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58 of 61 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
One Of the Best Albums Ever Recorded, July 27, 2003
By 1975, Steely Dan had abandoned touring and reconvened in L.A. to wring songs of confusion, loss, mayhem, and strange lust out of a new Bosendorfer and some ace studio musicians. The cryptic lyrics of such songs as "Dr Wu," and "Rose Darling" shimmer as in a dream amongst the syncopation and searing guitar work (just who is Snake Mary?). Although these are all rock songs, they are arranged and played in a jazz idiom for the backing tracks, giving Steely Dan their unique soundworld. Walter Becker and Donald Fagan's talents begin to bloom here. Freed from the grind of touring that wore down so many bands with potential, they could concentrate on their neurotic perfectionism and create recorded music that is both clear and deep. This reissue sparkles, the musical layers in relief, the sneer and terror in Donald Fagan's voice ringing over the snap and smear of Michael Omartian's dynamic pianism. Donald Fagan and David Paitch contribute keyboards of various types throughout, always to good effect. Larry Carlton, Denny Dias, Rick Derringer, Dean Parks, Hugh McCracken, and Walter Becker contribute the excellent guitar work. The album begins with an ominous song of dread, "Black Friday," whose existance might alone justify the invention of the electric piano, if that invention might need to be justified. The big Bosendorfer powers the next cut, the classic "Bad Sneakers," a tale of exile and aimlessness in the big city. Michael McDonald's back-up vocals of "Goin' insane" give the song some bluesy atmosphers, while the nearly whimsical guiter solo over some nice piano chops belies the seriousness of the song's existential dilemma. And of course, certainly one of the 10 best Steely Dan songs, "Dr. Wu," a Miami Beach epic of the love jones and Asian physicians. Once again the piano strikes like a bell, and Porcarco's minimal percussion on the verse ticks like a bomb. Fagan's lament for his lost and future love murders me still, as it killed me back in 1977. Phil Woods takes this song into the stratosphere with an alto saxophone solo few could match; consider how well this solo works in the context of the music and the lyrics compared to the clumsliness with which most solos intrude on other songs. Katy Lied, indeed. Like a fresh morning breeze on a summer day that carries the portent of pain and a lonely night. In short, a masterpiece.
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