By Natalie McCarty

I’ve been an avid vinyl record collector for years. Growing up in Long Beach, California, put me in the right spot to be one, I suppose.

Every time I step into Third Eye Records on East 4th Street (you can thank me later for the recommendation), I find myself needing to practically be physically restrained from picking up something from their $4 bin in the back. Truly, I believe it’s the place that houses all the greatest musical finds of my day.

I would like to argue that I am their most loyal fan. Even after moving to New York, no matter how many record stores I stepped into, I steadfastly refused to make a single purchase elsewhere. I was always convinced that whatever I sought could be found at Third Eye whenever I visited back home.

My loyalty to them when they reserved my most coveted purchase: the record of the Fast Times at Ridgemont High soundtrack. My affection for the store deepened when I won their giveaway–a stunning cassette tape of The Cure’s …Happily Ever After, featuring a designed and hand-drawn cover by Third Eye’s very own Ian Steele. It remains a prized-possession in my collection. Yet, the pinnacle of my collector’s joy came the week before my move when they called to confirm that, indeed, they had set aside a copy of Steely Dan’s Can’t Buy A Thrill that they had put aside just for me.

It’s not that I necessarily claim Can’t Buy A Thrill is the greatest album of all time–especially with the undeniable brilliance of Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon, the haunting vocals of Jeff Buckley’s Grace, or the timeless hits of Pearl Jam’s Ten–but it’s undeniably the one that stirs my fondest memories. The album exuded a nostalgic charm for me even before I had the actual memories to attach to it.

Truly, I believe Can’t Buy A Thrill serves as a time capsule for a very specific, tender, and personal period of my life. About a year’s worth of memories can be attached to this entire album. I can’t ever hear any of the songs from it without being hit by a wave of recollection.

In the intricate craft of songwriting, which I’ve come to understand as deeply personal in my experience with my own band, I’ve found that the audience’s response to a song holds an equally intimate quality. A good lyric that has the power to really resonate with someone has the power to turn one from a listener into a fan. And when it comes to Steely Dan–I really am a fan.

Reflecting on my band’s experience, I know for a fact that some lyrics are purposefully crafted just for their cool sound, while others are intended to become profound, lifelong mantras for our listeners. This thoughtful approach, I believe, is shared by many bands. The convergence of personal connections and the transformative power of music is undeniably captivating and cool. This is precisely why I wanted to take a stroll down memory lane while paying homage to the legendary Steely Dan.

1. Do It Again

Each time I hear the opening track of Can’t Buy A Thrill, “Do It Again,” I always–without fail–think of my old college roommate, Leen-Noemi. Leen and I became fast friends. In our initial week of living together, we established a routine of running past the restaurant across the street from our apartment, Il Cantinori, and heading down to Washington Square Park, all while blasting songs from my phone. We’d linger by the fountain for a while before making our way to Claudette’s to get drinks and fries from Joe. Our friendship was forged there within this pattern.

I vividly remember introducing Leen (along with our other cherished roommate and friend, Mahima) to “Do It Again” while hanging up my first set of film pictures from moments at home. This became a pivotal moment, a gateway to meaningful conversations and a deeper understanding of each other–beyond just our taste in music.

The film picture featured above of Leen was my very first test shot in New York on my new camera. The soundtrack to this moment, fittingly, was “Do It Again.” Leen and I would dance to this song in the elevator, blast it in our shared room at home, and she’d text me every time she heard it elsewhere, saying “McCarty, your song is playing.”

I would do anything to “go back, Jack, do it again, wheel turnin’ ‘round and ‘round.” The moments I had those first few weeks living in New York my freshman year of college are among my most cherished of life. I miss you, Leen. I miss you, New York.

2. Dirty Work

When people associate a song with me, there’s a universal and unequivocal answer: “Dirty Work” by Steely Dan.

It has been MY song for the last five years. It’s a simple fact. “Dirty Work” evokes memories of both my fondest memories and most tragic ones. I’ve cried to that song, I’ve made out to that song, I’ve pondered its lyrics, I’ve traveled for miles with it as my companion. I am that song. I love that song.

I think there are technically “better” songs that exist out there than “Dirty Work,” but it will always be my most listened to one. There’s just something about it. It soothes my soul and quiets my heart. You can party to it, you can sob to it–it’s multifaceted. When I hear this song, it brings forth not one specific memory or person but rather a mosaic of moments in my life that have shaped me.

I think of my cherished girls’ trip to Palm Springs a couple summers ago with my dearest friends, Monet and Frances. I think of the baseball boys we met there. I think of sparkly rhinestone high heels and tiki restaurants. I think of graduating high school. I think of the summertime before I moved. I think of getting my ears pierced for the first time. I think of riding the subway to my friend’s apartment. I think of dancing in my friends’ New York apartments. I think of meeting my best friends for the first time. I think of sitting on a roof in Brooklyn, staring at the Manhattan cityline, and contemplating all the decisions I made in life that got me there to that rooftop. To that city. To that place. To those people.

It’s tragic, it’s liberating, it’s healing, it’s sad, it’s free:

“Like the castle in its corner / In a medieval game / I foresee terrible trouble / And I stay here just the same / I’m a fool to do your dirty work / Oh yeah / I don’t wanna do your dirty work / No more.”

I think of driving in the car in Vermont with the people I was there with. I think of California. I think of NYU. I think of when I had to come to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t be living in New York anymore. I think of my darling friend, Morgan, and sitting on his couch while he showed me his record collection (including his thrift find of Steely Dan’s Greatest Hits). I think of running to the Empire State Building at 2AM. I think of living at Ben’s apartment. I think of the room I had there with the most gorgeous ivy-covered window that the sun just poured through. I think of my heart breaking so much it felt like it was spilling over. I think of sitting on his fire escape. I think of riding the subway. I think of my old high school fling. I think of driving down PCH with my mom. I think of my brother growing older. I think of the number 333. I think of the relationships of mine that I have ended. I think of being happier than I ever imagined possible. I think of hummingbirds. I think of dinner in the East Village. I think of Central Park. I think of signs. I think of silver earrings. I think of a lot of things.

“Dirty Work” will always be a tapestry of my memories. Not for any particular rhyme or reason, it just is. If I’ve ever played this song to you, I remember it. If you’ve ever texted me that you heard the song and it reminded you of me, thank you for remembering whatever moment we had to that song. I remember it too.

3. Kings

While “Kings” may not be my favorite track off the album, I never skip it when it comes on. I don’t actively seek out the song, but every time I do hear it, I’m immediately transported back to Waverly Place. My mother played an instrumental role in my move from LA to NY, and we turned it into a memorable trip. On our first full day in the city, we explored its streets, allowing me to absorb the essence of my new life.

A few weeks earlier, we had toured every major movie company in Hollywood, and my favorite set was Paramount’s New York set. It might not have been the most spectacular thing we had seen, but it was the closest I had ever been to my new home. I moved to New York at seventeen blindly without having ever set foot in the city before. So, when I had taken that walk in the city for the first time and it felt like I was back on that Hollywood movie set–somewhere I knew I belonged–it affirmed that New York was the perfect place for me. It felt like home. I snapped a picture of Waverly Street and posted it on my story with the song “Kings,” and now that song will always remind me of that moment and that feeling.

4. Midnight Cruiser

It’s quite simple with “Midnight Cruiser,” really. It really takes me back to the end of August long ago. Claudette’s for brunch everyday. David L. Epstein’s ActorClass on Tuesday nights. Dinner with Anna. Coffee with Morgan. Lunch with Cat. The fountain and the arch at Washington Square. My architecture class on Fridays. The road-trip I took for my 18th birthday. Where was this midnight cruiser going? Probably across the water. Or to dinner. Or on a walk. I was always going somewhere back then.

5. Only A Fool Would Say That

My senior year of high school marked a significant turning point in my career aspirations. Despite harboring substantial ambitions, I initially intended to pursue them closer to home. Restlessness took hold during my junior year, compelling me to seek more. Confirming this urge, my senior year became a declaration — it was time to venture beyond familiar shores. I exchanged the warm beaches of California for a landscape that, while less welcoming, proved all the more encouraging for my dreams.

The fifth track off of Can’t Buy A Thrill, “Only A Fool Would Say That,” transports me back to a life lived many years ago — before New York, before PR, before the start of my career, and before I took numerous chances in my life or on myself. The lyrics, “You do his nine to five / Drag yourself home half alive / And there on the screen / A man with a dream,” encapsulate a time when I found the track fun and reminiscent of home during my teenage years in high school. Little did I know that it would later become such an encouraging song as a young adult in college and thereafter.

6. Reelin’ In The Years

Ironically, among all of Steely Dan’s songs on this album, “Reelin’ In The Years” stands out as a widely recognized nostalgic anthem. While its lyrics are often overlooked, overshadowed by the glorious (and infamous) guitar solo, the lines “Are you reelin’ in the years? / Stowin’ away the time” have become a glorified soundtrack for Instagram reels. This brought the already megafamous song into the spotlight for the younger generation, who now view it as the perfect accompaniment for a quick memory recap.

As for me, “Reelin’ In The Years” held a special place on my list of songs that could make me cry at sixteen. Alongside tracks like Jackson Browne’s “Somebody’s Baby,” Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” and R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion,” it was part of a musical threadwork from the 70s/80s that resonated with me deeply during those formative teenage years.

“Reelin’ In The Years” initially served as a comforting anthem during the mourning of a relationship at sixteen with its lyrics, especially “I’ve spent a lot of money and I’ve spent a lot of time / The trip we made to Hollywood is etched upon my mind.” I remember feeling so vindicated of my woes whenever the song came on; however, beyond its cathartic role, the song signified a pivotal period in my youth where I began to embrace letting go and savoring the joys of life. From hanging out with my best friend Monet to frequenting the Palm Coffee Bar weekly, attending football games with boys from my old high school, driving up to the Griffith Observatory, and celebrating my seventeenth birthday — each memory is vividly connected to this song. Although that period of life was quite some time ago and feels distant, whenever I hear “Reelin’ In The Years,” I am transported right back to that very specific era of my life.

7. Fire In The Hole

The seventh track off the album, “Fire In The Hole,” holds a particularly distinct memory for me. Call it intuition, but I often have a sense, weeks in advance, that something significant — usually leaning towards the unfortunate — is approaching. On a day in New York that ironically stands out as one of the most beautiful I ever experienced there, with perfect weather and a rainbow in the fountain at Washington Square, I knew instinctively to sit down and soak it all in for as long as possible. It felt like one of those moments I would need to cling to. The jazz band that would play every so often in the square chose to perform, of all songs, Steely Dan’s “Fire In The Hole.” True to my gut feeling, the long winter that followed made me frequently revisit that day in my mind.

8. Brooklyn (Owes The Charmer Under Me)

When I reminisce about this song, an instant lump forms in my throat. While it had been a favorite of mine for quite some time, the connection deepened during a trip to Palm Springs with my cherished friends, Monet and Frances. That summer felt like the summer of Steely Dan, with their songs becoming the soundtrack to our daily drives and household moments. Frances and I, in particular, associate this song — and “Dirty Work” — with that vibrant time.

Yet, this song’s significance took an unexpected turn. It felt like a childhood premonition, oblivious to the fact that I would soon call New York home. During my first semester at NYU, I crafted my first college paper around this very song. The task: choose a musical piece that resonates with the journey from hometown to the city and relate it to our aspirations in New York.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I chose “Brooklyn (Owes The Charmer Under Me).” It whisked me back to the golden days in Palm Springs, where I first tasted freedom and maturity. But more than nostalgia, it served as a resonant reminder of the boundless potential awaiting me in New York. In my paper, I declared that Los Angeles was for dreamers, while New York was for those willing to sacrifice everything for their goals. In my belief, success in New York was within reach for those who persistently and passionately made sacrifices.

In my original essay, I dissected the lyrics “She daily preaches on where she wants to be / An evening with a movie queen / A face we all have seen,” sensing that in New York, everyone was “somebody.” I reveled in the diverse narratives of the city, eagerly absorbing the life stories of those I encountered. Connections bloomed with professors, friendships flourished with waitstaff, and chance encounters with strangers transformed into trusted colleagues and business partners.

One compliment from Joe, a familiar face at a restaurant I frequented, remains etched in my memory. He genuinely believed in me, introducing me to friends who asked for my autograph, foreseeing a future where I’d become something remarkable. Joe’s encouragement echoed throughout the city, defying its reputation for coldness. In that concrete jungle, I never felt more supported and limitless in my ambitions.

As a writer, one of my greatest joys is rediscovering myself through memories and the deliberate thoughts captured in my diaries. These journals, filled with keepsakes, mementos, and receipts from my time in New York, transport me back with every read. Life may have evolved, but within those pages, I am the same girl who penned them. Likewise, when “Brooklyn (Owes The Charmer Under Me)” plays, I’m transported back to the very essence of who I was. To this day, my keychain proudly declares, “Spread Love, It’s the Brooklyn Way.”

9. Change Of The Guard

The guitar solo in “Change Of The Guard” at 2:24 serves as a cherished memory and a source of genuine joy for me. It became a lively topic of conversation between me and a friend that spanned for weeks. Whenever I hear that solo, I’m transported back to a time of simplicity and happiness, reminiscent of the carefree scenes depicted in classic 80s romantic comedies. It’s a musical time machine, bringing forth unbridled joy and a flood of memories from that era of mine.

10. Turn That Heartbeat Over Again

The closing track, “Turn That Heartbeat Over Again,” has the power to immediately transport me back to the beaches of California, no matter the city or state I find myself in. This song possesses an uncanny ability to make you happy, conjuring a salty breeze and intensifying the sunlight wherever I am. Considered one of Steely Dan’s sweetest compositions, it serves as the perfect conclusion to this beautiful album, leaving a lingering sense of warmth and nostalgia.

While I was crafting this article, Jerry Seinfeld’s show “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” played in the background. In the episode featuring Fred Armisen, Seinfeld was asked about the music that truly moves him, and, ironically, he responds, “Steely Dan was the music that I heard that just froze me solid.” Steely Dan’s distinctive sound seems to resonate with many, not just myself but even the comedic legend Jerry Seinfeld.

Steely Dan’s “Can’t Buy A Thrill” is more than just an album; it’s the electrifying soundtrack of my youth, and “Dirty Work” the song of my life. I think its impossible to listen to the album and not find at least one song that will take you back to a specific time of your life. It’s just one of those albums.

Can’t Buy A Thrill