“Too sophisticated”: when William S. Burroughs reviewed a Steely Dan classic
When rock music was becoming undeniably bloated, and the countercultural dream had morphed into a dark parody of itself, Walter Becker and Donald Fagen emerged with their vehicle Steely Dan. For many listeners, they supplied a flame leading the way out of the dark by crafting music that was compelling sonically and provided a stark counterbalance to the ubiquitous fantastical trifle. Their wry humour and incisive takes on the sordid underbelly of human nature were perfect for a surreal age where the post-war harmony had crumbled, and society was more fractured than ever.
Such a style was not undertaken in a bleak, full-frontal, and deeply sexual way like fellow New Yorker’s The Velvet Underground, but in a more sardonic, subtle manner. Becker and Fagen’s lyrics so expertly toe the line that there are many classic moments that still divide fans over what they actually mean; with little help offered by the typically confidential pair.
While the duo of Bard College friends might have been greatly musically influenced by jazz greats such as Miles Davis and Charles Mingus and be big fans of funk and soul – aspects which would become intrinsic to their very unique style – spiritually, they emerged from a line of misanthropic artists who delved headfirst into humanity’s messy private lives. It wasn’t all sex, though; themes of denial and jealousy also crop up.
For all of the refined jazz twists that galvanised them when young, the pair are closely aligned with the likes of The Fugs and Frank Zappa. These two supposedly countercultural acts came before them and lampooned society and music in outlandish sonic ways with sneering, ironic lyrics augmenting the spirit of their product.
It all came back to William S. Burroughs for Steely Dan. The man obdurately tied to the Beat Generation despite his protestations, his surreal, narcotic-laced tales set a precedent for a range of art, including Becker and Fagen, who took their name from a steam-powered, strap-on dildo that features in his controversial 1959 romp, Naked Lunch.
Not only did this provide the perfect name and stylistic ballast for everything to come, but the essence of Burroughs’ prose can be found in the band’s songs. These include ‘Everyone’s Gone to the Movies’ from 1975’s Katy Lied, which tells the unsettling story of an adult man showing porn movies to young boys, and 2000’s ‘Cousin Dupree’, which sends shivers down the spine through the narrator outlining incestual feelings for his cousin.
These sordid tales are of the kind that Burroughs pioneered, and naturally, given the band’s link to him, the Missourian was once asked to comment on their work. When speaking to the short-lived New Times in 1977 – the year that Steely Dan peaked with Aja – the author listened to the group’s music for the first time in the form of ‘Black Friday’ from Katy Lied. Notably, the track is about a crooked speculator.
Despite their close association, he impassively took in their sounds. Burroughs described their “very fancy music” as far “too sophisticated” for its own good, an argument their detractors have lodged against them on numerous occasions. “These people are too fancy,” he said. “They’re too sophisticated, they’re doing too many things at once in a song.”
“To write a bestseller, you can’t have too much going on,” he continued of their literary background. “You take The Godfather, the horse’s head. That’s great. But you can’t have a horse’s head on every page. These people tend to have too many horses’ heads.”
While Steely Dan have faced much criticism for their musical and lyrical choices, Burroughs’ comments must have hurt, particularly considering his frank words. Yet, Becker and Fagen were never ones for pandering to the mainstream, a position the author ironically influenced.
