Larry Williams: The Dickeman

If these aren't the best directions ever given, then I clearly have no idea what I'm talking about.

Call me old fashioned, but I'll take Larry over a dashboard GPS any day of the week and twice on Sundays. I mean, sure, your GPS can tell you where the nearest Starbucks is located, but can it track down pussy and weed and deliver it to your room at the Motel 6? I think not.

"I got a good dick. I got a dick made of gold. I got a good dick. I got a lovely dick. I got a beautiful dick. I got a lovely dick... 'Cause I am the God damn Dick Man: D.I.C.K.E.M.A.N."


Thanks to Browner for the clip.

You may take this with however many grains of salt as you wish...

The Woodstock Music & Art Fair took place 40 years ago today (and yesterday and tomorrow). And to celebrate, as is the custom, my dad called me up and warned me to stay away from the brown acid.



Contrary to popular belief, I actually was NOT conceived at Woodstock, but my dad does own a pair of pink corduroy bell-bottoms, and there is a striking resemblance in the air-guitaring styles of myself and Joe Cocker, so it's easy to see how the story regarding the true nature of my origins could have taken on a life of it's own over the years.

Bonus material: The Who finishing their 4 am set as the sun rises in the background...

Marijuana Makes You Smarter

My buddy Gizzie has the perfect storm of debauchery brewing this weekend: His bachelor party is the night of his 30th birthday, both of which will be taking place in Niagara Falls, ON.

It would not be unreasonable to expect scenes similar to these:



In any event, with such a deparvity-filled 24-hours looming, I thought I'd put the minds of the participants at ease with the following passage from Chuck Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs:


Last year I had to go to one of those "adult" parties. I think you know the kind of party I mean: People brought their screaming children and someone inexplicably served fresh cornbread, and half the house stood around and watched the local news affiliate when it came on at 11:00 pm. I spent the whole evening in the kitchen with the two guys I came with; we tried to have an exclusionary conversation despite the fact that we consciously drove to this party in order to be social. Most of the guests began to exit at around midnight, which is the same time some odd fellow I'd never seen before suddenly appeared next to the refrigerator and pulled out a Zippo lighter and a little wooden box.

The gathering took a decidedly different turn.

Ten minutes later, I found it necessary to mention that Journey was rock's version of the TV show Dynasty. This promted a spirited debate we dubbed "Monkees = Monkees." The goal is to figure out which television show is the closest philosophical analogy to a specific rock 'n' roll band, and the criteria is mind-blowingly complex: It's a combination of longevity, era, critical acclaim, commercial success, and - most important -the aesthetic soul of each artistic entity. For example, the Rolling Stones are Gunsmoke. The Strokes are Kiefer Sutherland's 24. Jimi Hendrix was The Twilight Zone. Devo was Fernwood 2-Night. Lynyrd Skynyrd was The Beverly Hillbillies, which makes Molly Hatchet Petticoat Junction. The Black Crowes are That '70s Show. Hall & Oates were Bosom Buddies. U2 is M*A*S*H* (both got preachy at the end). Dokken was Jason Bateman's short-lived sitcom It's Your Move. Eurythmics were Mork & Mindy. We even deduced comparisons for solo projects, which can only be made to series that were spawned as spin-offs. The four Beatles are as follows: John = Maude, Paul = Frasier, George = The Jeffersons, and Ringo = Flo. David Lee Roth's solo period was Knots Landing.

So there's your proof: Marijuana makes you smarter.

Friday Diversion

If you're stuck inside on the first summer-like Friday of the summer, here's a little something in lieu of a patio and a bucket of ice cold beer. As always, this is some of the best stuff I've come across over the course of the past little while.



The Courthouse Ring
By Malcolm Gladwell

As we approach the 50th anniversary of the publication of To Kill A Mockingbird, Gladwell gives us an updated look into the realities of southern liberalism.

I have to say, having learned a few things about life and literature in the 15 years since I last read TKM (in the 10th grade), I'd say that I'm about due for another crack at Harper Lee's masterpiece.


A Guide to Summer Sun Protection
By Zev Borow

For all of the fair-skinned descendents of the Irish out there, this one's for you.

SPF 175—Ever wanted to have unprotected sex with a prostitute in Haiti? Don’t answer. Doesn’t matter. The point is with SPF 175 that’s now an option.


Bitter Brew
By Michael Idov

A hilarious piece about the apparently ubiquitous dream of opening one's own cozy little cafe. I have to say, I have, upon occassion, harboured the same little fantasy of hanging out in my own little coffee shop all day long, spinning great tunes, and generally soaking in the kind of bohemian slacker vibe that my establishment would undoubtedly emit.

Thankfully, this little essay has come along and put an end to that ridiculous notion. I think the subtitle summarizes it best:

I opened a charming neighborhood coffee shop. Then it destroyed my life.


At The National Sports Collectors Convention - Photo Gallery
By Bill Simmons

This photo essay is a must for any sports fan, pop culture fan, or for anyone who has spent any time at any kind of a collector's convention... I'm looking at YOU, dad.


When It Comes to Bad Contracts, Jays Ricciardi is Hard to Beat
By Joe Posnanski

I have been of the opinion that J.P. Ricciardi is one of the worst GMs in baseball for approximately 5 years. He is deserving of a spot amongst the truly great "Bad GMs in Toronto Sports History", joining his contemporaries (Rob Babcock and John Ferguson Jr.), as well as some legends (Gord Stellick and basically anyone associated with the Toronto Maple Leafs in the 80s).

And it gives me great pleasure to announce that I'm no longer alone in this sentiment. As Posnanski points out (referring to Vernon Wells' contract):

This deal, to be honest, is not the sort of thing that leads to a general manager getting fired. It's the sort of thing that leads to entire villages getting pillaged. And that's what I mean about Ricciardi. I mean, this contract alone should be enough to put him in the Bad Contract Hall of Fame. But when you look over the whole body of work ... he IS the Bad Contract Hall of Fame.

In fact, really, we should just start referring to bad baseball contracts as "Ricciardis."

Thanks to Flats for the link.

Possible Reasons Why 102.1 The Edge Currently Sucks...

There was a time when 102.1 The Edge was the greatest radio station in... well, this city at least. Because there was a time when, if you wanted to hear new music in Toronto, 102.1 was the only place you had your dial tuned (in fact, there was a time where the station was actually called "The Spirit of Radio"!). CFNY had such a loyal following that when we were growing up, my buddy DVZ used to claim that listening to 102.1 alone could cure cancer.

The same can no longer be said today.

For awhile there, I thought it was simply because of my advancing age, the result of which meant that I was no longer in tune with what the kids were listening to these days. I felt like I was going through some kind of a mid-life crisis whereby I was being forced to question my current musical tastes. But as it turns out, maybe it wasn't me who was going through the crisis.


There was a time when Barry Taylor was the most entertaining DJ on Toronto's airwaves (exhibit A - This November 2008 piece). The Barry Funny Joke was an endless source of entertainment. The Barry Interesting Survey was a basehead's delight. And Megaphone man was the kind of gig that only The Edge could get away with airing. Everything he did was unconventional, which was why he was so wildly popular.

But a few months ago, BT was unceremoniously dismissed from 102.1. At first, I chalked it up to the fact that his bosses simply got sick of his endless soliloquies and one-sided discussions regarding all things Zeitgeist that invariably ruined my weekly Wednesday night drive to hockey (if you haven't seen it yet, you can catch it here: Zeitgeist, The Movie, and Zeitgeist: Addendum).

But as it turns out, there was more to it than simply the fact that BT: The Conspiracy Theorist just wasn't cutting it. And it's too bad, because even a decidedly un-funny Barry Taylor was infinitely better than anything else on the air (with the exception of the always affable Dave Bookman, of course).

And sure, this is probably a pretty one-sided take on how it all went down, but Barry Taylor's version of the events which led to his eventual dismissal go a long way in explaining why 102.1 The Edge currently sucks...

Taken from his MySpace Blog, here is BT's:

Why I Was Fired From 102.1 the Edge

My Adolescent Love Life (summarized in 5 seconds)

Yep. That slow-motion instant replay is probably the perfect metaphor for my high school dating career.

Willy DeVille: 1953-2009

AFP - PARIS — US singer songwriter Willy DeVille, who headed the 1970s New York punk group Mink DeVille before going solo and taking new directions, has died at the age of 55, his French tour organiser said Friday.

"Willy DeVille this night joined Edith Piaf, Jack Nitzsche and Johnny Thunders", said Caramba Spectacles, referring respectively to the French star who inspired him, to his producer, and to a fellow-70s punk guitarist.

His wife had announced in June that DeVille had pancreatic cancer.

DeVille in the late 70s played in New York's mythical CBGB club alongside the likes of Blondie or the Ramones with his first album Cabretta produced by Nitzsche, former arranger for Phil Spector...


On more than a few occassions, I have had people ask me who I believe to be the most underrated band of all-time. Without hesitation, I always tell them: Mink DeVille.

Maybe it's because my dad used to bring a lunch box full of cassette tapes camping with us every summer, and we'd usually wind up listening to this fantastic live show they recorded at the El Mocambo while sitting around the campgfire deep into the night. Maybe it was the songs about life in New York's lower east side that drew me in, or the way Willy could sprinkle his arrangements with a kind of Spanish-strolling American soulful bluesiness that I hadn't heard before or since. Whatever the reason, there was always something about that Loisaida sound of Willy Deville's voice that made me feel like Mink DeVille should have been the biggest band in the world.

To say that they fell short of the acclain they deserved is a ridiculous understatement.

Cabretta is easily one of my top-20 all-time favourite albums. Venus of Avenue D is the best song ever written about latin love in Alphabet City, and Can't Do Without It might be the most truthful song ever written about love, period.

And it's love that gets you so excited

And it's love that brings you home at night

And it's love... You can't do without it

It's love... love, what makes you treat me so bad?

1978's Return To Magenta is one of the 9 albums I have framed and hanging on the wall in my living room. And Miracle, DeVille's first solo effort, is one of those timeless records that I could literally listen to any day of the week (Could You Would You? and Heart and Soul will break your heart if you've never heard them before).

And there were few people who could cover a song and make it their own the way Willy DeVille could. The aforementioned Could You Would You is a thing of beauty (trumping Van Morrison?). His mariachi inspired version of Hey Joe is surreal (click HERE for fantastic video). And the version of Stand By Me from Montreux is sublime.

The life of Willy DeVille is one of countless sad-luck tales about an artist who never received the type of recognition that they rightfully deserved in their lifetime. Here's hoping he receives some of that long-overdue appreciation in his passing.

His is a voice that will be sorely missed.