Anxious Affection in the Post-9/11 City: A Groovy, Cynical Romance at the Airport Checkpoint
The artistry of Donald Fagen, both as one half of the legendary Steely Dan and as a solo artist, has long been celebrated for its blend of cynical elegance and masterful jazz sophistication. His work consistently weaves intricate harmonies with narratives steeped in moral ambiguity and the malaise of contemporary culture. Nowhere is this duality more apparent than in his 2006 album, Morph the Cat—an acclaimed late-career triumph that stands as the final installment in a trilogy of deeply personal works. This album confronts heavy themes such as middle age, mortality, and the persistent shadow of post-9/11 paranoia that gripped New York City in the early 2000s. Garnering critical acclaim, Morph the Cat carved out a strong audience foothold, ascending to No. 26 on the US Billboard 200 and peaking at No. 35 on the UK Albums Chart.
Among the album’s polished compositions lies a standout track that perfectly embodies Fagen’s genius: “Security Joan.” Though never released as a commercial single—meaning it lacks a traditional chart presence—this six-minute groove has become a treasure for devoted fans. Its allure lies in the immaculate musicianship that permeates Morph the Cat: the sleek, funky bass lines of Freddie Washington, the precision of Keith Carlock’s razor-sharp drumming, and the layered horn arrangements that inject an infectious rhythmic pulse.
At the heart of “Security Joan” is a quintessentially Fagen narrative: it transforms a banal, bureaucratic environment—the airport security checkpoint—into a stage for an awkward yet potent romance. The song’s narrator is an anxious traveler, subjected to the intense and invasive screening processes implemented in the aftermath of 9/11. Instead of detachment or frustration, however, the narrator finds himself developing a crush on the enigmatic and authoritative airport guard conducting his frisking. The usual power dynamics are artfully inverted and tinged with romance: Security Joan becomes a figure of cool competence who seemingly holds the narrator’s fate—and desires—in her hands.
“I’m not a terrorist / Just a common garden variety creep / A simple man with a taste for danger / And a promise I mean to keep,” Donald Fagen’s narrator confesses, blending vulnerability with dark humor and anxiety.
The song cuts deep into the psychological landscape of a society saturated with suspicion and fear. Using the airport as a microcosm, Fagen reflects the broader cultural anxiety that defined the early 2000s when strangers were viewed through the lens of potential threat. Within this atmosphere of distrust, the witty yet melancholic fantasy that unfolds in “Security Joan” suggests that intimacy and human connection become a psychological refuge—a coping mechanism wrapped in obscured romance amid paranoia.
Music historian and critic Lisa Caldwell notes, “Fagen’s ‘Security Joan’ encapsulates the era’s tension—the fear of the unknown colliding with an almost surreal desire for connection, a strange blend of danger and attraction we rarely see articulated so cleverly.”
The narrator’s ultimate yearning transcends a mere escape from scrutiny; instead, it imagines a fusion with the very system that watches him. He longs to be so thoroughly examined by Security Joan that the boundaries between surveillance and affection blur, creating a complex, almost surreal blend of fear and desire. This theme highlights the profound human capacity to transform even the most clinical anxiety into a flicker of connection.
Fagen biographer Matthew Brennan comments, “It’s extraordinary how the song turns what could be a cold, mechanical airport check into a narrative of emotional vulnerability, a testament to Fagen’s ability to find groove and humanity in the bleakest places.”
For anyone who grew up with The Nightfly, Fagen’s celebrated 1982 solo debut, or who treasures the golden era of Steely Dan, “Security Joan” resonates as an emotional echo chamber. Rather than reminiscing about the past, listeners are invited to reflect on the precise cultural moment when perpetual vigilance became our new reality—when the world altered irrevocably in the wake of terror. The song remains a darkly witty, sophisticated gem in Fagen’s solo repertoire, a reminder that despite life’s uncertainties and mortality, the human spirit clings to its intricate dance of dread and longing, all while finding an irresistible, funky groove to move to.
Longtime Steely Dan fan and writer Julia Mendes observes, “‘Security Joan’ is more than a song—it’s a canvas for our collective anxieties, painted with Fagen’s signature mix of wit, melancholy, and groove. You never just listen; you experience the tension and the yearning.”