From the Jun 1 – Jun 7, 2000 issue

Music

Point Taken

The Fugly Fellas of Steely Dan

by Kathleen Wilson

THERE ARE TWO BANDS I adore that expose not only my, ahem, stage in life, but also my ultimate squareness. Squareness, as in, I own every one of these bands' albums, however good or however godawful each release may be. The bands, in confession, are Electric Light Orchestra and Steely Dan, both of which I have never seen perform live.

Well, sorta.

Unfortunately, while going through my pre-work ablutions recently, I caught Steely Dan playing on the Today show as part of the program's sphincter- wrinkling "Summer Concert Series." Watching it is never a good idea, as the bands almost without fail are bands I listened to in my teens and early 20s, and let me just say that "my people" have not been "stowin' away the time" as well as I have. Kickass as she is, Chrissie Hynde is in dire need of a good eye cream, and her Friday fans, gleefully gathered around Rockefeller Center with their loud shirts and fanny packs, dimpled skin and spare tires, certainly were not a sight I needed to see as I slathered firming cream on my stinging, freshly exfoliated thighs.

I've always been the one to defend Steely Dan's particular brand of pop to my friends who do not believe Huey Lewis' credo that it's hip to be square--square that he is. Steely Dan held a mystique about them because they were, until recent years, a studio band, a band that didn't often tour, at least not around these parts. Well, now they do, and OH! how I wish they wouldn't. But because they do, I saw them on the Today show a few weeks back, and now I think I hate them.

Why? Because they ruined it all for me. For one, they're fugly. Fucking ugly. And dorky as all hell. But I could get past that, if the experience of seeing them perform live, combined with their songs, didn't end up being so goddamn off-putting. In the past, I loved "Peg," especially the part that soars and goes, "It's your favorite foreign movie." (Even if it is creepy ol' Michael McDonald doing most of the singing.) It's one of the few songs about a porn star that doesn't make her sound stupid or sleazy. The Friday in question, however, I winced as I sat on the edge of my bed, watching and realizing with undeniable horror that "Peg" is quite possibly the stupidest song ever recorded.

It sounded so dumb with all those funky, fugly, middle-aged guys bouncing around in that dork-ass way middle-aged men do (from the waist), with their guitars going "beermp-beermp-boo, beer mp-beermp-boo" over and over again. And of course, I noted, just before involuntarily feigning a theatrical death on my bed, that they mugged when the line about smiling for the camera came along. I had so hoped they wouldn't do that.

The Incredible Edible Egg™, the Today show's Friday commercial sponsor, was bouncing across the screen just as stupidly as the band, managing to add even more insult to the grave injuries my memories and self-esteem already were suffering. The crowd shots were like knives in my eyes. They finished the song; the Today show went to some commercial about eggs; and I went to my therapist that afternoon in a tizzy, complaining about the fact that I didn't have a retirement plan, I hadn't had children, and I didn't know how much longer I could do my job or just how few years it would be until I looked like the female equivalent of a member of Steely Dan, bending rhythmically from the waist while bobbing to melodic, oh, let's say, feedback.

Now, most people would not publicly admit to such shameless depths of vanity. But then again, most people would not let the sight of Chrissie Hynde (God love her) performing live at 8:30 a.m. make them go out and buy a newer, stronger eye cream on the way to work that very day. Nor would the sight of Steely Dan singing "Peg" at long last make them run screaming to the phone to make an emergency appointment with a therapist.

Clearly, I am not most people.

Last night my friend Liza asked me to take her to Steely Dan's upcoming "2 Against Nature" show at the Gorge. (Nature is winning.) I flat-out refused. "No fucking way," I said, shocking her with my immediacy. "But I love Steely Dan!" she protested. My reply? "So do I, or at least I think I still do, but I haven't been able to lay a needle to a single Steely Dan album since I saw them on the Today show." "I saw that, too," sighed my friend. "Point taken."

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