Why is a song from 1978 still considered the gold standard for audiophiles?
You recognise it the second it comes in: the gentle cymbals, the buttery-smooth keyboards, the lush guitar chords. When Steely Dan kicks into ‘Deacon Blues’, everything seems so crystalline and perfect that it almost doesn’t seem real.
Filled with nuance but never too complex for the average listener, ‘Deacon Blues’ is an easy entry point into the jazz-rock weirdness of Steely Dan. But its place in the wider world stretches beyond an introduction to their discography.
“We’re both kids who grew up in the suburbs,” Becker explained in the Classic Albums episode on Aja. “We both felt fairly alienated. Like a lot of kids in the fifties, we were looking for some kind of alternative culture — some kind of escape, really — from where we found ourselves.” Becker adds that the song’s main character “just sort of imagines that would be one of the mythic forms of loserdom to which he might aspire. Who’s to say that he’s not right?”
But ‘Deacon Blues’, and the album Aja as a whole, has another legacy with audiophiles. Simply put, it’s one of the first albums that most geeks use to fine-tune their hi-fi systems. Steely Dan was always known for their meticulous attention to detail, but why is ‘Deacon Blues’ the standard by which most audio snobs will judge equipment?
One reason ‘Deacon Blues’ has endured as an audiophile reference is that it reveals strengths and weaknesses without ever sounding clinical. A good system allows each instrument to occupy its own space, with Bernard Purdie’s feather-light cymbal work hanging delicately above Larry Carlton’s guitar while Donald Fagen’s unmistakable vocal sits firmly at the centre of the mix, you can hear the song almost ‘as live’.
On lesser equipment, those same elements can begin to blur together, making the song an almost instant test of a system’s ability to separate detail without sacrificing warmth, just as the Dan tirelessly intended it (much to the chagrin of those they often worked with).
The answer to its persistent position lies in the band’s pursuit of perfection. Walter Becker and Donald Fagen recruited the cream of the crop when it came to studio musicians for Aja. On ‘Deacon Blues’ alone, you can hear Purdie on drums, Carlton on guitar, and the trio of Clydie King, Sherlie Matthews, and Venetta Fields on backing vocals.
In fact, 11 different musicians contribute to the final mix of ‘Deacon Blues’, but each musician’s contributions come sparkling through with astounding clarity. Unlike recordings designed to dazzle with booming bass or exaggerated treble, Deacon Blues rewards balance. The production is remarkably natural, with a wide dynamic range and enough subtle detail that every upgrade to a hi-fi chain seems to uncover something new. A fly entering the control room may one day even come to the fore.
Even though tech has moved on, very few artists have gone to the lengths to be so painstaking about the details. To some extent, the track simply dates back to the days when there was enough money in the music industry to fuss, and the Dan had more than enough appetite to do so. Just ask Mark Knopfler, who called the endless takes that they put him through when they collaborated a rare form of hell.
Even in the 1970s, when multi-track recordings began to expand to extremes, the standard procedure was still to record instruments live in the same room. The Dan were no different, but they paid special attention to microphone placement, eliminating bleed between tracks and honing in on the best takes. Along with producer Gary Katz and an army of engineers, Becker and Fagen worked on ‘Deacon Blues‘ until it was up to their lofty standards.
“It’s the only time I remember mixing a record all day and, when the mix was done, feeling like I wanted to hear it over and over again,” Becker told The Wall Street Journal. “It was the comprehensive sound of the thing.”
In the same interview, Fagen acknowledges “one thing we did right” in the making of the song: “We never tried to accommodate the mass market. We worked for ourselves and still do.” That obsessive approach has ensured that the old ‘78 track has outlived countless technological shifts. It doesn’t hurt that it is also a jam to boot.
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