Aja

There's an old joke that goes something like this: Never eat anything bigger than your head, and never eat anything that looks like puke. But I break both those rules every time I eat pizza.

I have a few musical rules - not hard and fast, but things that describe my tastes fairly accurately. I don't like music that is pretentious, jazz that is too clean, rock that doesn't rock, or bands that don't perform live. I break all those rules every time I listen to any of my Steely Dan albums, which include all of them up to Gaucho.

Aja is a record that has an inexplicable hold over me. I was already a Dan fan when this crown jewel was released. I was turning 20, maybe that just has more to do with it than anything else. Aja is anti-punk... it's the epitome of musicianship applied to pop/rock/fusion/jazz. It is everything punk set out to puncture. If Aja taught me anything, it taught me not to make rules.

Oddly enough, though I consider an album of this stature to be timeless, every track on it sounds, well, so 1977 to me. It still evokes the same emotions, the same drifting images, the same self-definition I was making for myself then. It IS timeless, but at the same time, re-living these sensations makes me very much aware of the 30 years that have passed in between. It makes me feel old, because it conjures up my youth in such a specific way. And I first noticed this about it 18 years ago.

I don't know what else to say that hasn't been said. Black Cow got stuck in my head earlier this week, and that caused me to get out Aja for a play, and it all came back to me again. The title song Aja may be the only purely sonic narcotic ever burned onto a master tape. It's not just a song about drugs, it IS a drug. And I can get wasted on it stone cold sober. After Wayne Shorter's orgasmic tenor sax solo, there's one more chorus and the song fades - with the trailing piano chords still unresolved. The song haunts me like some unfinished love affair from those days, until it calls out to me again.

What I find fascinating is the comparison to the Doobie Brothers of the same time period. I see the similarities, and recognize the names - many of the same personnel playing on the recordings. But to me the Doobies are just take-it-or-leave-it pop, and I could never stand Michael McDonald's pretentious vocals. Yet I can listen to Donald Fagen's ultra-pretentious delivery and sarcastic lyrics over and over and over.

I guess I just don't know what's good for me, or how to make rules.

Simply one of the best albums ever, of any genre.

Well I am not your average Jazz/Rock fan. I received this record as a gift tape way back in the mid 80s, but, I would have to agree with most of the reviews. This C.D. transcends proper classification or description. An album that mirrors life, in its most poignant state. I guess "Call me Deacon Blues" will always be my favorite, with "Home at Last" a close 2nd. Seeing this classic amongst my old music collection I immediately wanted the remastered disc. Yeah, this disc goes down as one of the all time greats!

I had this album on heavy rotation in my car in my junior and senior year. Eight tracks never sounded so good. Never fails to evoke a mood of somber reflection, some how sad. Deacon Blues....

If you do not have this album in your list of greatest albums of all time, I suppose I can understand if I really reeeeeeealy open up my mind. I am just extactic to know, after 30 years, that I love this album more and more. Especially now that we have the remastered version. The drumming really pops out on this version to bring the appreciation for the whole ensemble to an ever higher level. I cannot imagine life without this album (maybe I overstate a little but you get the idea).

I run to the rack and pick up this album. Of the few albums that can be called a perfect 10, this is one of them in my opinion. With not a bad cut on it, it's the best 8 dollars you'll ever spend on a CD. Superb musical artistry from Fagen and Becker.