“The only time we ever compromised”: When Steely Dan sold out
In an era of sex, drugs and rock and roll, Steely Dan rose to fame by embracing the exact opposite of that.
Rather than descend into the spiral of road-fuelled hedonism that so many of their 1970s peers embraced, Steely Dan took solace in the safety of their studio, where they engaged in an almost obsessive level of concentration in the recorded format.
Walter Becker and Donald Fagen would test the limits of the studio, blazing through session guitarists and putting some of the most accomplished musicians to the sword, all in the endless pursuit of perfection that could never naturally be replicated in the unpredictability of the live setting.
In fact, at the end of one 1993 tour, Becker drew out a big sigh of relief, for the supposed pain of playing live in front of a grand audience had finally come to an end, as he proclaimed, “It turns out that show business isn’t really in my blood anyway, and I’m looking forward to getting back to working on my car.”
Consequently, the industry could never really nail them down to any commercial obligation. With neither Becker nor Fagan cutting the figure of music’s charismatic showmen, their music could exist safely in the confines of the studio, where they would rarely have to publicly promote it. Ultimately, it was for the best given their jazz-fusion style and its inability to be commercially pigeon-holed.
Naturally, the band’s hesitation to be front and centre of their marketing campaigns called for a pivot in the album artwork. Tasked with encapsulating the textural Steely Dan sound into one succinct illustration, the results were suitably eccentric, with the band’s debut album, Can’t Buy A Thrill, showcasing a collage of esoteric images that suitably mirror the myriad ideas that exist within the album sleeve.
So from the very outset, Steely Dan’s stall was set out, and with a fan base quickly forming, it was best for the record label to let them do their thing and operate within the realms of their own freedom. But on their follow-up Countdown To Ecstacy, an executive from Geffen Records tried to interfere with the editorial, much to the dismay of the uncompromising pair.
Fagen remembered, “When we were first starting [as a five-piece in 1972], Jay Lasker used to run Dunhill Records. My girlfriend at the time, Dorothy White, did an illustration called Countdown to Ecstasy for our second album cover. It was four alien-sorta-looking people in these chairs.”
Adding, “Lasker looked at it and said, ‘What’s goin’ on here! Put in a fifth guy – there’s a fifth guy in the band!’ He wouldn’t approve it until Dorothy drew a fifth figure. It never looked as good. That was the only time we ever compromised with a record company.”
Considering Steely Dan famously fired seven musicians before finding the perfect guitar tone on ‘Peg’, they weren’t an outfit to be told what to do in the minor details of their art. While it wasn’t uncompromising in your traditional rock rebellion way, Steely Dan were a band who did things on their own steam or not at all.
