In the end, duty whacks the bouncer on, and he sends his friend away, gaucho in hand, scolding him for his bad judgment. The coda is a lushly arranged, allinstrumental verse, with melody intoned in unison by a Rhodes and a smoothly distorted guitar, joined here and there by the sax and other guitars. The final chord, a breathy five-part harmony on the unresolved seventh, brushes us with pixie dust as the curtain closes.

Chorus
Lord I know you’re a special friend,
But you refuse to understand.
You’re a nasty schoolboy with no place to go,
Try again tomorrow.

Verse 4
Don’t tell me he’ll wait in the car,
Look at you, holding hands with the man from Rio.
Would you care to explain...

Chorus 2 and coda

Studies in Self-Amusement and Cynicism

In 1982, two years after Fagen and Becker parted ways, The Nightfly was released. Those who had suspected that the later Steely Dan albums were basically Donald Fagen efforts needed no further confirmation. Becker had played on only half the cuts of the previous albums. While their own interviews politely asserted their continuing collaboration on each song, comments by session players and their engineers failed to concur. Nevertheless, The Nightfly sounds and feels as much like Gaucho and Aja as any group’s next album could. Moreover, it is simply brilliant, from writing to final mix.

The Nightfly is also a concept album based on themes and myths of the late 1950s and 1960s. It expresses all the naiveté and underlying tensions of the Eisenhower and Kennedy years—personal, sexual, and nuclear. It is also heavily autobiographical, portraying Fagen’s childhood dreams and adolescent fantasies, as the liner notes reveal: “fantasies that might have been entertained by a young man of my general height, weight, and build growing up in the remote suburbs of a northeastern city.”

While sarcasm and cynicism continue unabated in the lyrics, they are generally less biting than on earlier albums. “The New Frontier,” borrowing its title from J.F.K.’s slogan, stages a party in the family bomb shelter, allegedly to identify likely candidates to be saved in order to rebuild humanity after the coming nuclear holocaust. “Maxine” and “Walk Between the Raindrops” are genuine period pieces that remind us of the purity and innocence of young love in that distant period. “Ruby Baby” is actually a remake of a late ’50s ballad by Leiber and Stoller.

The title cut is more typical Fagen, a voyeuristic look inside the mind of an all-night talk radio DJ in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. “So you say there’s a race of men in the trees...thanks for calling, I wait all night for calls like these.” He reads some absurd ad copy for a face cream and plays the station’s perky musical ID twice. Yet behind the on-air facade lies a broken heart. Reminiscing about a lost love, the DJ confesses “I wish I had a heart of ice.” Now his flame is connecting with weirdo 4 A.M. callers via the safe anonymity of a phone line. Today, of course, it would be the Internet. In his own way, the Nightfly is the same character as the gaucho himself.

KEY ELEMENTS: PERFORMANCE, MELODY, RECORDING

Perhaps the finest song of all is one that generally goes unnoticed, “The Goodbye Look,” set in Cuba during Castro’s takeover. The pearl Fagen fashions to hide this story is one of his most beautiful ever. The intro begins with a lazy Latin shuffle—a meandering two-part lead played on a synthetic xylophone or marimba, with light congas, maracas, and other percussion. A smooth Hammond organ slides through the jazzy progression as the rhythm section cooks in Latin perfection. We are obviously in the islands, and the feel is as relaxed and breezy as any jingle for American Airlines or a cruise line. The chord progression finishes with four bars on a major seventh, happy as a clam. Then that funny, familiar voice...

Verse 1
The surf was quiet on the day I came to stay,
On this quiet island in the bay.
I remember a line of women all in white,
The laughter and steel bands at night.

What could possibly be amiss? It doesn’t take long to find out, although the rhythm tracks continue their light and frothy feel with the addition of a syncopated, muted guitar on the right. Not a musical eyelash is out of place.

Verse 2
Now all the Americans are gone except for two,
The embassy’s been hard to reach.
There’s been talk, and lately a bit of action after dark,
Behind the big casino on the beach.

Prechorus
The rules are changed, it’s not the same,
It’s all new players in a whole new ball game.

Seemingly unbothered, our protagonist—a vacationer or expatriate, we don’t know-comments dryly on the rapid decline of political stability. But in the next verse, while the rhythm tracks glide along as usual, both shoes drop hard.

Verse 3
Last night I dreamed of an old lover dressed in gray.
I’ve had this fever now since yesterday.
Wake up, darling, they’re knocking, the Colonel’s standing in the sun,
With his stupid face, the glasses, and the gun.

Chorus
I know what happens,
I read the book.
I believe I just got the goodbye look.
Won’t you pour me a Cuban breeze, Gretchen.

Solo

The whole scene turns out to be a déja vu from some cheap spy novel. Yet later, while pondering a way out, the singer casually asks the German bartendress for another drink. This “why let imminent demise ruin a good vacation” attitude is quintessential Fagen. After all, life is only a movie, right? The only musical hint of calamity is the chorus melody, which sits tensely on a fifth straight through, while the chord progression beneath slithers through a series of knotted suspensions, never resolving until Gretchen delivers his Cuban Breeze.

The glib, relaxed guitar solo that follows evokes the gay, nonchalant ambience of the bar, reinforcing that at moments like these, one does what one can, Fate does what it will. Similarly, the chic, glamorous ambience of Rick’s Cafe in the film Casablanca masks the tingle of intrigue in which a single misplaced glance can cost one’s life. In such tightly wound dramas, emotions can only be read in extreme close-up, whether they be in Humphrey Bogart’s eyes or Donald Fagen’s vocal.

Verse 4
I know a fellow with a motor launch for hire,
A skinny man with two-tone shoes.
‘Cause tonight they’re arranging a small reception just for me,
Behind the big casino by the sea.

The way out? A quick exit via a sleek 1959 Chris Craft with twin Evinrude “screws,” drink in hand, still smiling, saying he’ll be back from the men’s room in a second. The music gives no hint of any change, no drop of musical sweat trickles down his face to stain his collar. Instead, the camera zooms after him as the launch fades into the night on its way to Miami, the party continuing as the titles fade up.

Over the last decade, I have played “The Goodbye Look” for several record production classes, without any particular introduction. Some recognize the artist, some don’t. But when I ask what it’s about, the answer is almost always the same: some guy is on an island vacation, trying to pick up girls at a beachfront bar. The breezy feel is so convincing that no one picks up the dark story line on a first listen. “The Goodbye Look” thus commits the perfect musical crime, completely concealing its gruesome tale inside a beautiful and alluring package.