involved, but quickly losing patience, my booming New York voice somehow cut through the music, when I summoned my inner-Danny Aiello and shouted, “NO ONE WANTS TO SEE YOU TEXT!” And with that, the millennial who happily conformed to a stereotype promptly sat down, seemingly having no clue he was the song come to life.
“My Old School” was a high point, the audience stomping and clapping as Herington’s guitar got more aggressive as the song played on. Changing the mood completely was “Pearl of the Quarter.” It’s one of Steely Dan’s more underrated gems, stellar melancholy pop country that should’ve been a hit. Suitably, The Danettes brought the “pearl” character to life, performing the catchy “voulez vous” refrain. “King of the World” closed this half of the show, the “wheeeee-oooooo” synthesizer melody from the original now played by the horn section, sounding more Chicago than grainy 70’s sc-fi cult movie.
“OHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The guy screaming a few rows up responded to the beginning of “Hey Nineteen” like a crazed soccer announcer. Like “Reelin’ in the Years,” its got one of the more identifiable opening guitar licks in rock’n’roll. Perhaps the most beloved song in their catalogue, “Hey Nineteen” has keyboards and guitar (by the late session ace Hugh McCracken) that exude wistfulness and humor, as the protagonist, a big shot in college during the late ‘60s, laments his current life in Scarsdale (“Where the hell am I?”). He could’ve lived next door to the guy from “Once in a Lifetime” by Talking Heads, which came out around the same time in 1980 expressing a similar fear, loathing and regret (“This is not my beautiful house! This is not my beautiful wife! MY GOD! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!”).
David Letterman and Paul Shaffer were known for simultaneously mocking and celebrating cheesy show biz pageantry. That’s exactly what Becker does in the middle of “Hey Nineteen,” when he goes into his usual bizarro stage patter that combines the deadpan style of Martin Mull with the sarcastic earnestness of the aforementioned late night legends. Cutting off his own guitar solo, he walked to the mic and said, “Guess my solo’s over.” After talking for about five minutes on how great the band and fans are, plus assorted cryptic humor, Becker got back to the song by making a request to the Danettes: “Ladies, tell us about the Cuervo Gold.” This is a time-honored Steely Dan concert tradition you either get a kick out of or inspires you to head for the toilet.
“Peg” always sounds great, although it’s not quite the same without Michael McDonald’s unique high-pitched masculine background vocals. “Josie” was the evening’s pinnacle, sophisticated 70’s New York City nighttime decadence in under five minutes. The spellbinding opening guitar riff immediately pulls you in. “Reelin’ in the Years” had Herington flawlessly replicate Elliot Randall’s iconic lead guitar work from the original, no small feat.
At the conclusion of the encore, Fagen and Becker left the stage to a well-deserved roar of approval, as the band stuck around to do Nelson Riddle’s 1959 theme to The Untouchables. The evening of ecstasy was now complete.
Matt Leinwohl