Joshua Buckley, The Black Flame, review of Triumph of the Williams

   Virtually unknown and undeservedly ignored, David E. Williams may be the greatest living musical genius to grace these shores since, well, since ever. An unimposing cross between Woody Allen and Rudolph Hoess, Williams' music ascends heights of psychotic perversity typically reserved for a good Ellie Wiesel page-turner, all tinged with enough obsessively neurotic hand-wringing to make even the most steeley-eyed sociopath nervous. I imagine a childhood spent dodging fleet-enema bags and schoolyard barbs, or maybe just a brainy suburbanite lad dispassionately pulling the wings off butterflies while his less prodigious peers trade bubble gum cards and head-lice. No matter the source, Williams' universe is one that must be experienced firsthand to be appreciated - and appreciate it you shall. This are stirringly lyrical portraits of the reality saner souls have chosen to ignore, a world populated with ruddy-complexioned Scout leaders who plunder the puckered rectums of their unwitting youthful charges and shifty-eyed Rohypnol rapists, content to stalk the parking lots of middle school sweetheart dances and garish neon roller rinks. Oh yeah, and you can dance to it. Three words: BUY THIS NOW. Limited to 666 copies (surprise, surprise), which should keep you record collector geeks happy.