Steely Dan
Aja

THE REVIEW

1977: a historic year for modern music, with punk and its "revolution," all aimed at cutting ties with the excesses of a decade overly 'prog'; a political-musical revolution as important as it was swift (practically its obsolescence was contemporaneous - think of the debut of Talking Heads, which, along with other gems of the period, was already paving the way for the new wave season). A year that also foreshadows another great boom, that of disco music and its staggering numbers (the revenues from "Saturday Night Fever" are just a slice of the pie divided among many artists — many of whom were black — protagonists of the "disco inferno").

Amidst so much ideological-artistic turmoil, while rock defends itself with clenched teeth from those who proclaim its premature death (the most resolute admonition to resist will be "Rock 'n' roll will never die" uttered by Neil Young in "My My, Hey Hey"), it seems arduous to trace the genetic chromosome of a rare gem like Steely Dan’s sixth album, "Aja". Perhaps because the departure from the rock of their beginnings and from rock altogether had already occurred - for the band now reduced to a duo - by the time of their third, acclaimed trial, "Pretzel Logic". That album not only gave birth to one of their greatest pop successes ("Rikki Don't Lose That Number"), but it was a breath of fresh air for those who, as early as 1974, sensed the call of a more 'free' way of making music. The journey of the Becker-Fagen duo would lead to increasingly perfect works, artistically unmatched at times for the era (a journey comparable - with similar maturation times, choices, and stylistic-formal outcomes - to that of Joni Mitchell): "Pretzel Logic", "Katy Lied", "The Royal Scam" and "Aja" are the pride of a decade that gives birth to a "revolt" as subtle but no less impactful than the punk one. "Aja", in particular, is the epitome and the pinnacle of an impressive ability to creatively, wittily, and elegantly fuse all that the seventies left on the table.

The plot, the red thread that links its compositions, is the philosophy of the new fusion (and how could it be otherwise, given the host of gigantic session men hired by our duo to accompany them on their adventure?), but the album is also a pleasant revolution for pop ("Peg" and "Deacon Blues", in this sense, are unparalleled examples of crossover) and funk peeks through where no one expects it (the rhythm of the splendid "Josie"). The rest is pure creative delirium, with stellar performances from both the duo (Becker's delightful guitar on "Home At Last") and their prestigious companions (first and foremost, the immortal drum solo by Steve Gadd at the end of the "title track"). "Aja", like few other albums of its period, is a gift of elegance to posterity, a monumental work for its formal completeness and artistic maturity, a chest full of jewels, an inexhaustible source of stimuli and inspiration for future artists.