Pau in Chicago
In 2001, after lengthy consternation (Don + Walt bribed Rolling Stone founder/perv Jann Wenner with a large 3M digital recording machine, $10,000, and “a crate of homemade honey mustard”), Steely Dan were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in the same good company as Queen.
Fun ballot, Queen is my favorite rock band, Steely Dan is my favorite anything. Steely Dan wasn’t cool yet, Queen wasn’t nearly as revered as they’ve become. Disparate functions, yes, but I’d long ago made the connection between the two outfits. Both championed humor, hot licks, and an expectation to carry on prodigiously in the studio.
Paul Shaffer was certain to to pair the two at the ceremony, Brian May and his hallmark guitar and hallmark haircut were going to play over the top of jazzbo Steely Dan clusters. For a guy used to charging over Freddie Mercury’s piano-key minefields, piping heavy metal heat over the top of chords you can’t even play on guitar, Brian was expertly suited for whatever Steely our man Shaffer culled up.
The bandleader, instead, tapped his baton on the music stand and called for the Steely Dan song with the least amount of chords. It went terribly:
