Two days before the show, Walter Becker and Donald Fagen posted an open letter to actor Luke Wilson on their website (www.steelydan.com/heyluke.html): “Luke, think of yourself, man. Do you want to go down as the brother of the Zal Yanovsky of the 21st Century?” The story of You, Me N Dupree, the Dan was saying, had been lifted from their song “Cousin Dupree,” and Owen Wilson, by taking the role and becoming a party to this egregious intellectual property violation, had disgraced himself no less than the late Lovin' Spoonful guitarist had when he narced on his pot dealer. So, as a favor (“one petite solid”), Luke, man, “do you think you could persuade your bro to do the right thing and come on down to our concert at Irvine and apologize to our fans for this travesty?”
Many articles about Steely Dan boil down to the question, “Dude, these guys are, like, putting us on, right?” The LA Times blurb announcing this show wondered at how a band so “cynical” and “sardonic” could be so beloved. Well, the Times should have spoken to the Buddhist yoga instructor from Studio City sitting two seats down from me, who registered zero irony as the band kicked into “Bodhisattva” and she leaned over to explain to my companion what enlightenment and being a Bodhisattva was all about. Even as I considered the open-endedness of the song's lyrics, that all would probably not turn out well for the young man who sells his house in town to join a cult, the music reduced me, like everyone else in the crowd, to an absolute dancing Hare Krishna fool, and that's where the irony in the song resides; that's what makes it a work of art.
Of course, Becker and Fagen had a backup band of killing hot young session musicians, including a drummer who actually played Steve Gadd's drum solo on “Aja” beat-for-beat. (“Fuck, man,” said a guy sucking a joint behind me when he recognized the tune, “this song's hard to play!”) The Dan played pretty much every song you'd want to hear, except “Barrytown,” and just generally blew the fucking roof off the joint, which is why the Verizon Wireless now is an outdoor venue; restoration costs are presumably why they have to charge $10 for Coors Light. Oh, and no sight of Luke or Owen—they probably fled the country.
