
If you caught my “Call Me Maybe” post, you already know that this is a shame-free music blog. Think of it as a safe place, like those signs they put on libraries and schools that are somehow comforting and unsettling at the same time.
Today’s embarrassing honest admission comes in two parts, the first of which came about when I was listening to the wedding band from last weekend prep for the reception. As the keyboard player was going over the set list and the requisite synth settings, the unmistakable sounds of “Dirty Work” floated through the room, prompting one of the other groomsmen to say, “This is my favorite Steely Dan song.” I quickly shot him what I assume was the same look that Copernicus got when he went around telling people that the Earth wasn’t actually the center of the universe, because I had NO IDEA “Dirty Work” was a Steely Dan song. My stink-eye quickly gave way to a facepalm-worthy moment of clarity — OF COURSE it’s a Steely Dan song. It has the Dan written all over it. Those harmonies. That crisp, clean production. Those jazzy changes. I don’t claim to be a Steely Dan aficionado or anything (Aja is pretty much as far as I’ve gotten), but this still felt like a piece of information I should have obtained at some point. A hole. An absence. A nothing where something should have been.
I got the same feeling the other day, when I came across Radiohead’s “Pearly” on Tumblr.



