The first time I smoked pot I threw up.
It wasn’t because it was laced with peyote or some other foreign substance. It was because I didn’t inhale, and instead swallowed the smoke like a big fat piece of meat. We were sitting on a rooftop in a small town somewhere in the midwest. It was one of those legendary summers between college in the late aughts. Maybe you have your own version. Mine was built around a couple of high school buddies who rented a shitty little house in town as they tried to figure out their life. We’d party there, doing dumb Workaholics type shit, thinking those few months would last forever. (At one point or another, someone broke their hand due to punching a wall out of anger during a pickup basketball game.) There was too much Busch Light and just enough cheap whiskey. We’d play music loud and have lengthy discussions about whether or not we agreed with the career direction of Kings of Leon. Sometimes, late night, we’d walk to the main strip and climb the fire escape of the tallest building in town. This might sound dangerous, but the tallest building in town was four stories high. Or maybe six. Does it really matter? Anyway, up there, you could see infinity. One night, probably around midnight, staring out through foggy humidity at the town’s street lights, my buddy passed me a colorful pipe for the first time. I remember admiring the bright yellow glass. No one gets stoned on their first time, they said. Whatever, I said. Then ripped it, swallowed, and puked. Everyone laughed. I can’t remember if I got stoned.
Anyway, do you know about this guy named Ted Lucas? That’s him up above with the side burns, looking the right level of suave. He made an amazing self-titled album that released in 1975. It didn’t really make a significant splash, but who knows if he really cared much. That’s the beauty of it. Lucas was a staple in the Detroit music scene throughout the ‘60s and ‘70s. He was a founding member of cult bands like the Horny Toads, Spike-Drivers, the Misty Wizards, the Boogie Disease (all of these are worth looking up, btw…) He was a guitar wizard who played his instrument with a delicate touch. He also worked as a studio musician for Motown, and played strings on a bunch of classic records by the Temptations, the Supremes, and other fine folks. (He was apparently known as their “string specialist.”) After his solo release, he continued to tour here and there until his death in 1992, but never received much recognition.
He never released another record, but his estate did a reissue of Ted Lucas back in 2019. Go buy it. A phenomenal album to have on vinyl. Not to mention the great album art.
Ted Lucas lived a quiet artistic life — private, impactful, and elegant. It’s aspirational, really. He wrote lyrics in a sly, observational style full of unintentional earworms. It’s not too uncommon that you’ll find me walking down the sidewalk, singing to myself: “It’s so easy when you know what you’re doing…” He’s not wrong.
A friend of mine introduced me to Ted Lucas a few years ago when he sent me “It Is So Nice To Get Stoned.” I believe he said he was “listening to this cool and weird song.” I couldn’t describe it any other way.