You know the tune. Even if you don't think you do, you definitely do. It’s that thunderous, repetitive chant that echoes through stadiums when a visiting player gets ejected or a home team clinches a win. Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye is perhaps the most unlikely juggernaut in music history. It wasn't written to be a masterpiece. It wasn't even meant to be a "real" song.
It was a throwaway. A B-side filler recorded by a band that didn't actually exist at the time.
Honestly, the story behind this track is a chaotic mess of studio trickery, ego, and pure accidental genius. Most people hear those opening drum hits and think of classic rock or a polished pop production. In reality, it was a bunch of guys in a studio trying to make something so basic it wouldn't overshadow their "real" art. Life is funny that way. The thing they cared about least became the thing that defined them forever.
How a Fake Band Topped the Charts
Let’s go back to 1969. Gary DeCarlo, Dale Frashuer, and producer Paul Leka had been in a band called The Chimes. They were at Mercury Records, and DeCarlo was supposed to be a solo star. He’d recorded a few tracks he really believed in. The label liked them, but they needed a B-side for his first single. They didn't want to waste a good song on the back of a 45, so they decided to record something intentionally mediocre.
They resurrected an old bluesy tune Frashuer had written years earlier. To make it long enough to fill a side of vinyl, they stretched out the chorus. They started ad-libbing. "Na na na na... hey hey hey... goodbye." It was a placeholder. They figured they'd replace those syllables with real lyrics later.
They never did.
Paul Leka decided the song needed more "weight," so he brought in a drum track from another session, sped it up, and layered it. The result was a weird, hypnotic, proto-glam-rock anthem. When the executives at Mercury Records heard it, they realized the B-side was actually much better than the A-side. But there was a problem: DeCarlo didn't want his name on it. He thought it was beneath him. He was a serious crooner!
So, they invented a name. Steam.
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There was no band called Steam. Just three guys and some session musicians in a room. When the song blew up and hit Number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in December 1969, the label had to scramble. They hired a group of guys who had nothing to do with the recording to go on tour and pretend to be the band. That's the music business for you. It's built on smoke and mirrors, or in this case, Steam.
The Stadium Evolution: From Radio to the Bleachers
For about seven years, the song just lived as a classic oldie. It was a radio staple, sure, but it hadn't become a "chant" yet. That changed because of a guy named Nancy Faust. If you aren't a baseball nerd, you might not know her name, but she is the most influential organist in the history of sports.
In 1977, Faust was playing the organ for the Chicago White Sox at Comiskey Park. She had a knack for playing songs that snarkily commented on the game. When a pitcher was pulled from the mound, or the opposing team was clearly about to lose, she started tinkling those familiar notes: Na na na na... The South Side fans caught on immediately.
It was perfect. It was taunting, rhythmic, and incredibly easy to sing while drunk on overpriced beer. Within a few seasons, the song had migrated from Chicago to every stadium in North America. It became the universal language of "you're done." It's one of the few songs that is equally at home at a political rally, a basketball game, or a messy breakup party.
The beauty of Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye is its simplicity. Most pop songs require you to know at least a few verses. This one? You only need four words. It’s the ultimate "us versus them" soundtrack. It taps into a very primal human need to gloat. We shouldn't do it, probably. It's unsportsmanlike. But man, it feels good when a few thousand people join in.
The Bananarama Revival and the 80s Sound
The song has a weird habit of reinventing itself every decade. In 1983, the British girl group Bananarama covered it. If the original version was gritty and percussive, the Bananarama version was pure 80s synth-pop. It was glossy. It was fun. It also proved that the hook was indestructible.
Their version hit the Top 5 in the UK. Suddenly, a new generation that had never heard of Steam was singing the same "na na" syllables.
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Interestingly, Gary DeCarlo—the guy who sang the original—didn't see much of the glory for a long time. Because the song was credited to a "fake" band and there were complex contract issues, he felt disconnected from the legacy. It took decades for the public to really give him his flowers as the voice behind the anthem. He eventually started performing it again in the 2010s, finally embracing the "filler" track that became his life's work before he passed away in 2017.
There's a lesson there about "perfect" being the enemy of "good." The creators wanted a "perfect" solo career for DeCarlo. Instead, they got a "messy" global hit. Sometimes the stuff we do when we aren't trying too hard is the stuff that actually connects with people.
Why the Song Never Dies
You’d think we’d be sick of it by now. In a world of high-definition stadium screens and licensed hip-hop tracks playing over the PA system, a 50-year-old organ-driven chant should be obsolete.
It isn't.
It’s actually more prevalent now than ever. In the last few years, the song has been used in everything from Remember the Titans to The Simpsons. It has been sampled by Jay-Z on "A Star Is Born." It's been used as a protest song.
The song works because it is a "Vessel Song." It doesn't have a specific narrative that keeps it stuck in 1969. It’s an emotional state. It represents the exact moment of transition—the moment someone leaves the stage, the field, or the office.
- The Percussion: The heavy, stomping beat mimics a heartbeat or a march. It commands movement.
- The Phonetics: "Na na" is one of the first sounds human infants make. It’s linguistically universal. Anyone, in any language, can sing along.
- The Taunt: The "Hey, hey, hey" adds a conversational, almost mocking tone that is impossible to ignore.
Navigating the Legacy of Steam
If you're looking to really understand the impact of Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye, you have to look at the numbers. It has sold over 6.5 million copies. That’s more than many hits by The Beatles or The Rolling Stones. And yet, Steam is often relegated to "one-hit wonder" lists.
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It’s a bit unfair. Paul Leka was a brilliant producer who worked with REO Speedwagon and Harry Chapin. He knew exactly what he was doing, even when he claimed he was just messing around. He understood that a hook doesn't need to be complex to be effective.
There is also a dark side to the song’s success. For years, there were debates about who actually played on the track. Because it was a studio creation, various session musicians have claimed they were the "secret sauce." But the core remains the trio of DeCarlo, Frashuer, and Leka. They caught lightning in a bottle, even if they were trying to catch a fly.
Real-World Takeaways for Your Playlist
If you’re a musician, a creator, or just a fan of pop history, there’s a lot to learn from this weird fluke of a song.
First, stop overthinking your "B-sides." Sometimes the project you’re just doing for fun, or the one you’re doing because you "have to," is the one that will resonate. We often put so much pressure on our primary goals that we stifle our creativity. The Steam guys were relaxed because they didn't think the song mattered. That relaxation allowed them to create something iconic.
Second, understand the power of the "Singalong Factor." If you want something to last, make it participatory. The reason this song survived the death of the 45-rpm record is that it moved from the ears to the throat. People do the song; they don't just listen to it.
To truly appreciate the track today:
- Listen to the original 1969 mono mix. The drum sound is surprisingly heavy for the era. It’s got a grit that the later covers lack.
- Watch footage of the 1977 White Sox. Seeing Nancy Faust trigger a stadium-wide singalong for the first time is a masterclass in crowd psychology.
- Check out the Bananarama video. It’s a perfect time capsule of how the 80s could take anything and make it neon.
The song is a reminder that we don't get to decide what our legacy is. We just put the work out there. Sometimes, the world decides that your "filler" is actually their anthem. And when that happens, all you can do is wave your hands and sing along.
Next time you're at a game and the home team is winning, wait for it. The drums will start. The crowd will swell. And you'll realize you're part of a 50-year-old accident that just won't quit.
Next Steps for the Curious:
Dig into the discography of Paul Leka. He was the architect behind the sound, and his ability to layer tracks was decades ahead of its time. You might also want to look up the "fake" touring members of Steam; their stories of traveling the country pretending to be the guys on the record are equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking. If you're a sports fan, look for Nancy Faust's interviews on how she chose her repertoire—it’s a fascinating look at the intersection of music and psychology.