Laura Nyro “The First Songs…”

“The First Songs…” is a 1973 re-release of Laura Nyro’s first album, “More Than a New Discovery” from 1967—exact same songs, I believe, just different sequence. I bought two copies, thinking I was buying both versions, but instead I got both the Columbia and Verve version of the re-release (wildly different covers, though neither of them worth dwelling on). For that matter, both album titles aren’t great—when I get the time machine running, I’ll go back and suggest they title it: “Stoney End”—it’s the best song on the record—and it would be a funny title for an artist’s first LP. The first song on the re-release version is “Wedding Bell Blues”—since that was the big hit. I went for a half-century or so thinking that song was called “Phil.” It was the pervasive morning AM radio hit accompanying my Cap’n Crunch for a year or two of grade school. It’s the one that goes, “Bill, I love you so, I always will…” (I thought it was Phil.) The next song is “Billy’s Blues.” Interesting. There’s also Joe (“Good-bye”), Susan (“Lazy), John and Cindy, etc.—she knew a lot of people, as young people do. Some pretty good lyrics.

I hate to bring this up, but one thing here that distracts me (besides some occasional jauntiness) is that style of harmonica I associate with the mainstream AM radio hits of the time—it just bugs me—and I don’t mean to keep picking on the harmonica—a fine instrument, sometimes. I don’t really hate the instrument, and in some blues music, it’s like evidence of God. Maybe it’s because I, myself, abused the thing, which is easy to do—it has no defense against the amateur. If you look hard enough (please don’t) you can find a YouTube video of me murdering (not even the way Bob Dylan does) the poor thing (though the band I was playing was excellent). (And it’s an interesting side-note that someone smashed in the window of my parked car during that performance!) You can try to punk rock a harmonica, but the harmonica will always harmonica the punk rock. But I’m getting sidetracked—in this case, throughout the record, it’s a different issue—the harmonica is perfectly played and used in moderation to flavor the songs—but for me, it’s never subtle. Maybe I’m the only one who feels this way, but I can’t help but hear it as a watering down—rather than an enhancing. It’s like middle-of-the-road, middle of America, AM morning radio lube. Spooning sugar on your Cap’n Crunch. Or scrambled eggs. Macaroni and Velveeta. It’s like a Martini on the rocks, too much melting ice diluting the gin. Or even, for me, cumin—nothing wrong with it in itself, but in the wrong proportions, it goes all bad-hippie, like too much love on the surface, ultimately unable to make up for a twisted, cut-off heart.

Or, bad metaphors, bad writing. Because I’m not saying the heart of the songs are bad—anything but. Maybe unusual and a little weird (which is part of what’s great about them!)—but making them palpable with harmonica feels, to me, like a disservice. Maybe I should let it go. But it’s not always harmonica, sometimes it’s harmonium, or it could be saxophone, or flugelhorn, or trumpet, or fiddle, or mandolin, or cello. (I mean, in general, these aren’t all on this record!) And sometimes, well, very often, guitar. Though very seldom, I don’t think, sung harmonies—which is interesting. This is all my inexpert opinion, of course, and no one has to agree with me (no one does, completely). It’s just that for me to really love music, which I do, it seems that I have be honest about really hating some other music, or some elements of some music that I hate. I really don’t even like using the word hate—but I just did—and it’s weird how, as I type this, the words keep shrinking on the page, or keep getting further and further away. Maybe it’s coffee time.

Some of the songs here I can do without, but in the context of the 12-song album, they’re okay, since there are more really strong ones—I’ll play the record happily, but just zone out on a few. All pop records are uneven, to an extent, it’s just that some are more uneven than others. And you never know when it might not be the song, but you, and the song’s just waiting for you to come around to it. Generally, I like the slower, quieter songs more, and the more upbeat and jaunty songs less. Have I said that exact same thing about other records? Yes I have. What have you got, you ask, against jaunty songs? Well, occasionally I like them—and there’s a good example here: “Stoney End”—which is a song that it took me a long time to come around to, for some reason, but when I did, it was like falling in love. I never say this, but it’s a masterpiece. It really is. It just occurred to me, listening to this song—could we use that time machine to get Laura Nyro, Donald Fagen, and Walter Becker to get together and go off somewhere together for the entire decade of the Eighties, help each other out, collaborate, write songs and record them—and redefine the decade? They’re all roughly the same age, have jazz, pop, and r&b influences, are from the NYC area, and have unique musical perspectives. I bet people speculate this all the time—oh, well, I’m not trying to be original or anything. Just daydreaming. Well, right now, I’m listening to “Stoney End” yet again. It really is the perfect song. It even made me cry… I have to admit… not because it’s no devastating or anything, but because it’s so beautiful.

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.

Steely Dan “Aja”

I’ve seen a documentary and read a book about this record, so I’m too fatigued to write a “review”—which I don’t really do, anyway. Plus, I write about individual Steely Dan songs, where I primarily try to analyze the lyrics (at rayspeen.com/steely-dan). My history with this record is fun to think about. It came out in 1977, when I was in high school, during a transitional time of my musical preferences when, to oversimplify, I went from Supertramp to the Sex Pistols. I probably put Steely Dan with the old stuff—though, of course, it’s obvious now, they fit in essentially nowhere. I had all their records up to that point—but I didn’t fully appreciate The Royal Scam (1976)—or this one—both the music and the lyrics were too sophisticated for me. Not that I wasn’t listening to some challenging stuff—I just didn’t take the time for Steely Dan. In their three years without a record, after this one—I probably pictured them in rocking chairs on the porch of the retirement home—even though Becker and Fagen were in their late twenties when this record came out. But they always seemed impossibly distant—not even like the much cooler, older brother—but the older brother of the older brother—some kind of hipsters who I didn’t understand… and would have no patience with me.

I did think they were pretty funny, though, based on occasional lyrics I paid attention to, and the album covers. But I imagine I was merely alienated by the minimalist, elegant Aja cover—with more glossy black than I’ve ever seen in one place. The inside cover, however, just cracked me up. Something told me that the odd snapshots of the two were carefully selected to look like they were maybe the only pictures they could find at press time. Murky, high contrast black and white—Walter Becker in the shadows with a Fender guitar that appears to have no finish. Donald Fagen is shirtless, with a dog, in what looks like a garden shed. Both with really dark sunglasses, like they never come out in daytime. It could be they are trying to represent (with the photos) Los Angeles (Donald) and New York (Walter)—which would make sense in that, by this time, they were both a NY band who recorded in LA and an LA band who recorded in NY (kind of, more or less, am I wrong?). It sure feels that way—which is integral to how it sounds.

On some previous Steely Dan records, the liner notes really cracked me up—same thing here. The cover opens up and is almost all text. I’m guessing they are fans of the tradition of liner notes, as am I. Because of the dryly humorous notes on their first record—by an apparently fictional character—I always assumed the extensive notes here, by journalist “Michael Phalen,” was similar. But I didn’t know for sure—they are goofy, but journalists are goofy—so the humor is subtle enough to keep you guessing. (My favorite line, for some reason, about “Deacon Blues”—“an Edge City ballad enlivened only by Pete Christlieb’s haunting tenor work and a tasty chart by Scott.” That always makes me laugh.) I did some poking around on the internet, and it seems the consensus is that this was written by Becker or Fagen. Or maybe both—I can picture them both hovered over a typewriter, each adding lines, as they crack up.

Because of this, I always assumed that the second part of the liner notes, written by “Steve Diener, President of ABC Records” was also for humor—but I looked him up—a real guy (he passed away recently). I just assumed this part was an even more dry exercise in liner note parody—it’s tough to get through—never have so many words said so little. But apparently it was written by the guy. One wonders if they really did (as he claims) ask him to write the text—maybe knowing that it would carry its own quality of oddness. You’re never quite sure what’s going on in the minds of Becker and Fagen—which is what makes them so much fun.

The opening notes—bass (Chuck Rainey) and drums (Paul Humphrey) and, I guess, Clavinet (Joe Sample) and some guitar, I guess (Dean Parks), and maybe some synth (Fagen)—of “Black Cow” is one of my favorite song (and album) openings—it always makes me think of a cartoon pocket-watch that’s been wound too tight, comically exploding (perhaps Becker). And then those first few lines—“In the corner… of my eye… I saw you in Rudy’s… you were very high…” And then for the next line, Fagen’s vocal is joined by the backup singers (Clydie King, Rebecca Louis, Sherlie Matthews, Venetta Fields) “You were high!” And then him alone, “It was a cryin’ disgrace…” And then the backup singers alone, “They saw your face…” And it follows variations of that patten (also adding sax—Tom Scott), more or less throughout the song—back and forth with the backing vocals, in strict but unfollowable patterns. I always found it irresistible, but it was years and years and so many listens before I ever sat down and thought why it’s so compelling. I suppose, trying to describe it in writing is kind of pathetic, but it’s one of my favorite recordings ever. Just the whole song… you (reading this) have heard it, right? This song also includes my favorite solo on the record—electric piano (Victor Feldman)—cool, understated, and warm. And that’s on an album with some great solos.

It’s a song I didn’t appreciate at all back then—other than the drinking part—but something happened about a decade or so ago, and the song started to delight me every time I heard it—and it continues, to this day, to sound better every time I put it on. It makes no sense—I can’t think of another similar phenomenon—except very occasionally with other music—or sometimes there’s a movie you think you’re through with—and you see it at the right time—and suddenly it’s like it’s new.

Unfortunately, it’s downhill from there. “Aja” is a great song, but you hear it entirely too often—at the grocery store, doctor’s office, DMV, spa. Cool it with “Aja!” Next is “Deacon Blues,” which is a song I despised at one time (I’m talking about twenty years ago, or so, just before I came back around to SD, in general). I think the lyrics put me off a bit; not an Alabama football fan—though, I admit, they have the coolest name. But who says “work” a saxophone? Of course, that’s the point. Anyway, when I came back to this song, say seven or eight years ago, I couldn’t get enough of it—and for a while it was my favorite Steely Dan song.

You don’t even need the second side—the three songs on Side A are a full course meal. You can, if you want to, save the rest of it for a rainy day. There are four more songs, each one a journey—it’s almost overkill. I mean, when I bought this record, I was probably appalled. Who puts only seven songs on a record? I mean post prog-rock—these were pop songs. That’s nearly a dollar a song! But seeing how “Black Cow” is a night out dancing, “Aja” is a “suite,” and “Deacon Blues” is one of those ridiculously long New Yorker stories—you need a breather before Side B—and some time with the reference books. And a rainy day. But, of course, we’ve had 45 years—lots of rain, when you add it up.

Steely Dan “Can’t Buy a Thrill”

I’ve probably written more about Steely Dan than any other musical group in the last few years, so I almost feel like I have to go back and reread what I’ve written not to repeat myself here. On my other website, I have an an entire page dedicated to writing about individual SD songs. I’ve read books about the band, even. It kind of feels like—at this point—an unhealthy obsession—so I thought I’d use this opportunity to announce that I’m through with Steely Dan. Just kidding! But also, I’m not going to try to write either a comprehensive or definitive review of this record. It’s their first LP, and kind of an oddity in that you can sense the process of defining that band—I mean there are three different people taking lead vocals! The odd thing, though, is that there is nothing half-assed about this record—it sounds like a veteran band in the prime of their career. Every single song is excellent—and more than one has become a staple of classic rock airplay until the end of time (I’m assuming that when the Earth has one day evolved into a barren asteroid, there will still be classic rock radio). This is arguably one of the best records from the arguably best year of rock music, 1972.

If I had to pick a favorite song from Side One, it would be “Dirty Work,” and Side Two, it would be “Brooklyn” (even though I’ve tried and failed to understand the subtitle of that song: “Owes the Charmer Under Me”). There are liner notes by “Dan Steele”—an early example of the dry humor that would accompany Steely Dan from here on. This might be one of the first instances of referring to the band as “The Dan”—which serious fans have done seriously since—even though the band, here, is preemptively making fun of that very practice! The cover looks remarkably similar to one of the art collages I made at very nearly the same time in history, though mine didn’t include prostitutes (I was twelve). The band’s logo did not seem to catch on—it looks better suited for a hotdog stand—yet if I had a vintage T-shirt with it, I’d wear that. The record folds open and there’s a quite flattering group photo of the six primary band members at this time (with the essential lyrics printed on top). As much as I appreciate the evolution of SD lineups (Walter Becker and Donald Fagen with a truly impressive and lengthy array of musical geniuses), it kind of makes me sad, in a way, that this particular lineup didn’t just stay together for decades. At least you can find some old footage of them on YouTube—performances from TV shows like Midnight Special, etc.—looking every bit as bizarre and alien now as they probably did then.

The Woody Herman Band “Chick, Donald, Walter & Woodrow”

Big band leader Woody Herman made records from the Thirties to the Eighties, and though he’s as household of a name as Frigidaire, I’ve heard very few of them on my record player. This is one of many, but to me an exciting oddity because Side 2 consists of five Steely Dan songs: “Green Earrings,” “Kid Charlemagne,” “I Got the News,” “Aja,” and “FM.” But first—Side 1 is called “Suite for a Hot Band” and is composed and arranged by Chick Corea. It’s a long piece with “movements”—it’s hot, though I haven’t listened to it endlessly or anything. In the “Second Movement” there is even an odd vocal part, which sounds like either a guy who can’t sing, or some kind of rarified jazz singing I’m not hip to. (It’s Woody Herman.) I like it. Side 2, then, is all Steely Dan (Donald Fagen and Walter Becker being the other first names in the album title). Kind of a subtle tip-off—but much nicer than a record called, say, Woody Herman Plays the Sizzling Hits of Chick Corea & Steely Dan. The cover offers no real clue to the vinyl inside, either; in fact I might have seen this for years and never picked it up since it’s frankly kind of hideous. It’s an airbrush composition of some kind of car—a convertible, with a Fifties winged look—floating on an endless, global “Waterworld” sea (the curve of the horizon is prominent). Or it could be in the clouds, I don’t know. Anyway, the barely visible passengers are four penguins. I suppose meant to represent out heroes—but penguins?

I was only aware of this record because my friend Doug, knowing I’m a huge Steely Dan fan, gave it to me. It’s the first record I have with any cover versions of SD songs—and though I know there must be tons out there—I’ve heard very few. These five hot tunes do them justice. Oddly my favorite, here—since it’s a SD song I’m not crazy about—is “FM.” There’s a flute part that really works. You can find most of these on YouTube if you want to hear them, I’d recommend it—and there is a bonus—you can also find the version of “Deacon Blues” that was left off this record—for no reason I can tell—it’s very good. Full musician credits on the back of the album cover, which is cool—and Steely Dan regular Victor Feldman is heavily involved. Also, there are liner notes: Chick Corea’s jotted seemingly at gunpoint, but Woody Herman’s is nice, informational, and heartfelt. But then Becker and Fagen go and write what seems like a “short story”—ha! (I always say, if someone gives you a chance to write something that’s going to undergo some kind of printing-press treatment, be it a cereal box, doctor’s office magazine, or album liner notes—go for it.) The story is an extended and bizarre anecdote involving “Dick LaPalm”—who I assumed was a made-up character (that name!) until I looked on the internet (which wasn’t available to me in 1978 when this record came out). He was a real guy—Woody Herman’s publicist—and known as the “The Jazz Lobbyist.” Also evident is the address of the record company, “Century Records,” on Sunset Blvd in LA, so I looked that up, and I was not totally surprised, but happy, to see there’s a Mexican restaurant there, now. Rather see tacos than chain drugstores.

Steely Dan “Katy Lied”

This is the fourth Steely Dan LP, from 1975, and it may have been the first one I bought, as a 15-year-old music fan. I’m not sure though—I think I might have bought the first four all roughly around that time. I don’t remember what I made of it—I liked it—some songs more than others. I hear it somewhat differently now, of course. I have a page on my website (rspeen.com) where I write exclusively about individual Steely Dan songs—one at a time (selected at random, similar to here). At some point I realized that the only way to really appreciate SD music is to listen really closely, and also to attempt to analyze the lyrics. Otherwise, you’re only halfway there. For example, you might appreciate “Rose Darling” as a terrific pop song about a fictional woman named Rose, rather than a twisted coming of age masturbation saga in the form of a terrific pop song.

There are ten songs on this record, all of them really good. My all-time favorite was, and still is, “Doctor Wu”—which is one of my favorite Steely Dan songs—I’ve only listened to it thousands of times, yet it still puts goosebumps on my spine. It rivals the ten best movies of any given year—though in a four minute song, no CGI, no images at all, except in your mind. The song that I didn’t appreciate at all 45 years ago, but now has become one of my favorite SD songs is “Any World (That I’m Welcome To)”—kind of an epic in four minutes—it would be one of the 10 best TV shows in any given year. The music and the lyrics align in such a vision of affirmation that you can’t help but wonder just where lie the mines in that field of Hallmark emotional health—but since it’s a Steely Dan song, you know something lies beneath—though in this case, possibly dormant for a half century, or more.

The album cover is a blown-up photo of a grasshopper that’s pretty much almost all out of focus and quite striking and beautiful—it’s all but abstract. The back cover is an odd set of photos—by now, they’re pretty much strictly a studio band, I guess—they could have easily just included Becker and Fagen (or no one)—or maybe a couple dozen artists integral to the making of this record. Included: the great drummer Jeff Porcaro, looking like a 12-year-old (as do Becker and Fagen). Also, there’s “Mike” McDonald, snapped in the very process of—I read somewhere—inventing “Yacht Rock”—and the proof is “Bad Sneakers”—whether or not any of these guys could sail. As a teenager, oddly, the thing that made the biggest impression on me was the entire, pretty lengthy, recording tech paragraph at the bottom of the credits. I didn’t yet know how some adults could be totally serious and total goofballs at the same time, so I found this deliciously confusing. I particularly liked the line: “some very expensive German microphones.” Who says something like that? I was, at the time, working on my second or third “album” myself, on cassette—with $1.98 of gear. And that didn’t stop me—when I designed the “album cover”—from constructing my own inscrutable myths.