By Jeremy Hallock
By James Khubiar
By Observer Staff
By Kelly Dearmore
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
Becker and Fagen, known from here on out as "The Pards," will no longer make music their top priority--as evidenced by the fact that 20 years passed between Album No. 7 (1980's Gaucho) and Album No. 8 (2000's Two Against Nature). Becker and Fagen released a handful of solo albums during the interim, including Fagen's so-called The Nightfly and Becker's alleged 11 Tracks of Whack, but they have since been revealed to be repackagings of Can't Buy a Thrill and The Royal Scam and a collection of demos dating from 1968 to 1972, hence the reason why they're paid little attention by critics who express amazement at the 20-year gap between "official" recordings.
In lieu of writing and recording and touring--the latter of which they loathe to this day, as evidenced by the title of their co-written autobiography Trudging Across the Flyovers--they will concentrate on online retail sales "and partnering with whomever is so hip as to be in the vortex of what's happening now." To that end, they are beginning work on developing a film based on the very, very true story of 12-year-old Burmese rebel twins and their bizarre Army of God. Though casting news has been scarce, likely Becker and Fagen will play the twins--or, possibly, the Army of God. The two hope to release the film sometime in early 2001, possibly during the month of The Iceman or Cycle Sluts. (For those not keeping up with The Pards' doings, they recently renamed the months of the year, as befitting their new Philian Calendar, which was created to circumvent potential Y2K complications--which never arose, but it seemed like such a good idea they stuck with it. The Iceman, incidentally, used to be known as "January"; Cycle Sluts once went by the rather mundane moniker "February.")
Smirnoff Music Centre
(This is as good a time as any to point out that Walter Becker really was interviewed for this story, and he proved an amiable enough dude willing to answer any question asked of him, save for the one about his ill-fated marriages to Fiona Apple and Edie Brickell during the late 1980s. Some random answers are included forthwith, but it should be noted that their earnestness belies deep-rooted post-ironic irony, meaning they should be taken with a grain of sand. For example:
"Our songwriting is always a balancing act: Songs can't be too funny, they can't be too obscene, they can't be too nasty, they can't be too pretentious," Becker says. "We have to sort of try and juggle the different elements that we're using in the songs, and I think we've learned how to do that over the years so that the songs will sort of work on a bunch of different levels at once. You can listen to them one way and hear one thing, and you can listen to them one way and hear something different." If you know what this means, send your essay to The What The Hell Is Walter Becker Talking About Contest? c/o Dallas Observer, 2130 Commerce St., Dallas, TX 75201. Winners will receive a copy of Becker's novel Expressions to Avoid During a Recording Session, which includes such chapters as "My Spirit's Already Sore from the Last Thirty Takes," "My Girlfriend Sings Great Background Vocals," and "Play Something Paul Would Tell Linda to Play.")
If, at this point, you are unfamiliar with the works of The Pards, then you clearly have not listened to classic-rock radio in the last six minutes. (Hurry, dude, turn on the radio--KZPS is playing "Rikki Don't Lose That Number" right now. Wait, I mean "Peg." No, damn it, I mean "Deacon Blues.") The Dan is, suffice it to say, a band beloved by men and women old and older, most of whom, men and women, at one point looked a little like Walter Becker--glasses, beard, long hair, and a dull look in the eyes that suggests cynicism, disdain, and a vague, unspecified illness. The only people in the world who look like Donald Fagen are disbarred attorneys, podiatrists, and Talmudic scholars who quit the Yeshiva for a life directing pornographic movies.
That's not to say The Kids haven't picked up on the Dan in recent years: Just hours ago, Elektra Records released the soundtrack to the Farrelly Brothers' "film" Me, Myself & Irene, which features extant Pards compositions covered by mostly irrelevant youngsters, including Ivy ("Only a Fool Would Say That"), The Push Stars ("Bad Sneakers"), Smash Mouth ("Do It Again"), the ironically named Marvelous 3 ("Reelin' in the Years"), and the Brian Setzer Orchestra ("Bodhisattva"). The disc isn't completely disposable--Wilco's version of "Any Major Dude Will Tell You" keeps it from drink-coaster status, and Ben Folds Five's "Barrytown" proves that band sucks because of its own songs--but it's no doubt available in the cutout bins at your finer used-CD stores. It shipped gold and returned platinum.