KEY ELEMENTS: PERFORMANCE, ARRANGEMENT, PRODUCTION, RECORDING, ARTIST, MELODY

After examining this and other Steely Dan lyrics, it is clear that one of Fagen and Becker’s central concerns is the difference between appearance and reality. For example, “Hey Nineteen” from Gaucho. The record opens with a single staccato drum and bass note followed by a long, whining note on electric guitar —a musical cat in heat. A smooth, lazy rhythm section sallies through the intro, which features a folksy harmonica exchanging phrases with the lead guitar, and little plunk-plunk-plunk muted guitar fills, like a cat’s feet on a backyard fence. Simple, elegant chords, lots of space between them, solid, dry drums. Enter Fagen’s vocal, doubled, over an unusually simple, almost tipsy 1–4–5 verse progression.

Verse 1
Way back when, in ’67,
I was the dandy of Gamma Chi.
Sweet things from Boston, so young and willing,
Moved down to Scarsdale, and where the hell am I?

Chorus
Hey Nineteen.
No, we can’t dance together.
(alt. “No, we got nothing in common.”)
No, we can talk at all.
Please take me along when you slide on down.

Verse 2
Hey Nineteen, that’s ‘Retha Franklin.
She don’t remember the Queen of Soul.
It’s hard times befallen the soul survivors.
She thinks I’m crazy, but I’m just growing old.

Chorus

The singer has wasted a good chunk of his adult life chasing teenage girls, as he is doing now. College conquests moved onward and upward, but he is stuck in his addiction. His latest nubiles don’t even know his favorite oldies any more, and he has nothing to say to them, except in bed, where they both “slide on down.” The chorus is in the relative minor, fraught with chordal suspensions and breathy four-part background vocals reinforcing the “No we can’t...” lines. Altogether, the effect is to say “just shut up and take off your clothes.” As a lithe and limber guitar dances before him, Fagen observes and prods with sadly condescending comments:

Solo (with spoken, drawled interjections:)
Nice...Shore looks good. Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm.
Skate a little lower now...

The bridge tells the story. Lush four-part vocals intone his fervent hope, namely that a few shots of good tequila and a joint will tear down the walls of age and restore his youthful charm and prowess. A second repeat of his lascivious prayer is cut off by the reality of the final chorus, and the song ends as it began, the smooth, pussy-footed introduction fading into the distance, harmonica dancing atop the plunking guitar.

Bridge
The Cuervo Gold, the fine Colombian,
Make tonight a wonderful thing.

Chorus, Coda, Fade

Is this Shakespearean farce, Enlightenment satire, or a Fagenian confession? When we consider the large number of Steely Dan songs that dote on the wonders and dangers of drugs, and the rumored nasal proclivities of the musical luminaries with whom they hung, I vote for confession. However, as with most of the group’s lyrics, “Hey Nineteen” is also a thinly veiled warning not unlike the Ancient Mariner’s tale. It holds the mirror up to listeners and says “But for the grace of...(blind luck, perhaps), your face here!”

The parallel theme of withering sexual ability is visited even more bitterly in the first song on Gaucho, “Babylon Sisters.” Again failing to match his youthful appetite for boozing and whoring, Fagen’s character laments that “the kid will live and learn, as he watches his bridges burn, from the point of no return.” There can be little doubt that such lyrics are autobiographical. They ring like the mocking challenges hurled by sinners in Dante’s hell up to those who failed to do anything good OR sinful with their lives, and who are now suspended forever in limbo.

KEY ELEMENTS: PERFORMANCE, MELODY, PRODUCTION, ARRANGEMENT, FORM, ARTIST

Perhaps the most tragic (and cryptic) of Steely Dan’s tales is the title cut itself, “Gaucho.” Have you ever had a friend or associate whose behavior embarrassed you? Someone who you enjoyed or even loved, but who periodically put himself and you at risk? Among the most evocative of the group’s songs, the music and arrangement paint the picture of a very chic private club. A stately introduction, almost all on the major tonic chord, exudes a smooth, easy gospel feel, featuring a Hammond organ and clipped, unreverbed sax lines. The turnaround hook could be straight out of a gospel hymn. Every note is etched cleanly against silence, and we see clear to the musical horizon. Then Fagen opens the can.

Verse 1
Just when I say, “Boy you can’t miss,
You are golden,” then you do this.
You say this guy is so cool,
Snapping his fingers like a fool.
One more expensive kiss-off,
Who do you think I am?

Chorus
Lord, I know you’re a special friend,
But you don’t seem to understand.
We got heavy rollers, I think you should know.
Try again tomorrow.

Verse 2
Can’t you see they’re laughing at me,
Get rid of him, I don’t care what you do at home.
Would you care to explain...

A cryptic confrontation between two friends, perhaps gay lovers, one of whom (the singer) works with, perhaps as a bouncer, at a club or casino. The other has picked up some street person or wastrel from South of the Border and brought him in for inspection. While the rhythm track maintains ultracool control through the first verse, its shape is distended, extra measures stretching each phrase out awkwardly. Almost every word is underlined by some musical or percussive punch. Our tuxedoed bouncer is clearly upset and comes down hard in the first chorus, with heavy emphasis on two phrases, “You don’t seem to understand, We got heavy rollers...”

While trying to convince his friend to leave in the truncated second verse, he seems interrupted by someone’s arrival—perhaps his boss—whereupon he and the track adopt a haughty, judgmental tone for the second chorus. Four-part vocals deliver the lyrics in glimmering perfection, with sparkling Fender Rhodes piano runs and silky-smooth synth chords. Whatever the Custerdome may be, its full splendor is far above the likes of the friend and his fingersnapping gaucho. In stark contrast, a thin, stringy little Stratocaster plays nervous Flamenco-tinged r&b rhythms on the left. All that’s missing are castanets.

Chorus
Who is the Gaucho, amigo?
Why is he standing there in your spangled leather poncho,
And your elevator shoes?
(Alt.: “with the studs that match your eyes”)
Bodacious cowboys such as your friend,
Will never be welcome here,
High in the Custerdome.

Solo (two-part brass, exchanging phrases with electric guitar)

Verse 3
What’d I tell you back down the line,
I’ll scratch your back, you can scratch mine.
No, he can’t sleep on the floor,
What do you think I’m yelling for?
I’ll drop him near the freeway,
Doesn’t he have a home?

After a lush brass/guitar solo and a full repeat of the introduction, the third verse paints a darker, sadder picture as the arrangement maintains its flawless veneer. Our bouncer is obviously very close to his friend—who but a lover would notice details like studs that match his eyes? But here his outrage turns to pity, both for the friend/lover and the poor gaucho, who is homeless. The final line turns the emotional table and catches me completely off guard every time, especially as Fagen delivers it with real compassion.