Toto, Steely Dan and that Yacht Rock Genre Crap

By Joey Salgado

I used to not like Toto. I didn’t hate them. I just didn’t like them. 

They came to the music scene in the mid-70s, just around the time I was imbibing the sound and vibes of hard rock bands like Led Zeppelin and Juan de la Cruz, inward looking craftsmen like Jackson Browne, early James Taylor, and acoustic-period Neil Young; and cerebral, cynical perfectionists like Steely Dan. 

When Toto became huge in the 80s, I was already an activist generally dismissive of contemporary popular music as vapid and bourgeois, with very few exceptions, namely The Clash and The Police (“Pasista ang dating,” a comrade once chuckled, referring to the Sting-Copeland-Summers trio). 

I was immersed in the protest music canon. I listened to songs by Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, and Peter, Paul & Mary; and local icons Jess Santiago, Paul Galang, and Joey Ayala. Learned to play them too on my Lumanog nylon guitar. I even snagged a pre-martial law copy of the iconic Jingle magazine issue where they printed the chords and lyrics to well-known activist songs. A comrade had an LP record of these songs which we played repeatedly, with the volume down. 

I was partial to rebel musicians, non-conformists who pushed the limits of the conventional; articulate artists who produced genre-bending and world-changing music. I liked my rock music raw and biting. Toto? Too slick and commercial. I was consumed by message, by content, that I forgot that music was also supposed to be fun and escapist. That’s what turned me on to music in the first place. 

It was only when I made the leap from activist to reporter that I surrendered to the lure of radio-friendly pop and rock music of the 80s. 

I decided that If I were to survive life as a reporter, I had to tune out more often, even from, or especially from, the harder-edged and intellectually provocative songs I like. 

That meant giving Toto a second look. And not being too harsh on new wave bands, and Corey Hart, and Bryan Adams, and even, yikes, Peter Cetera. 

Paying their dues

The advent of compact discs changed my opinion of Toto. 

Reading through liner notes of reissued 70s albums, printed in six-point font size, even smaller, the names of Toto’s individual members kept appearing in albums by artists such as Boz Scaggs and Steely Dan. 

Guitarist Steve Lukather, the Porcaro Brothers and the other members were crack session men, the 70s version of the famed Wrecking Crew of the 60s. Name a classic album from the mid-70s and their names would most likely be on it (Toto’s hip bonafides were affirmed decades later when alt-rock band Weezer scored a hit with their note-for-note version of Toto’s “Africa’). 

Musician and record producer Rick Beato’s You Tube channel has been featuring interviews with legendary musicians alongside his guitar tutorials. Beato’s interview with Lukather, wild-haired and exuding hippie cool even at his age, has so far tallied 2.5 million views. 

In his interview, Lukather talks about, among other topics, his struggles as a young session musician, living paycheck to paycheck. This experience shaped his work ethos and honed his chops. Even after Toto’s success, Lukather continued to do session work for the likes of Lionel Ritchie (“I was just noodlin’, man”)  and Michael Jackson. 

These guys have paid their dues, and they have the skillset to prove it.

Pigeonhole

About 19 years ago, the music of Toto was categorized as Yacht Rock, a label coined by a group of comedians to poke clean fun at “pop-rock” or “mellow rock artists” from the 70s to the 80s. The category included the likes of Michael McDonald, Kenny Loggins, Cristopher Cross and, horrors, Steely Dan. It was meant to be a joke, but since the industry likes convenient labels, the term kinda stuck.

Yacht Rock has become a convenient pigeonhole for the artists I mentioned earlier, plus the likes of Robbie Dupree, Ambrosia, Player, Alessi Brothers, Stephen Bishop, Rupert Holmes, Bobby Caldwell, Gino Vannelli. I can visualize Gen Z readers shrugging their shoulders and saying, got it, now go to sleep grandpa.

To the younger generation, that’s tito or lolo music. Might as well mention Gregorian chants and madrigals. But heck, kids, that’s part of my generation’s music, so be kind.

Locally, it was DWRT-FM who introduced these songs back in 1976 when they were one of only three or four stations on FM. The format could actually be called 99.5 RT Music, although its cultural significance, if it had one, was lost on us youngsters at that time. We just fell for those Top 40 mellow amalgam of rock, jazz, and R&B. 

But the perception of Yacht Rock as shallow, party background music for rich white men is unfair, if not disrespectful. 

Take Michael McDonald. Before becoming the voice of The Doobie Brothers, his arrival reformatting the band’s hippie sound to a mellower R&B groove, McDonald was also a sought-after session guy. His is one of pop music’s most recognizable voices. He has a stellar solo career. And if there’s any doubt about his musicianship, just listen to that piano intro to the Doobie’s “Minute by Minute.” That’s confident, mature musicality that you can only get when you’ve paid your dues.

But then again, no one argues with second chances, especially when it means more money in the bank. These artists are making a comeback. Universal Music Group has just released Volume 2 of their Now This is Yacht Rock compilation, and there’s a documentary, or rather, a “dockumentary” on Yacht Rock streaming on HBO but not yet available here.

Not everyone’s happy, though. I mean, Steely Dan’s “Aja” as essential yacht rock? Disgraceful. Donald Fagen famously told the director of the HBO documentary to “go fuck yourself” when he asked for an interview with the irascible genius. But his management had the good sense to allow the producers to use several Steely Dan songs.

So yeah, I’m cool with Toto now. And yes, this is another lengthy justification for buying more records.