KINGS OF THE WORLD

Fifty years ago, imams of immaculacy and avatars of the acerbic, Steely Dan, were jazz pop's cool rulers. They had under their belts a debut album, Can't Buy A Thrill, that wasn't so much hesitantly promising as fully-realised, supremely accomplished. Clearly, on a roll, the follow-up, issued in July 1973, was, if anything, even better: their second - and, some would say, finest - album of cutting perfection (ism), Countdown To Ecstasy. Max Bell evaluates its razor buoyancy.

- Max Bell

Hello, one and all. Donald Fagen and Walter Becker always were a couple of wiseacres. Too cool for school. "We don't cater for critics," as Fagen once said. Fair enough. They didn't suffer fools gladly and weren't interested in sycophantic praise, either, maintaining, "There is a substantial body of opinion which holds that Countdown... was the best Steely Dan album, bar none. Generally speaking, the type of person who holds this position is not the sort of individual you want sitting across the table from you at a dinner party, especially one where alcoholic beverages are being served. You get, we trust, the general idea."

We did. It was Jay Black, lead singer of the pop group Jay And The Americans, who dubbed the odd couple "the Manson and Starkweather of rock'n'roll". Hardly a compliment so they probably approved of that reference to Charles Manson and the other Charlie, a sadistic mass murderer who'd gone on a killing spree in 1958 with his 14-year-old girlfriend, Caril Ann Fugate. Terrence Malick immortalised them in his movie, Badlands, starring Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek in 1973. That was the same year Countdown To Ecstasy was released.

Black knew the sharp-tongued duo when they'd quit Bard College in Annandale-onHudson and hawked their songs on the fourth floor of the Brill Building, 1619 Broadway, 49th Street, for Kenny Vance, JATA's mentor. The Americans supported The Beatles once on their first US tour, standing in for Tommy Roe when a snow blizzard hit DC like a bomb. at the Washington Coliseum. Black, a savvy New Yorker from Queens, became acquainted with Lennon and McCartney's painful wit and recognised that trait in Walt and Don.

"Those two are cocksuckers who I may kick in the ass next time I see them," he declared. Yes, but other than that? "There are no finer songwriters in the country. If they don't blow it by being assholes, they'll be around for a long time."