A Chilling and Cynical Look at Self-Destruction, a Jazz-Infused Warning About the Painful Cycle of Human Addiction.
In the early 1970s, as the musical landscape was fracturing into a thousand new genres, a band emerged that defied easy categorization. Steely Dan wasn’t a rock band in the traditional sense; they were more like a meticulously crafted laboratory of sound, led by the enigmatic and brilliant minds of Walter Becker and Donald Fagen. Their music was a beguiling mix of jazz-inflected harmonies, razor-sharp lyrics, and a cool, detached swagger. Their debut album, Can’t Buy a Thrill, released in 1972, served as a stunning introduction to their genius. While songs like “Reelin’ In The Years” would become classic rock staples, the true masterpiece of the album, and arguably a defining statement of their entire career, was the hypnotic and unsettling opener: “Do It Again.” This track was a remarkable commercial success, soaring to number six on the Billboard Hot 100 in the U.S. and becoming a global hit. Its chart success was a testament to its irresistible groove, even if its dark, cynical heart remained a mystery to many listeners.
The drama of “Do It Again” isn’t a grand, sweeping narrative; it’s a series of vignettes, each a raw, unflinching glimpse into a different form of human frailty. The song’s meaning is a hauntingly simple one: it’s about the self-destructive, cyclical nature of addiction and bad choices. The lyrics, a masterpiece of laconic storytelling by Becker and Fagen, are a parade of characters caught in an endless loop of pain. We meet a gambler who can’t stop playing, a man who returns to a cheating lover, and a criminal who can’t escape his past. The chilling refrain, “Go back, Jack, do it again,” is a cynical command, a resigned acknowledgment that people are destined to repeat their mistakes, no matter the consequences. It’s a song that understands, with a weary sigh, that the allure of a destructive path can often be stronger than the will to change.
The musical arrangement is a key player in this dramatic tale. The iconic Latin-tinged rhythm, driven by the mesmerizing electric sitar and a subtle shaker, creates a feeling of a slow, inevitable march toward a painful conclusion. The music itself feels like a trap, luring the listener in with its seductive groove, only to deliver a cold, hard dose of reality. The interplay between Fagen’s weary, resigned vocals and the intricate, jazzy instrumentation feels like a conversation between an observer and the inevitable. It’s a sonic world that is both alluring and deeply disturbing.
For those of us who grew up with Steely Dan, “Do It Again” was a gateway drug into a more sophisticated kind of rock and roll. It was a song that treated its audience as intelligent, capable of decoding its lyrical puzzles and appreciating its musical complexities. It’s a reminder of a time when art was not just about entertainment but about asking hard questions and exploring the darker corners of the human psyche. “Do It Again” is a timeless masterpiece, a song that, much like the characters it describes, we find ourselves returning to again and again, drawn by its sheer, undeniable brilliance. It remains a powerful and unsettling piece of music, a somber echo of a truth we all know: sometimes, the most difficult thing to do is simply to stop.