“Brooklyn (Owes the Charmer Under Me)”—third song, side two of Can't Buy a Thrill (1972)

The reason I don't research much on Steely Dan song lyrics is that there will be one offhand remark made way back (such as, this song was about Becker or Fagen's downstairs neighbor in Park Slope), and then thousands of articles on the internet will site that as if it's set in stone. And I don't know, that one's just a bit literal. “Under,” as in physically? More likely is the case that it's actually “Brooklyn knows the charmer under me”—and is based both on a specific person, but more about a “Brooklyn” type—that crude and blustery loudmouth who has a heart of gold (or at least thinks he does). But more on the lyrics later. The closest thing to being set in stone, SD-wise, is the information on the actual album cover—though in the case of many artists—and Steely Dan in particular—you can't believe that, either. Notice the liner notes, by “Dan Steele,” on the back of this, their first album. It's meant to be humorous, and it is. It refers to the band as “The Dan” with such an obvious sense of irony—that is why I don't seriously refer to them by that nickname (though if you do, I'll think no less of you—irony often softens into fondness). The one thing I do believe here is that the steel guitar wizardry is performed by Jeff “Skunk” Baxter (as well as on the previous song on the side), and it's a real standout in this song, mysterious and soulful. Also, the backup singers, Clydie King, Shirley Mathews, Vanetta Fields, really elevate this song. Could this be the most beautiful of all Steely Dan songs? And the lead vocal is by David Palmer (as with “Dirty Work”) and is lovely. Steely Dan wouldn't really be “The Dan” if he had sung the majority of songs on this record, and their next six, but it is these oddities that give richness to the whole, as oddities often do.

You could love this song if the words were sung in French, or a language you didn't understand, but as they are made up of words I know, sung clearly (plus, lyrics are printed on the inside album cover), I can't help taking note of the words, though I won't even attempt to decipher the meaning of them. The chorus (identical to the title), “Brooklyn owes the charmer under me,” is sung with such conviction that I feel like there is meaning there (even if it's actually knows, not owes). These guys were New Yorkers, of course, and maybe they did live in Brooklyn, for a time—though the Brooklyn of the very early Seventies was incredibly different than Brooklyn now—or when I lived there five years ago. Of course, it's one of those places where you could say, “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” There is some weird force there, like it's embedded in the history, and even though it's young by world standards, I felt, in my explorations, that there was this feeling like you might get from a very old European country. I could never really figure the place out, and that's something I really appreciated about it. Every once in awhile you'll talk to an old-timer who is still seething with anger about the Dodgers moving to LA in the late Fifties. Calling someone a “Charmer” has a double meaning, of course, and this song, about Brooklyn, which is infinite in its identity as any place on Earth, while still being “Capital B” Brooklyn, you could say has a double meaning, too. The song is very much the best poetry, filled with specifics that expand, rather than nail down, what it might mean. The song opens with: “A race of angels, bound with one another”—which sets the scene with sweeping, spiritual yet sad, feeling about the people, in question, before us. And then the last line: “The whole of time we gain or lose, and power enough to choose”—that's fairly general, as well, and could mean a lot of different things, but it works well as a hopeful ending of this song, and a feeling that is simultaneously about vast limitlessness, along with claustrophobic and comically tragic dead ends—which is to say, ultimately, all of our lives.

—Randy Russell 1.5.20