Steely Dan “The Royal Scam”

Like I said before, since I’m writing about individual Steely Dan songs elsewhere, I’m going to try to keep this review short (short is the new way—at least I’m trying)! So I’m not even delving into lyrics at all here (which is half the fun with this band). This is maybe the most consistent SD record, song for song—nine songs with no weak links—and in fact, as you’re listening to it, you get the sensation that each song is just a little better than the last, just because there is no letup in excellence. In retrospect, and at this point in time, I’d have to say my favorite song on the album is “The Caves of Altamira”—which, oddly, wasn’t even one I thought much about for the first 40 years of putting this record on the turntable. Maybe it was a little to poppy for me with that chorus, or the horns (now my favorite thing on the record), but at some point, something really clicked, and it became kind of a “soundtrack for my life” song. For people who flip out over virtuosity and innovation—for a band that’s never lacking there—this one’s got some real standout musicians—particularly Paul Griffin and Larry Carlton (not to take away rest of the who’s who). It might be the most guitar-heavy SD record, but that’s just one of the distinctive things about. It fits right in with the rest of their records, and actually does sound like a progression between “Katy Lied” and “Aja.”

To try to put this in the context of 1976 is almost impossible, because it doesn’t remind me of anything else from that year—but I’ve got to look—what was I listening to in ’76? Bob Dylan “Desire” and the live LP “Hard Rain”—both of which I can still listen to. Besides those, however, I bought a lot of other records, around 1976, that I don’t exactly put on for pleasure or nostalgia these days! Including: Blue Oyster Cult “Agents of Fortune,” Bob Seger “Night Moves,” Alan Parsons Project—that E.A. Poe record, Al Stewart “Year of the Cat,” Kansas “Leftoverture,” Rush “2112,” Genesis “A Trick of the Tail”—it’s a little sobering to see what records came out that year! Most of it doesn’t date well with me. And there were other bands that I was already completely through with. Of course, then, there was other 1976 stuff that I didn’t come around to until years and years later. (And some stuff I haven’t gotten to yet.) But none of it really feels like it was coming from remotely the same planet as this record.

This could be the best Steely Dan album, and one of the best records in my (relatively small) vinyl collection. It’s not my favorite, but it’s right up there—as it’s a record that never stopped getting better—I mean, every time I put it on—since I first bought it in the vicinity of when it came out in 1976. At that point I did own their previous four LPs, and I remember my 16-year-old self finding this one a bit of a disappointment—not totally, of course—but it just took longer to connect—or maybe I was just through with SD, at that point. I lost patience with bands pretty fast—after a few records I was often done with them, and onto something new. Most bands I’d never come back to, once I was over them. For some reason, though, I came back to Steely Dan as an obsession—partly because of the way they age, compared with everything else—and partly it was just listening more closely, and paying attention to the lyrics. But still, this one did take me awhile.

The album cover didn’t help—being almost too hideous for me to consider any longer than it took for me to place it facing the wall. I have to force myself to look at it even now. Maybe it’s time to reconsider it. There’s a fully dressed man sleeping on some kind of a bench—and collaged above him—as if he’s dreaming them—four urban high-rises, the tops of which have morphed into hideous animal heads. I never really thought about how the creatures aren’t even remotely related—aside from their carnivorous jaws—one is all mouth (what we can see). One is a scaly, fanged serpent, and one looks like it could be in the large rodent family—I don’t know. What I’ve never noticed is the low-key one, top right—without its jaws wide—is rather cute—some kind of a large cat. Anyway, I always thought the sleeping guy was on a park bench—but it’s obviously an indoor resting spot—one of those long benches in the lobbies of big, old buildings, that probably has steam heat radiators underneath it—which might be contributing to the guy’s urban nightmares. The back cover is an extreme closeup of his socks and shoes—and we see that one of the soles is worn through. The inner sleeve has lyrics (extremely welcome with SD records!) and an odd, sepia tone photo of Becker and Fagen—their heads doubled, like a prism—presented in a small (6 inch tall) trapezoid shape. There’s a small, elite group who ever present anything in a trapezoid—so that’s kind of mysterious. It’s also, possibly, the coolest photo I’ve ever seen of Walter Becker. He was certainly, at one time, one of the more mysterious figures of pop music. Donald Fagen was, too (and still is), but here he looks like Tiny Tim.

George Shearing “New Look!”

I’ll pretty much pick up any Shearing record I don’t have, and since they’re abundant and inexpensive, I do have a lot. I’m not sure if I remember even hearing this one—it’s pretty striking in the approach—along with the unmistakable “Shearing Sound” there is an orchestra—strings, as well as brass and woodwinds, and occasionally Latin percussion—he’s throwing it all at us—for renditions of popular music of the time—the time being 1967. There are five paragraphs of liner notes on back with some nuts-and-bolts description of what’s going on here, as well as sounding both like a travel agency brochure and an automobile add. The “orchestrations” are credited to Julian Lee, who I know nothing about, but the Big Board says he’s from New Zealand, which may or may not explain anything. He’s got tons of credits, including lots more Shearing, of this era. If this record is any indication, I’ll look forward to getting those records, too—I love the sound of this record. Modern (I mean, 1967 version of modern), but also dated (in a good way), breezy, cool, but also nostalgic.

The front cover kind of says it all—a young, blond woman in a miniskirt, barefoot—either dancing, or demonstrating how to pitch out of a sand trap with an imaginary golf club. Her dress is pretty amazing—dark blue with bold yellow circles (actually, they could a semi-abstract renditions of 45 RPM records). Plus, a wide, bright yellow vinyl belt. She is standing in front of the lineup of songs in a minimalist font, gold on a white background—and she’s managing to not obscure any. Above her, below the title, it says: “George Shearing with the Quintet and the new sounds of his multi-colored orchestra plays the great new songs.” You’d think he’d reinvented the pizza.

Quite often a misplaced Lennon-McCartney can render an otherwise fine side unlistenable. Sorry to say it—they’re great songs—when performed by the Beatles. I don’t know if people just get them wrong, or there’s magic missing. So, I had reason to be concerned with Side One—boasting TWO, including the dreaded “Michelle”—and “Yesterday,” which is a problem for me, since it was the first and only song I ever learned how to play on piano with both left and right hand parts—and I remember that toil like it’s… yesterday. I think the song will forever remind me of my failure at that instrument. The weird thing here, though, is both songs are great. I’m not going to sit around and try to figure out how they did it—I think it’s just that there’s a fresh and creative approach to every song on this record, and they include some seriously over-recorded and overplayed childhood (mine) AM radio gems, like “On a Clear Day You Can See Forever,” “Strangers in the Night,” “Call Me,” “The Shadow of Your Smile,” and “What the World Needs Now Is Love.” It’s a rare album where there are no bummers, and also, nothing really stands out—except for the somewhat audacious approach. I can listen to this repeatedly and now that I have it out, I may. Of course, as I said before, George Shearing is the sound of my childhood and I’d have to encounter an LP where he really runs afoul before you’re going to hear a dissenting word from (the critical side of) me.

Randy Pie “Highway Driver”

My hobby of buying any record (cheapo, naturally) with the band name (or artist) starting with “Randy” doesn’t always work out for the best. It rarely does—I mean, as well as with Randy Lee—which was a great find of all time. There have been some somewhat bummers in the past, but I won’t go into it. This one (Randy Pie—meaning? Take a stab…) starts out on an alarming note—sounding like bland German Seventies prog rock—and it is from 1974 and there’s a guy in the band named “Werner”—so what’d I expect. The second song is restrained and funky, though, at least until the vocals come in—but it’s at least interesting. Eniac informs me that are a German band, from Hamburg—they put out half a dozen records in the Seventies—this is their second. I do like the bass playing quite a bit—it’s behind what’s good about the songs—as well as the electric piano. Some pretty good flute, too—artful and restrained. Nice keyboard playing all around—someone’s on that Clavinet—which I love—I could just have a Clavinet section in my record shelf. I’m trying to catch some lyrics, which are in English, but what I do hear don’t do much for me—so I skip it. Only seven songs on the record, so they really stretch out on each one. Nice, small band pic on back—all dudes, looking like a 1970s German band. The album cover is a rather odd photo of a bleached-blonde woman with a suitcase, leaning on a gnarly, old truck (implying that she’s hitchhiking)—we get a LOT of foreground in the photo—you never saw so much gravel. Apparently before the days of photo-manipulation because visible is: the license plate (JBH21) and the name on the truck door (A.F. Dutton Ltd./Iver./Bucks)—unless those are intentional but cryptic messages. Also, the building in the background (where the trucker is presumably taking a shit) has a sign in which we only see the letter “N”—and also an uncharacteristically small billboard sign—yes, the never-changing, ubiquitous “Coca-Cola”—which possibly could have been cropped in, and then left in for some kind of an ironic “message”—or maybe Polydor was already owned by the international Coke blowjob cartel as early as this—I don’t really know, nor do care.

Royce Hall Lucky 4 “One More Glass of Wine” / “That’s My Life”

Royce Hall Lucky 4 is apparently the name of the artist and/or band? But what does it mean? “Lucky 4 could be a band with four people (or even three), or it might be gambling-oriented. On the Raynard label, which the big voice tells me was Dave Kennedy’s label—so one might assume this was recorded at Dave Kennedy Recording Studio in Milwaukee, though I’m not sure. The record is from 1967. I can’t find anything about Royce Hall Lucky 4, or Royce Hall (I’m assuming Royce Hall is the guy, as the songs are credited to “R. Hall”). But no photos or bio. I’m sure the info is out there—but deeper than I want to dig late on a Friday in early May. There’s a PLACE called Royce Hall, so there’s a billion photos of that—and every Dick, Tom, and Harry who set foot in it. Anyway, the record: It’s some old-time for real country sounding stuff. “That’s My Life” is almost two minutes, and states the title, plus “since you been gone.” (Every time he goes out and tries to forget “you”—people keep asking where “you” are.) “One More Glass of Wine” is the three-minute epic—and goes: “The more I drink the less I think about her,” and so forth—he’s asking for one more glass of wine to help him drive her from his mind. My only question is, who drinks wine at a bar in misery? You drink bourbon, or maybe beer in those circumstances—if you’re drinking wine to reach oblivion, you drink cheap, sweet wine from a bottle, likely in an alley or under a tarpaulin in the back of a truck. But I’ll let it go—this was 1967—things were nuts back around then. Plus, George Jones sang about drinking wine (“Just One More”), and for a country singer, there’s no better role model.