If you are a die-hard Steely Dan fan from "back in the day," let me first congratulate you on figuring out how this whole "Internet" thing works. The computer commercials promise plug-in-and-surf, but there's always a glitch. At work you're too embarrassed to ask the young tech guys how the "web" works. They'd snicker before cranking The Fragile back up and turning back to their monitors. Never show inferiority to subordinates. So, you pony-tailed Jeep-drivers and terrier-walkers, I'm crawling inside your minds like "Reeling in the Years" did so many decades ago. I know you've held silly suspicions, if just for a moment, that your ponytail was perhaps pulling back your hairline. I know that this review might hurt your feelings. Here, play with this shiny silver Nokia while I chat with somebody else.
If you're a regular Pitchfork reader... why are you even curious about Steely Dan in 2000?! Only their 20 year absence gives them any press or assumed credibility. Unlike Chicago, Rush, or Cheap Trick they did not slip down a steep staircase of increasingly prosaic Prozac records. Steely Dan dodged the 80's and they didn't make a Woke Up with the Monster. One can imagine the hype Rush would receive in 2000 if they'd jumped 20 years from 1981's Moving Pictures straight to Test for Echo. This would not make Test for Echo a desirable album. For those worth risking it, extended absence makes for great publicity.
Some of the smoothest objects know to humankind include the buttock of a baby, the belly of an otter, Downy-laden terrycloth, Palmolive, and rose petals. Add to that list Two Against Nature. The lengthy, indistinguishable tracks could pass for a Daniel Lanois-produced collaboration between the Dave Matthews Band and Kenny G. This putrid bait lures both the smooth jazz aficionados and the hackysackers. "Fusion" is too caustic a verb, better suited for nuclear physics and Don Caballero. "Making pudding" better describes this genre blending.
"Jamming" sax solos glide over neutered, bassless funk. Glass guitar and percussion clink along steadily like a chorus of jangling Tag Heuers, automatic Lexus locks, popping Le Croix cans, clicking laptop covers, crystal Cristal toasts, and smacking Hollywood cheek-kisses. The same slow-bop pace is rigorously maintained. Vocals exhale so innocuously you have to hold a mirror up under the speaker to make sure it's alive. The credits list 13 producers (!) who tackle tasks such as "editing," "horn arranger," "consultant," "project manager," and-- most tellingly-- "copyist." This is less music than "production." 23 musicians took part in this album's design, four of which simply played "snare." At least at the end of "Wild Wild West" Will Smith destroys the giant, evil machine.
Music is more than craft and technique. Steely Dan's seams are hidden, the instruments are digitally lacquered, and the edges are buffed. 20 years have passed since Gaucho and Steely Dan seem content to completely ignore them. Amazingly, Steely Dan's name has been popping up as a hip musical crush. Remember, this glossy bop-pop was the indifferent aristocracy to punk rock's stone-throwing in the late 70's. People fought and died so our generation could listen to something better. Okay, so they died of overdoses and car crashes. They still had soul. Keep up the good fight. Put down this sports-utility vehicle of a record. As with the urban yuppie driver, the four-wheel drive is never activated.
