"I like it when songs develop in some way. Four minutes usually isn't enough time for something to develop musically"
About this Quote
Donald Fagen is arguing for music as a narrative that breathes, unfolds, and earns its resolutions. The standard radio single, engineered by decades of broadcast convention to hover around three to four minutes, tends to loop verse-chorus patterns and deliver its hook quickly. That economy can be thrilling, but it often leaves little space for ideas to evolve, motifs to transform, or players to converse. Fagen, raised on jazz and midcentury pop craft, prizes development: the gradual deepening of harmony, the recontextualizing of a theme, the way an arrangement can change color and weight over time.
His own work with Steely Dan offers the counterexample to pop brevity. Tracks like Aja or Deacon Blues stretch past the four-minute mark not as indulgence but as architecture. Aja eases through layered chord changes, lets Wayne Shorter’s saxophone carve new shapes out of the harmony, and gives Steve Gadd room to build a drum narrative that reframes the whole piece. The length is not filler; it is the canvas required for transformation. Development means more than adding instruments. It is the feeling that the second chorus bears the memory of what came before, that a bridge opens a window into an unexpected key or mood, that a coda distills the journey into something inevitable.
There is also a sly critique of how commerce constrains form. The three-minute limit traces back to the physical capacity of 78 rpm discs and later radio programming habits. That mechanical heritage still shadows streaming-era songwriting, where brevity can game algorithms. Fagen’s stance suggests a different metric of value: not time spent, but change achieved. When a groove can simmer, when a soloist is allowed to tell a story, when the harmonic floor shifts under a familiar hook, listeners get a richer arc. Development invites patience, and patience invites a deeper kind of listening.
His own work with Steely Dan offers the counterexample to pop brevity. Tracks like Aja or Deacon Blues stretch past the four-minute mark not as indulgence but as architecture. Aja eases through layered chord changes, lets Wayne Shorter’s saxophone carve new shapes out of the harmony, and gives Steve Gadd room to build a drum narrative that reframes the whole piece. The length is not filler; it is the canvas required for transformation. Development means more than adding instruments. It is the feeling that the second chorus bears the memory of what came before, that a bridge opens a window into an unexpected key or mood, that a coda distills the journey into something inevitable.
There is also a sly critique of how commerce constrains form. The three-minute limit traces back to the physical capacity of 78 rpm discs and later radio programming habits. That mechanical heritage still shadows streaming-era songwriting, where brevity can game algorithms. Fagen’s stance suggests a different metric of value: not time spent, but change achieved. When a groove can simmer, when a soloist is allowed to tell a story, when the harmonic floor shifts under a familiar hook, listeners get a richer arc. Development invites patience, and patience invites a deeper kind of listening.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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