A Sci-Fi Noir Fable of Fascination and Foreboding, a Wry Confrontation with the Dazzling, Emotionally Alien Future.
By 1993, a decade had passed since Donald Fagen had last offered a solo statement, and the musical landscape had changed dramatically. Yet, the biggest story surrounding his return was not the passage of time, but a monumental creative reunion. His second solo album, Kamakiriad, was co-produced by his former partner in genius, Walter Becker, marking their first major collaboration since the disbanding of Steely Dan. The album was a commercial triumph, soaring to number 10 on the Billboard 200, a resounding validation of their continued magic. Leading the charge from this concept album—a futuristic, cinematic road trip in a customized vehicle—was a song that perfectly married Fagen’s cynical wit with a driving, anxious new sound. That song was “Tomorrow’s Girls.” While it didn’t pierce the top tier of the pop charts, it became a significant presence on rock radio, peaking at number 6 on the US Album Rock Tracks chart, effectively signaling the return of the Steely Dan sound to the airwaves.
The story behind “Tomorrow’s Girls” is a piece of sci-fi noir, a dramatic scene ripped from the album’s thematic journey. The entire record operates as a kind of futuristic fable, and this track is the narrator’s fascinating, yet slightly paranoid, encounter with the dazzling embodiment of the future itself. The drama is the sharp collision between the narrator’s nostalgic, jazz-age sensibility and the sharp, bright modernity of the world he encounters. The “Tomorrow’s Girls” are not just women; they are a metaphor for the rapidly advancing, sometimes alienating, pace of cultural and technological evolution. They are advanced, beautiful, and utterly foreign in their emotional detachment. The song is a theatrical monologue, an expression of the narrator’s simultaneous attraction to their brilliance and his deep-seated anxiety about their cold, calculated perfection.
The true genius of the song lies in how the music itself creates and sustains this dramatic tension. Unlike the smoother, more wistful tones of his previous solo work, “Tomorrow’s Girls” is propelled by a tight, anxious funk groove. The complex, almost militaristic drumming and the driving, insistent bassline are the perfect sonic backdrop for the narrator’s fascination and fear. The lyrics, classic Fagen, are filled with obscure details and wry, cynical observations (“Like a postcard from space / With a stain on its face”), inviting the listener to join in the detective work of deciphering the plot. The intricate chord changes and the precise, angular instrumentation—the sonic architecture that only the Fagen and Becker collaboration could build—underscore the lyrical paranoia. The musical arrangement doesn’t offer comfort; it heightens the drama of the encounter, making the listener feel the profound, emotional gap between the past and the future.
For those of us who waited patiently for the return of that singular sound, “Tomorrow’s Girls” is a nostalgic masterpiece. It is a testament to the enduring, electric chemistry of the Fagen and Becker partnership, a dramatic declaration that the magic was alive and well. It stands as a timeless, deeply emotional, and magnificently complex piece of musical storytelling, a perfect sci-fi noir fable that continues to resonate with its subtle, brilliant drama.