2006-03-06 - 10:16 a.m.
It's long been known that in the contest of male vocal duos, Hall and Oates always takes first place in my heart. Their soothing harmonies, catchy choruses... but this isn't about Hall and Oates. It's about Steely Dan. I have never liked Steely Dan. Not because their music doesn't appeal to me, more because I've never heard any of their songs beyond "Rikki Don't Lose That Number." And that one only because it's the boyfriend's ringtone, and he told me.
So I guess it is inaccurate to say I don't like Steely Dan. I guess we just haven't been introduced properly.
Yet, I found myself sitting side row middle on Friday at the Donald Fagen concert.
I think it was a good show; that's what I was told. Since I am wholly and completely unfamiliar with Mr. Fagen's catalogue, I immersed myself in the groovy music and pretended everyone was speaking a different language. I watched the audience become a sea of parent-age bobblehead dolls.
The audience made me feel safe and warm with their fervent love of music. Outside it was the coldest night of the year; inside I fell asleep as Fagen's raspy voice soothed me.
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