“Planet D’Rhonda”—last song on Sunken Condos (Donald Fagen) (2012)

It’s been a while since I wrote about a Steely Dan song, which makes no sense, since it’s maybe the most pleasurable activity I partake in. But I’m only human, I suppose—and thus seek out misery like it’s the Holy Grail. Anyway, seeing how I’ll never get to them all, I pick out songs by using a random system, and this time it landed on “Planet D’Rhonda,” which happens to be the last song on Donald Fagen’s last album, Sunken Condos, which came out in 2012. That’s ten years ago now. Seeing how there has sometimes been over ten years between records, in the past, that doesn’t mean Fagen is retired. I have read rumors that he’s going to record a new album, and even though he has a way of misleading journalists, I remain hopeful. For most of us, writing songs gets harder as we get older. Getting out of bed gets harder, but songwriting—I mean for most—it seems to get more challenging as time goes on. And Donald Fagen has always held himself to ridiculously high standards. So I’m thankful there is so much that exists to listen to, and if ever managed to write about it all, I would just start over and, I’m sure, hear it all differently. But that doesn’t mean I don’t pray for more.

The singular pleasure of Donald Fagen’s recorded songs is listening to them closely while reading along with the lyrics. That might go for all songs with lyrics, to a certain degree—except with the majority of pop music, you’re better off ignoring the lyrics. I suppose I’m someone who has trouble hearing lyrics in a song and has traditionally been happy to enjoy music without knowing what they are saying—they may as well be in a language I don’t speak. But that’s why I’m devoting time, effort, and a page on this website to Steely Dan, Donald Fagen, and in some cases Walter Becker songs—because there is a payoff—because it’s so pleasurable for me. Listening to the songs carefully while following along with the written lyrics is like mixing two drugs that are just fine on their own, but when combined, work tenfold, may cause excitability, heart palpitations, incredulousness, and in extreme cases, death and rainbows.

“Planet D’Rhonda” is an affectionate and hilarious portrait of either a real-life or fictional (or more than likely, some combination of the two) woman, who is very likely much younger (though not necessarily so) than the narrator, who is ether fictional or Donald Fagen (or more than likely, some combination of the two). Presumedly her name is “Rhonda,” and “Planet D’Rhonda” is a pet name for her particular universe (like “Rhonda-World”)—though he does refer to her as “D”—so who knows… if I ever meet a person named “D’Rhonda” you can bet I will ask them if they know this song, and if they don’t, I will quite enjoy introducing it to them! Anyway, we all know someone like the person in this song. Or have known someone—often those relationships don’t last, because the D’Rhonda’s of the world tend to take some amount of energy to keep up with. They are often referred to as “a little much” or “a full course meal” or “a malfunctioning amusement park ride while on drugs in your nightmares from hell.” That last is my own, and admittedly a little much.

The song is, musically, a little bit happy for me, in that it has a jaunty-rating of .876—and anything over .667 or so tends to make me either very tired or somewhat irritated—so I kind of just let this one slide by until I focused on the lyrics. It is almost willfully unimpressive, pop-hook-wise, like it’s saying: “I don’t care—come ’round when you’re ready.” It does have a nice feeling, some lovely vibraphone sounds, and a rather impressive lead guitar, and solo. I don’t know who’s playing the guitar, but they’re one of those people who hear things a bit differently than mere mortals. As far as the lyrics, it’s really worth your time to find them written out and follow along. Like describing a dream, it always seems underwhelming when you excerpt a few, but just to get a little idea: “When we go out dancin’ baby, she’s always the star / When she does the Philly Dog, I gotta have CPR.” And: “Sometimes she’s vicious, sometimes rude / You got to be a mind reader to guess her mood.” And the short chorus: “My friends say, Jim, you’re on a deadly spree / They just can’t understand that D’s my Vitamin XYX.” You get the picture.

—Randy Russell 1.30.22