Walter Becker

Circus Money

5 Over 12 Records

By Bud Scoppa

Whenever Steely Dan or either of its major dudes puts out a new album, you know what you're gonna get: perfectly played, deep-grooved, bitingly sardonic music by and for the smartest guys in the room. (It isn't their fault that so many lite-headed musicians misconstrued their anally precise soundscapes as background music, leading to the creation of the cloyingly bland idiom known as smooth jazz.) But beyond those now-iconic givens, on their latest respective solo outings, longtime collaborators Donald Fagen and Walter Becker have unmistakably diverged. While 2006's Morph the Cat found Fagen in a dark mood, his songs prickly with death, postmillennial anxiety and the long downward slide toward oblivion, Becker's new Circus Money finds him positively balmy by comparison, reasonably comfortable in his own skin, embracing life in all its weirdness.

This is Becker's second solo effort, but unlike 1994's mockingly titled 11 Tracks of Whack, on which Fagen co-produced and played keys, Walter is flying without his fellow sky jockey. Sitting in Donald's chair for this mellow outing is fellow bass player turned studio whiz Larry Klein (producer of Herbie Hancock's The Joni Letters and Mitchell's ex-husband), who co-wrote all but one of the songs while keeping the vibe suitably languid and libertine. Nonetheless, Circus Money sounds even more Dan-like than its predecessor, which came across with a degree of rockin' edginess resulting from the decision to go with garbage can snare hits, wonky electric guitar licks and agitated tunes like "Surf and/or Die," with its chanting-mullah coda, anticipating the mordancy of Morph's title song and "Mary Shut the Garden Door."

Along with Randy Newman and his longtime partner, Becker remains rock's most piquant observer of aberrant human behavior, presumably including his own, and as usual, there's no shortage of telling detail here. Take this verse from the opening track, "Door Number Two," which nicely encapsulates Becker's POV:

Please Mr. Barker--look and see

What are the chances for a city boy

About my age, my height and weight

What is the payout on an inside straight?

A new love

A new hairline

Fame and fortune

A square deal

High adventure in a far-off world

An assignation with a college girl

From there, Becker rolls out comparably detailed songs about New York nostalgia ("Downtown Canon"), Hollywood hustling ("Three Picture Deal") and weekend pickups ("Somebody's Saturday Night") with the laid-back charm of a barstool bard on a beer-and-chaser roll, with a chorus of silky sirens (a la Aja and Gaucho) providing the mood lighting. As always, the delights are in the details: the lilting grooves of bass man Becker and the Steely Dan 2.0 tandem of drummer Keith Carlock and guitarist Jon Herington; Steely Dan 1.0 guitar ace Dean Parks' iconically articulated solos on three tracks; and Chris Hooper's jazzy nocturnes on tenor sax passages in the moments where words are not enough. Three keyboardists, meanwhile, cover for the absent Donald.

Becker's delectably resonant lyrics make up for his vocal limitations--he's charming as all get-out but lacks Fagen's riveting presence or the intriguing quirkiness of other technically limited singers like Dylan and Newman--which in turn narrows the pipe of his melody writing to his one-octave comfort zone. Perhaps that explains the lack of the big, arching chorus hooks that are so plentiful in the Dan's body of work, and Fagen's as well. This is practically spoken word with a hint of melody--Boomer beat poetry.

Instead, Becker prioritizes feel, and these tracks ripple and foam like water over rocks in a mountain brook at spring thaw. Perhaps a more tropical simile is called for, however, because the rhythmic thrust pumping out of Walter's bass cabinet is consciously inspired by an almost geeky obsession with reggae in all its esoteric variety. "I even became something of an expert on various sub-genres," he writes in the commensurately entertaining bio, "such as songs about motorcycles and/or featuring motorcycle sound effects; songs about the barbers versus the dreads, and songs about various judicial procedures." As Becker fills several rhythmic potholes with nuanced bass notes, Carlock responds by attacking his drum kit with a mixture of power and swing in the manner of Jeff Porcaro and Steve Gadd, while Herington's precise plinks occupy the off-beats--easy money for the dexterous guitarist.

Those sultry grooves and the virtuosic overlays frame Becker's voice and lyrics with unobtrusive tautness, evidencing the song-serving commitment of consummate musicians--no surprise there. No real surprises anywhere, really, just the wall-to-wall tastiness and braininess Dan fans have come to expect. Like the Irish setter who makes a cameo appearance in "Bob Is Not Your Uncle Anymore," Circus Money is amiable and mildly frisky. Think of it as an agreeable backyard companion.