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Search Results for: davepye

The Return Of Don Lennon.


in Uncategorized

‘Don‘ and I went to high school together. And just recently Montreal. But I want you to know that has very little to do with my love of his music. He’s an original, and his shizzy is tight. But don’t take my word for it – look for him on Wednesday Wadio tomorrow, and save this date if you know him or are just a curious live music fan – he makes his triumphant return to Boston October 14th at the Milky Way. Sometimes one must actually go to Jamaica Plain.

His new album, Routine, is out now and you can buy it using PayPal by clicking the link. With song titles like “What SNL Stands For” – and an entire ditty about the day John Ritter died – the mold will continue to be broken, stomped on and fed under a steamshovel for a long time to come. Welcome back, Don. Can’t wait to have a listen or 14.

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Congratulations Chris & Heather!


in Heartwarming

The finish line was crossed this past weekend when I attended my final Summer 2005 wedding-related event. And it was a gasser. But enough about me – my friends Chris and Heather have been together for a very long time and finally made honest Newportians out of eachother Saturday afternoon. A reception followed at the Glen Manor house, but the festivities started long before then. By the time I crawled across the threshold of my apartment late last night, I’d been burnt, punched, pickled and even lost at sea. But in the midst of all the zaniness, one of the best weddings I’ve ever been to took place.

Jim and I drove down Friday night after work, and met Kinger, John and Steph, Clarkey and Detroit Velvet Smooth at the Sports Ticket around 10pm. We then headed over to the Cheeky Monkey where the rehersal dinner was held to meet up with the rest of the gang. An open bar, speeches, old friends, hugs and a narrowly averted street brawl with liquored locals rounded out our stay. After a quick shot one street up at Sabina Doyle‘s, and a fly by of Via Via to look for particularly intoxicated females to take back to our phatio roofdeck patio (I wish I were kidding) – we rolled back to the house we were staying at on Goodwin street. I once heard that when Michael Caine was researching this role, he hung out on main street for a night with Kinger.

A great time was had by all, and it flowed (literally) into Sunday where after an exceptional catered brunch we took to the high seas, only to have the motor cut out and be set adrift. Luckily some helpful fishermen pulled us back to the dock just after dark, and I’m not currently writing this on a laptop made out of an anchor and coconuts. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. I have SO many so I’m going to pick 40 or thereabouts and put the rest up when I get around to them (never). Thanks for having us, kids – and here’s to a long, wonderful life together.

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Wednesday Wadio: The Doves’ ‘There Goes The Fear’.


in Wednesday Wadio

“A seven-minute outburst of pure joy… I’m certain I will not hear a better song for the rest of the year. I dare any artist to top this one. It won’t happen. – PopMatters.com, 2002

I first heard There Goes the Fear whilst sitting on my couch and instant messaging with Moynihan. “You’ll love this song” he said. “NME voted it the single of the year , and you already like the Doves. So download it.” Not one to have my music spoonfed to me, I reluctantly obliged, fired up the long-irrelevant but once magnificent AudioGalaxy and sat alone in my living room waiting to be friggin’ gobsmacked by this remarkable song I’d heard so much about. I wasn’t.

“One of the bouncin-est seven-minute verse/chorus/verse brit-rock epics with a jungle-percussive outro Radio 1 has ever spun.” – Pitchfork

I listened to it a second time while writing an article for the website I was working for at the time. And then again while making dinner that same night. I wasn’t crazy, I decided – the song really wasn’t all that special and I filed it away mentally alongside all the Flaming Lips Mike’s been trying to get me to listen to for the past decade. But the next morning, as if possessed, I put it on as soon as I got up and probably listened to it 20 times that day. I wish I were joking. Who am I kidding? I still love it and am listening to it right now.

“A fantastic anthem where the excitement builds with each twist and turn before exploding with the chorus: ‘Think of me when you’re coming down, Dont look back when leaving town’. These lines reveal the album’s theme; admitting wrong and refusal to regret. Resolutely look to the future instead.” – BBC

Something miraculous happened in those 8 hours I was asleep – I ‘got it’. And for the next 3 years (and still counting) I would listen to the song at least once a day without fail. It’s been on 90% of the mixes I’ve made since that fateful moment, and I’ve continuously pushed the song on all of my music-loving friends like a crack dealer with an overdue Lexus payment. But what is it about the song that makes it so special to me I’m asking myself right now? How do I relay it originally without just pasting in a bunch of quotes? Um, like this gem, for example:

“Personally, I think the song’s about taking a big bag of Es and dancing elatedly and completely uninhibitedly through the night and next morning.” – DrownedInSound.com

If I had to pick a word to associate with it, that word would be ‘euphoric’. This song is Friday night. It’s driving long distances with your best friends. It’s the adrenaline rush of a jetski ride. It’s fuck off work and hello Newport. It Ebbs and flows with many different layers, details and influences. I can count triangles, a wa-wa pedal, cowbells – and some tribal insturment right at the end that sounds like a monkey being wanked-off – amongst the sounds buried in the mix. It shares the slow e-brake pause of a Pixies verse with the catchy sing-along chorus of a Celtic drinking song – all the while powered by a Brazilian rhythm so intricate that I can never accurately remember it for the purposes of air-drumming – even after literally thousands of listens.

I feel like I’ve pulled my pants down somewhat having now admitted my unhealthy obsession and unnatural love of this masterpiece. But if you’re nothing else after reading this, you’re very fucking curious. Have a listen on Radio Pye in the left-hand column. There Goes The Dave.

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The Big Haunt 2: Gettin’ Scary In The Suburbs.


in Heartwarming

“Just when I think I’m out – they pull me back in“. – Michael Corleone.

I wasn’t going to try and duplicate the naughty nightmare that was last Halloween’s The Big Haunt, but the people have spoken and we’re going to do it all over again. The people have also requested a change of venue, and an offer just fell into my lap. I believe they call this sort of coincidence a harmonic convergence or something. For the sake of my karma and chi, BH2K5 is officially a GO! And this year – it’s taking place in a real live haunted house!

In addition to the genuinely spooky suburban fall atmosphere, there will be a DJ, food, booze, prizes and games. There will be plenty of non-alcoholic options for the designated drivers, and plenty of places to sleep for those who think that designated drivers are for pussies. We haven’t worked out exactly what the costs to you are going to be, but they will be well within reason and certainly worth the short drive to Concord.

Will the Victoria’s Secret angel and the rest of the Canadians return? Will the gay biker drop in to beat the frig out of another kid in the living room? Will I actually spend more than 10 minutes on my costume? I don’t know – but I promise it’s going to be fucking legendary. I also promise not to drink an entire bottle of pucker and crap myself. Stay tuned for the Evite tonight, and keep Saturday, October 29th open for the Haunt. This is going to be one for the ages/Concord PD.

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The Doves At Avalon In Boston.


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For a Monday, last night was especially fun, silly, sonic and special. I can finally scratch ‘see The Doves play There Goes The Fear live‘ off the list of things I have to do before I die. Now if I can only get around to ‘sleep with a woman without paying her’ and ‘break into FBI headquarters and destroy a certain batch of DNA evidence’ – I’ll be able to shuffle off this mortal coil once and for all. Or at least live out the rest of my days knowing there’s no way I’ll ever be tied to that mouthy, missing stripper. I’ve said too much already.

Dead sex industry workers aside, this is an amazingly talented band from Manchester England who are quite huge over in the UK. To see them at Avalon was a treat, as they play venues 10 times the size across the pond. When Jimmi walked out on stage, after a great opening set by Longwave, he made a remark about feeling like the ‘house band’. After they got over themselves, they put on a long, amazing show which J-Rock, P-Cips, Yuki and myself fully dug. Check out the associated gallery here, and look for my full explication of ‘Fear’ tomorrow on Wednesday Wadio.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Many Monkey References.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Who is the easiest person for you to talk to?
Probably my Grandmother, because she never remembers a word. I could tell her the house has been surrounded by killer purple space monkeys bent on the domination of Earth, and 5 minutes later she’d be making me a grilled cheese.

Soup: If you could live in any ancient city, which would you choose?
Based on all the filthy, deviant sex portrayed on the new HBO series, Rome – uh, Rome. Friends, Romans, countrymen – show me your titties.

Salad: What is the most exciting event you’ve ever witnessed?
I saw a woman get fatally hit by a car in the old Combat Zone around 1989. What I was doing in the Zone at 14 years of age is anybody’s guess. But if you were to guess ‘procuring a fake ID’ you’d be correct. I was also at the Triumph the Insult Comic Dog DVD taping, and will probably be all over the new live Pixies DVD. Anyone who knows me is well aware of my vast library of stories. On a related note, stay tuned for the re-launch of my old “30 Tall Tales” feature. In the meantime you can read about Evil Inka and the Attack of the Spider Monkeys.

Main Course: If you were a celebrity, what would you do for a publicity stunt?
I’d grow a goatee, don some aviators and travel around New Orleans in a rickety boat – in 2 feet of water. I’d also make sure the boat was crammed with my entourage, including a photographer who would capture my impromptu selfless deeds for prosperity. There’d be so many people on board, casually documenting my narcissistic rescue efforts, that the boat would eventually sink – leaving me to look quite the soaking wet twat. Oh darn – someone beat me to it.

Dessert: What do you consider the ideal age to have a first child?
My parents had me when they were both 33, so I am using that as my benchmark. Which means I have exactly a year and a half to find my baby’s momma. Is that enough time to fall in love, copulate, spawn, fight and have a restraining order filed? I think yes.

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Have You Seen The Size Of That Boy’s Heeeed?


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There was a parcel on my desk when I got into the office this morning, and I eagerly tore into it knowing full well what it contained. Last week I decided I was in desperate need of a baseball cap, and after being upsold during the checkout process on lids.com I ended up with a blue Maple Leafs and red Canadiens cap. And they’re beautiful. And they’re XL. And they couldn’t be smaller and more ill-fitting around my ginormous skonz if I were Willie Mackenzie himself.

When football season started at Vermont Academy, even though I was a starter I had to go through hell week helmetless – because a large one had to be special ordered for me (private school). The year before at CCHS, I had to make do by jamming my head into the only helmet that came close. This left my chin fully exposed and subsequently got me knocked unconscious by Jodice during the WestPoint drill one day at practice (public school). So this sort of hardship is nothing new. But somehow, as I looked at the XL on the sizing chart last week, I figured I’d be OK – and momentarily forgot that if I’d been in Louisiana last week near one of the broken levees, I probably could have saved thousands of lives by simply nodding a few times.

I’ll send them back and get a refund. There’s a 30 day guarantee. In the meantime, I shall remain hatless – and will also try to block out the time I went up to my roofdeck for a smoke and it was mistaken by scientists around the world as a lunar eclipse. I’m here all weekend. Tip your waitress.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: The Big Greasy.


in Monday's Quotelet

Here is the message I found when I went to grab the Quizzlet questions this morning from my usual source: Please take the time you usually spend on your Feast to reflect upon your blessings and pray for the victims of Hurricane Katrina.


Is it wrong that I’m aroused by that scenario?

It’s hard to wax humorous in the midst of an anarchic natural disaster like Katrina. Here are some of my favorite headlines from the last several days. I have been watching the events unfold with an unhealthy persistence:

– How the hell do you lose Fats Domino?
– 2 women were given C-sections by doctors who had no water to wash their hands before or after the surgeries. I’m pretty sure neither of the babies will be named Katrina. Shaniqua, maybe.
– Normally, this is called Mardi Gras I thought.
– Patients are dying in droves because all of the hospital’s life support machines are off (there’s no power) but luckily there’s a sniper across the street to help speed up the process. Headshots are cheaper than healthcare.
– Fats! We were worried sick. Aaron Neville’s mole was also airlifted to safety.

Now that I’m officially going to hell, please donate $20. They make it really easy. I am seriously wearing the T-shirt I bought at Pat O’Brien’s today as an additional sign of inappropriate solidarity. Katrina is a filthy whoore. Hang in there people. Help is on the way.

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Wednesday Wadio: Life Don’t Mix With The Railroad.


in Wednesday Wadio

A Canadian friend sent me this clip a few months ago (right-click the link to download the MP3 as I couldn’t get this file to work properly with the Radio Pye software). I can’t find a single mention of it on the interwebnets, and I’m not sure if it’s been in wide distribution or what. But it cracks me up beyond belief and I wanted to spread it around. In short, it’s a recording of a railroad employee named Doug Seibert who is being telephoned and asked to come into work. Apparently he knew he was on call but decided to roll the dice and get extremely intoxicated anyway. If I had a nickel.

Warning: Doug, whoever he is, swears like a pirate. Put your headphones on or wait to listen to this until you get home from work tonight. That having been said, here’s what I’m able to explicate from repeated listens:

– Doug works for the Canadian Pacific Railroad.
– Doug’s friends dropped in and they decided to go ski-dooing.
– Doug and friends drank 5 million thousand gallons of whiskey whilst ski-dooing.
– Doug and friends are ‘gooned’.
– Doug’s supervisor is going to have to mark him down as being ‘sick on call’.
– Doug’s probably not going to have a job in the morning. But that’s OK – because life don’t mix with the railroad.

I dare you not to listen to this 3 times and laugh your skidooing ass off. Jesus, do I ever want to get gooned with Doug.

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Window Pane And Suffering.


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Saturday, Nick and I were sitting in the living room eating jalapeno poppers and watching Waiting for Guffman. It was, quite simply, heaven on Earth. The girls who live above me had been moving out all morning, and when we heard a loud ‘bang’ as a piece of their furniture hit the pavement outside like a jumper, I thought nothing of it.

Nick got up and went outside to smoke a post-popper lung rocket, but quickly poked his back inside the door. “Dave, you’d better get out here”. I’ve been hucking furniture, showing apartments, typing up leases, making keys, painting, visiting the bank, waiting for repairmen – all as part of my new building manager duties. I knew August would be a rough month when I took the job, but I really thought I was over the hump. In short, the words “What the fuck is it now!?” quickly flashed through my brain like a Times Square marquee.

In their haste and deplorable moving wisdom, my lovely ex-tenants decided to lower a large boxspring off of their fire escape. And by ‘lower’, I of course mean ‘drop’. Said heavy object then bounced backwards towards the building and shattered both panes of my bedroom window. The window frame itself is bent beyond repair – to the point where I couldn’t even remove all of the broken glass. I took a deep breath, nodded profusely and affirmatively when they offered to pay for the damages, and covered the mess with cardboard and duct tape.

What would Schneider do? I mean, besides try to sleep with both of them?

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Plethora Of Portland Pics.


in Pye in the Face

Another whack of photos from my folks’ place in Ontario. Highlights include eerie campfire pics, killer ponies, newfies, funny hats, jetskis and my insane father’s many costumes. Have a wee peeksie and stay tuned for an imminent batch from Triconi’s wedding.

I think we’re taking one last trip up there this weekend, and then I can lay down in a bus station somewhere and expire. I feel like a nomad, a gypsy, a transient or maybe even Roger Miller‘s trans-continental-backseat-bus-trip-conceived lovechild. I’m tired, see? And I don’t wanna go nowheres for awhile.

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