The 500 - #215 - Self-Titled Debut - New York Dolls

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by Los Angeles-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #215
Album Title: Self-Titled Debut
Artist: New York Dolls
Genre: Hard Rock, Proto-Punk, Punk Rock, Glam Rock
Recorded: The Record Plant, New York City

Released:  July, 1973
My age at release: 8
How familiar was I with it before this week: A little

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #301, dropping 76 places
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Jet Boy

A significant portion of the North American population, particularly those on the political right, are expressing outrage and concern about drag performances. Drag Queen Storytimes (events which parents must provide permission allowing their children to attend) are being targeted by far-right, neo-fascist paramilitary groups, including the Proud Boys, who seek to intimidate participants and promoters with threats of violence. This climate of hostility befuddles me. Drag  performances have been a part of my life since childhood. I always found them funny and if the intention was to "groom me" -- it failed miserably.

Robin Williams, Dustin Hoffman, Tom Hanks, Jamie Farr
and Bugs Bunny were comfortable with drag performances.

The term drag, typically, refers to men cross-dressing, often in loud, exaggerated feminine clothing -- accented with garish, make-up and wigs. Drag performances are intended to be entertaining and are regularly punctuated with music, comedic routines, social satire or political commentary.

Australian comedian Barry Humphries performing in drag as
his alter-ego Dame Edna - with Jay Leno (The Tonight Show).

The history of drag goes back centuries. It was part of folk performances, including mummers’ plays -- 13th century dramatic productions put on by amateur community players. The tradition spread to English-speaking colonies and continues today with annual Mummers’ Parades in many major cities -- the largest being held in Philadelphia nearly every New Year's Day since 1901... and, yes, children have always attended.

In fact, my dad remembers his father and uncles disappearing upstairs during parties to swap into women’s clothing, then returning to perform a song and dance routine. “It must be something peculiar to English men,” he says of the accepted practice. "Much like children 'dressing down' on New Year’s Eve as penniless urchins with soot-covered faces. They stormed into pubs pretending to clean-up and were tossed coins for their efforts by laughing patrons."

Philadelphia Mummer's Parade drag performers.

The first time I saw the album cover for The New York Dolls debut record, I was standing in Dr. Disc, a London, Ontario, record store that I visited weekly. Located on Clarence Street, Dr. Disc was a London landmark throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s. As a teen and young adult, I spent hours perusing the massive bins of new and used vinyl and, eventually, CDs.

Dr. Disc (circa 1985). Next door is The Silver Ball, an arcade that
I helped finance - 25 cents at a time.

The cover of The New York Dolls caught my attention immediately. It features a black and white photograph of all five members of the band crammed together on a couch. Each is shown dressed in drag, complete with gigantic wigs, garish make-up, platform shoes and even a pair of roller skates. The original members were, David Johansen (vocals, harmonica); Arthur "Killer" Kane (bass guitar); Jerry Nolan (drums); Sylvain Sylvain (piano, guitar, vocals); and Johnny Thunders (lead guitars, vocals). The band's name appeared in the top left corner -- artistically depicted to seem as if it had been hurriedly scrawled in lipstick.

New York Dolls debut record. (l-r) Kane, Sylvain, Johansen,
Thunders and Nolan.

I didn't purchase The Dolls’ record that day. As a high-school student, my funds were limited and the teenage demands of arcade games, submarine sandwiches, French fries and movie tickets kept my record purchases in check. Regardless, I do remember mentally registering the band under the "maybe another day" file. However, I do recall enjoying a chuckle as I walked away from it.

A typical 80s arcade. The Galaga game (pictured right) likely
depleted my bank account by $10 weekly throughout the early '80s.

That's the thing about drag. I've always found it funny. My first exposure likely came during my adolescence when watching reruns of Monty Python's Flying Circus. The Python troupe frequently performed in drag and one of my favourite sketches featured writing partners John Cleese and Graham Chapman as middle-aged, working class women – Mrs. Premise and Mrs. Conclusion. The increasingly absurd sketch begins in a laundromat as the pair discuss the challenges of burying a living cat and the best way to put down a budgie.

Cleese (left) as Mrs. Premise and Chapman as Mrs. Conclusion.

The duo eventually end up in a philosophical debate about freedom that concludes with a trip to Paris to visit the home of French philosopher Jean-Paul Satre in order to settle their dispute about the meaning behind his Roads To Freedom (Les chemins de la liberté) trilogy. The sketch can be seen in its entirety here.

Premise and Conclusion (Cleese & Chapman) crossing the 
channel to confer with Jean-Paul Satre in Paris.

My friend Don and I liked these characters so much that, in 1983, we co-opted them for a series of commercials on the televised announcements at our high-school -- broadcast each Wednesday morning.  At the time, I was part of the Saunders Secondary School Concert Band and, as a senior, we each had to take on a job for the music department. Conductor and teacher Mr. Gwyn Beynon assigned me to the promotions team.

Former Saunders Music Teacher and Conductor, Gwyn Beynon.
Recipient of the Golden Baton Award and on the Western University
Alumni Wall of Fame.

In order to underwrite the band's trip to Boston in the spring we sold boxes of oranges and grapefruit to our families and the community. This was done through pre-sales and to encourage students to take home order forms, Don and I appeared on the school's closed circuit broadcast in drag -- adopting falsetto British female accents (in the Python-style) as we provided details about the promotion.

In one sketch, my "Mrs. Conclusion" repeatedly mishears the word grapefruit, thinking it is flake-fruit, ape-fruit and rape-fruit (a poor teenage attempt at humour I regret).

Mrs. Conclusion: "Why would you want a fruit that molests you?!"

Frustrated, Don's Mrs. Premise reached into his top to produce a grapefruit from inside the bra he was wearing -- borrowed from his mother. 

Mrs. Premise: "Grapefruit! grapefruit! You daft woman -- these bloody things!"

Abruptly storming off the set we targeted unsuspecting classes -- interrupting lessons in an effort to pitch our sales catalogues.

Saunders Secondary School in London, Ontario.

The New York Dolls, much like my high school efforts at comedy, were often misunderstood. They enjoyed limited commercial and critical success. When they released their debut record in 1973, they managed to be voted both the best and worst band in Creem Magazine's annual readers’ poll. They released only two records before disbanding in 1975. There was a reunion in the 2000s, along with more records, but their proto-punk, drag experiment came to an end. 

The Dolls in a promotional photo for Creem Magazine.

However, their impact would be felt for years to come and the group is cited as a significant influence by artists with multiple albums on The 500 list. Paul Stanley of KISS (Albums #489 and #159) says his theatrical stage performances were informed after seeing Dolls’ singer Johansen perform in a New York tavern. 

The group KISS, looking Doll-esque, before they
donned their trademark make-up.

Other artists who celebrate the impact of The Dolls include: The Ramones (#33 & #106), The Smiths (#473, #369, #296 & #218), The White Stripes (#497 & #390), Guns ‘N Roses (#62), Green Day (#225 & #193) and Sex Pistols (#41).

Out of drag, The Dolls pose with record producer,
the legendary Todd Rundgren (3rd from right).

Getting a chance to listen to the Dolls’ debut record many times as I prepared for this post was a treat. I regret not picking it up that day many years ago. That was one of those situations when I should have judged a book by its cover. It is high-energy, raunchy and raw-sounding – and punctuated with campy comedy and song titles that include Personality Crisis, Vietnamese Baby, Trash, Bad Girl and, my favourite, Jet Boy.

Cover for the single release of Jet Boy and
B-side Vietnamese Baby.

I still remain flummoxed by the anger generated by drag performers and shows. With their over-the-top gaudy make-up and ridiculous outfits, how can anyone consider them anything but funny. And don't even get me started on their ridiculously silly, but clever, pseudonyms, such as Dixie Normous, Betty Bitchslap, Sham Payne and Amanda Porq.

Much like Python, there is the stuff I laughed about as an adolescent -- John Cleese performing his trademark "silly walk". Then, as I aged, I better understood the satire on bureaucratic inefficiency embodied in the entire premise of "A Ministry of Silly Walks" existing in proper British society. I think kids process a drag queen the same way -- in simple terms.

I am sure  children are more intimidated by the angry Proud Boys outside a Drag Queen Story Hour than they are by the funny looking lady who reads them a book with affected silly voices.

Proud Boys marching to protest a Drag Queen Story Hour
juxtaposed against the event that creates their ire.

  

The 500 - #216 - Go Bo Diddley - Bo Diddley

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by Los Angeles-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #216
Album Title: Go Bo Diddley
Artist: Bo Diddley
Genre: Early Rock and Roll
Recorded: Checker Records - March, 1955 & September, 1958

Released:  July, 1959 
My age at release: Not born
How familiar was I with it before this week: Not at all

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #455, dropping 238 places
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Say Man

I have lost count of the number of concerts and live events I have attended due to the foresight and generosity of my friend, Steve “Lumpy” Sullivan. Some readers of this blog series will remember Steve as a guest writer for album #417, Boy, from U2, and #345, Stop Making Sense, from Talking Heads. He’ll be back again soon to contribute.

Steve (right) with his favourite comedian, Doug Stanhope.

Courtesy of Steve, I’ve attended the Just For Laughs Festival in Montreal; sat in a luxury box, enjoying unlimited food and beer at a Bob Dylan and Foo Fighters performance in London, Ontario; and watched Wrestlemania 18 from the front row. 

We actually had 2nd row seats, but the people in front of us 
did not show and we moved up.

That’s right. I sat ringside and witnessed The Rock defeat Hulk Hogan while more than 68,000 people looked on from behind me in Toronto’s Skydome (now Rogers Centre).

Poster for Wrestlemania 18.

Meanwhile, Steve has used his entertainment industry know-how to arrange for my wife, Angela, and I to meet the Blue Jays on the field before watching their game against the Chicago White Sox next month. His largesse is seemingly boundless.

The Blue Jays face the White Sox May 19 - 22.

In July, 2001, he secured tickets for us to see comedy legends Joan Rivers and Don Rickles perform at the Hummingbird Centre (now Meridian Hall) in Toronto. I have been a fan of Rickles since the ‘70s when I first witnessed his acerbic, insult-based wit on The Tonight Show and Dean Martin’s Celebrity Roast.

Rickles mugging to the audience on Dean Martin's
Celebrity Roast - 1970s.

In preparation for this post, I rewatched several episodes of “The Roast” on YouTube. I realize now that most of the jokes went over my pre-teen head. Regardless, there was something about the rhythm of comedic delivery and the idea of friendly tit-for-tat ridicule that gripped me.

Dean Martin Celebrity Roast.

My recollection of those verbal jousts was ignited while listening to Go Bo Diddley, the second studio record from legendary singer, guitarist and songwriter Bo Diddley. Diddley was born Ellas Otha Bates in Macomb, Mississippi, to the teen-aged daughter of a sharecropper. She and Ellas’ father, Eugene Bates, were unable to support a family, so the infant was raised by his mother’s cousin, Gussie McDaniel, who eventually adopted him.

A young Bo Diddley (1950s)

Gussie moved the family to the south side of Chicago in 1934 following the death of her husband who was, of course, five-year-old Diddley’s adoptive father. Active involvement in the Ebenezer Missionary Baptist Church allowed the teen-age Diddley to learn trombone and violin. However, it was the joyful and rhythmic music he heard at the neighbourhood Pentecostal church and from local blues players that inspired him to take up the guitar.

Ebenezer Missionary Baptist Church in Chicago.

Music wasn’t the only rhythm that enthralled the young Diddley. He, like me, loved the cadence and flow of comedic beats and was particularly enamoured with insult humour. The sixth track on Go Bo Diddley is a three-minute ditty entitled Say Man – a song that became his biggest hit, reaching #20 on the Billboard Top 100.

Say Man single on Checker Records.

Say Man began as a rhythmic, instrumental jam session in the Checker studios. However, instead of singing, Diddley and his percussion player, Jerome Green, traded insults in a word game known as "The Dozens".

Green (lower) with Diddley.

The Dozens has its roots in African American communities where two participants exchanged increasingly severe barbs that delighted audiences and themselves. The poisoned arrows of combat attacked each opponent's intelligence, appearance, competency or social and financial status. Many times, members of the family were targeted – particularly each other’s mother –the lightning-fast retorts cringing, but hilarious.

The game goes by a plethora of names. It is called "blazing", "roasting", "hiking", "capping", "clowning", "ranking", "ragging", "rekking", "crumming", "sounding", "checking", "joning", "woofing", "wolfing", “skinning”, "sigging", "scoring", "signifying" and "jiving". The insults themselves are sometimes called "snaps".

There are multiple stories about the origin of the phrase “The Dozens”. Some authors believe it came from a now-forgotten English verb “to dozen” - which meant “to stun, stupefy or daze.” A darker history is suggested by Mona Lisa Soloy. The author and professor posits that the term arose from the New Orleans’ slave trade where mutilated captives (often disfigured by punishment for alleged disobedience) were grouped into lots of a “cheap dozen”.

A sketch depicting the ships used in the Atlantic Slave Trade.

When listening to the song Say Man it is easy to hear the delight in the voices of Diddley and Green as they exchange barbs, such as, “Your girl is so ugly, she has to sneak up on a glass of water to get a drink.” The Dozens work because both participants interact willingly in a display of friendly rivalry. Historian Harry Lefever wrote in a 1981 academic paper titled Playing The Dozens: A Mechanism For Social Control:

“In the deepest sense, the essence of "The Dozens" lies not in the insults but in the response of the victim. Taking umbrage is considered an infantile response. Maturity and sophistication bring the capability to suffer the vile talk with aplomb at least, and, hopefully, with grace and wit.”

Indeed, sociologists believe the game is viewed as a tool for preparing young African American men to cope with verbal abuse without becoming outraged. In the time before the Civil Rights movement (and, sadly, after) this was often a survival mechanism for black men.

Seeing Don Rickles and Joan Rivers perform in 2001 was a high point for me. Both performers perfected the art of the insult and, on that hot July evening, the audience were the beneficiaries. Thanks to Steve, I was there, too.

When I met Steve in 1993, it was our mutual love of comedy that made us click. Over the years, we have played our own variation of The Dozens, friends hurling contrived barbs at one another. The laughter we have shared binds our ever-deepening friendship. And that is no joke.

The 500 - #217 - Two Steps From The Blues - Bobby Bland

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by Los Angeles-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #217
Album Title: Two Steps From The Blues
Artist: Bobby Bland
Genre: Blues, Soul-Blues
Recorded: Universal Recording Corporation (Chicago)

Released:  January, 1961 
My age at release: Not born
How familiar was I with it before this week: Not at all

Is it on the 2020 list? No
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: I Pity The Fool

Throughout my 29-year teaching career I have always coached teams and run intramural clubs. In fact, I began volunteering in 1984 at the  helm of a bantam (13-14-year-olds) hockey team in my hometown of London. That experience prompted me to pursue teaching as a career. Mentorship is a powerfully rewarding pursuit. Not only does volunteering help build relationships with students, colleagues and parents, it has been scientifically proved to enhance happiness.

An infographic on the four key components to happiness.

Psychologists have distilled the recipe for happiness to four keys (detailed above). Contributing to my community by mentoring, teaching and coaching gives my life additional meaning. The Japanese have a word that describes the achievement of occupational harmony -- Ikigai. Achieving Ikigai occurs when you secure a paid profession you love, are good at and is attentive to worldly needs. If I may be so bold as to imply that I have met these targets, I have achieved Ikigai and giving my time to the community simply adds to my joy.

The Japanese Venn Diagram for achieving Ikigai.

This year, I coached the Sir Arthur Currie Volleyball team and recently held tryouts for the Slo-Pitch Club. Team tryouts are the only part of the process that I dislike. It is tough to tell hopeful 12- or 13-year-old kids they didn’t make the school team. It is a “gatekeeper” task I don’t like one bit.

It was a gatekeeper who played a significant role in the release of Two Steps From The Blues, the debut record from American singer and songwriter Bobby Bland. The gatekeeper in this case was Don Deadric Robey, the first African-American record mogul. Robey established Peacock Records in 1949, a decade before the legendary Berry Gordy created the Motown label in Detroit. Robey went on to take control of Duke Records, founded in Memphis, Tennessee.

Don Deadric Robey.

However, instead of being celebrated for this remarkable achievement, Robey is primarily remembered for his nefarious and financially predatory business practices. Jerry Leiber, of the legendary songwriting team of Leiber and Stoller, called Robey "a gangster who managed his various entertainment enterprises using violence, the threat of violence, and murder."

Leiber (right) with his writing partner Mike Stoller (left) and
Elvis Presley.

At a time when African-American artists had few options when it came to signing a record deal, Robey, as head of Peacock/Duke Records, was able to leverage his position as "gatekeeper". Performers signed to his label were required to agree to exclusive booking and rapacious management contracts that allowed Robey to double and triple-dip on their performance income. Additionally, under the pseudonym Deadric Malone (generated from his middle name and his wife's maiden name) he gave himself songwriting credits to further profit through royalties.

Robey in studio, holding sheet music he, likely,
claimed to have co-written.

Bland, who was illiterate with only a Grade 3 education, was easy pickings for Robey. Consequently, Robey's name or pseudonym appears in the songwriting credits for eight of the 12 tracks on Two Steps From The Blues. He is credited as the sole songwriter under the name of Deadric Malone for the record's biggest hit, I Pity The Fool. 

 I Pity The Fool reached #1 on Billboard's R&B Chart in 1961 and made it to #43 on Billboard's Hot 100 Singles Chart later that year. It has been re-recorded by many artists, including by one of David Bowie's earliest bands, The Manish Boys -- at a time when he was still known by his birth name, David Jones. This version featured future Led Zeppelin musician Jimmy Page on guitar.

The Manish Boys - Bowie is second from left.

Music historians now believe that I Pity The Fool was likely written by American singer and songwriter Joe Medwick. Medwick is officially acknowledged with a few song-writing credits, However, it is believed (although not officially documented) that he wrote dozens more, many of which were surrendered to gatekeeper Robey for ready cash in lieu of royalties.

Singer-Songwriter Joe Medwick (c. 1950)

Bobby Bland continued to work for Robey and Duke records throughout the 1960s. In 1968, he and his band stopped touring due to financial pressures. He struggled with depression and alcoholism, but stopped drinking in 1971. At about the same time, Duke Records was sold to the larger ABC Record Company. The sale resulted in many of Bland's records being re-released and he benefited with a second chance at a performing and recording career overseen by more benevolent gatekeepers at the larger, more professional, ABC corporation.

I Take It On Home - Bobby Bland, on the ABC label

Despite health issues, Bland continued to perform into his ‘80s. He died on June 23, 2013, at his home in Germantown, Tennessee, at the age of 83. Unlike Robey, Bland is celebrated for his achievements. He was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the Memphis Music Hall of Fame. He received the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1997 and, in 2023, Rolling Stone ranked Bland at number 163 on its list of the 200 Greatest Singers of All Time. There is a statue of him in downtown Memphis.

Robey died of a heart attack in 1975. No one built a statue in his honour, which provides a lesson for us all... if you are, or become, a gatekeeper, do the job with respect and kindness.

The 500 - #218 - The Queen Is Dead - The Smiths

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by Los Angeles-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #218
Album Title: The Queen Is Dead
Artist: The Smiths
Genre: Indie Pop, Jangle Pop, Post Punk
Recorded: Three Studios in England (London, Surrey, Manchester)

Released:  June, 1986 
My age at release: 20
How familiar was I with it before this week: Not at all

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, moving up 105 places to position 113
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Frankly Mr. Shankly

In my mid-teens, I experienced an existential crisis that redefined me and how I saw the world. A specific moment is difficult to pin down, but I can identify some key events that served as the impetus.

• The death of my grandfather, "Pop". He was the first of my grandparents to pass and we had built a strong relationship throughout my childhood.
• A high school course on The History of Art from Prehistoric Man to the Romantic Age, which was taught by Mr. Rick Woods -- who remains one of my favourite educators. "Woodsy" organized a class trip to Italy attended by 30-plus students, including me, during the March Break of 1982 -- a mind-blowing experience.
• I also found "my tribe" -- that group of friends with whom you connect perfectly and who accept you for who you are. I detailed this in my Jethro Tull blog-post in December, 2021.
• Finally, reading Douglas Adams’ novels, particularly The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy series, bent my perspective toward the ridiculous and the philosophic concepts of nihilism and cosmic insignificance -- a path toward the tenets espoused by Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Camus, and reinforced by the absurdity of the Monty Python’s Flying Circus films and television episodes I had grown up loving and was now old enough to understand.

• 

Change is tough. It is particularly hard when that change pushes against the values, beliefs and traditions of your family. Consequently, I knew it broke my mother's heart when I announced that I no longer believed in God. Prior to age 17 I was devout, attending St. Anne's Anglican Church in Byron with her weekly. I was also a "server", helping the vicar (Canon Pinkney) with the Sunday Communion Service, and a proud member of S.T.A.Y. -- The St. Anne's Anglican Youth group. Granted, the ratio of males to females in that group was about 1:10 – so, there was certainly an additional hormonal agenda behind that membership.

St. Anne's Anglican Church in Byron (London), Ontario.

In retrospect, I could have been kinder and more gentle with my declaration of atheism. Sadly, like many teenagers, I delivered the news with sledgehammer subtlety. Truth be told, I was really transitioning to agnosticism. I appreciated the "historical evidence" of Jesus and had not abandoned the positivity of his teachings. However, I could not be convinced that mankind could fully understand the complexity of the universe and distill the truth about it all. Additionally, I could not reconcile the paradox created by multiple faiths; each by virtue of their own doctrines and claim of exclusivity in the god(s) department. At best, only one of the 4,000 recognized faiths on our planet could be right. That's not taking into account the vastness of our universe and the chances of intelligent life on other planets.

My monarchist mother's heart was further battered as I learned more about history and became vocally critical of the British Royal Family. I had, until high school, been a product of an education system that celebrated everything colonial and downplayed (or outright eschewed) the impact colonialism had on indigenous populations.

Which brings me to this week's record, The Queen Is Dead, a 1986 masterpiece from Manchester quartet The Smiths, the title song parodying the media’s fascination with the British Royals. For those of you who have followed me on this journey through The 500, you will know that I became a reluctant convert to the post-punk sound of (lead singer) Steven Morrisey and his backup band comprising Johnny Marr (guitar), Andy Roarke (bass) and Mike Joyce (drums).

The Smiths are (l-r) Roarke, Morrisey, Marr and Joyce.

In January 2019, when I wrote about their self-titled debut record (#473 on The 500) I began my post with the words: "I hate The Smiths."  By May, 2021, when my pal Steve Monaghan was a guest blogger for album #369, Louder Than Bombs, I was starting to soften my stance. By the time I got to #296, Meat Is Murder, in October, 2022, I had been won over by the sound of the backing band, particularly the guitar work of Marr. However, the vocals from Morrissey just didn’t land for me.

Morrissey (2005)

This week, that changed. I was missing out on a critical piece of information that has been staring me in the face the whole time. Not only is Morrissey well read -- a trait I had recognized in his earlier lyrics -- he is also funny. In fact, the more I dug into the lyrics of the album's title track, The Queen Is Dead, and the nine songs that follow it, the more I recognized a kindred spirit. Morrissey seems to be a bit of an absurdist and nihilist who, despite the fame and wealth he had achieved, recognizes the cosmic insignificance of it all.

A quote from the animated series Rick and Morty, which
also revels in the absurd comedy of nihilism.

Looking back, I should have been a Smith's fan in my teens. Morrissey's clever wit would have fit in better with my juvenile temperament and childish grasp on history and philosophy. As I near 60, I still grapple with the same existential issues. However, I have learned to shut my mouth more often -- recognizing that I don't really have the corner on any truths when it comes to complex issues like faith, the monarchy or colonialism. I simply look to learn more.

As I write, I have a commitment to accompany my 84-year-old mom to the Anglican cathedral tonight. The new rector, Kevin George, is to be installed as Dean of Huron and my mother is excited I am sharing this spiritual event with her. I am delighted to attend – it's a small bit of penance for the know-it-all teenage prat who lived under her roof in the '80s. We survived my existential crisis and all. At least I didn't bring a record titled The Queen Is Dead into her house.