The Stool Pigeon, PO Box 52129, London, E2 7XY
editor at thestoolpigeon dot co dot uk
Sir, loved your Hot Chip review in issue 15, especially the line, ‘If they wrote songs from their cocks as well as their heads…’ According to their driver, the said ‘cock’ and ‘head’ are attached to each other. The driver (really lovely old man) said that in all the years of driving bands (+20 years), they were the rudest and most obnoxious men he had ever had on his bus.
John Deerham,
Via email
Sir, did you read the The London Paper’s interview with Santogold yesterday? Single worst piece of music journalism I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Despite the fact that, when we meet, she is stuffed like an olive with cold, the genre-devouring singer, who has critics frothing, splutters and laughs her way though our interview, spilling personal history like an automated pop-bot.”
And, later:
“‘I started hanging out with Spank Rock, Diplo and Disco D…’ she says, speaking in hipster code, name-dropping the cool bunch of producers she has worked with that makes Timbaland seem like Pete Waterman.”
Who is this raging cunt Malcolm Mackenzie? I could fucking murder that man. There’s a picture of him looking smug and stroking his chin in the corner. Lucky his email address isn’t printed in the rag, or I’d have cc’d him in on this and challenged him to a fight.
Cyrus Shahrad,
Via email
Sir, this morning I was driving down Newark Street in a woke-up-too-late daze, swung my usual hard left onto a side-street that cuts through to Manvers Street, and there in front of me was parked a massive flatbed transporter trailer - one of those single-deck things that has a lower middle section - they use them for hauling tanks and stuff, you know what I mean?
Anyway, it filled half of the width of the road and most of its length, making cars pull up hard as they came round the corner both ways. However, rather than put my foot down and go round it or brake and allow cars to pass the other way, I bizarrely but instinctively drove up ONTO it. Well, the ramps were down; it was just so inviting, I couldn’t help it. I had the back wheels of the Astra on when I properly realised what I was doing and hit the brakes. I couldn’t help but laugh at loud because I think I’d have gone all the way on if I hadn’t suddenly noticed a big yellow bulldozer sat in the dip. All I could see was the ramp, beckoning me.
Best of all, as I rolled back off onto the road I found myself staring sidelong into the quizzical face of my postman, who had just that moment stopped along the pavement to zip his jacket up. The phrase ‘what the fuck?’ has rarely been so perfectly conveyed by human features.
Mark Skin,
Nottingham
Sir, I read slowly. I like to take it all in. It takes me a long time to finish a book. Unless, it’s a bad book, then I’ll leave it to someone else, or itself. There are some lines, notions that just get you, stop you in your tracks, and make you look around lost contemplative hit by the writer. Bukowski stops me in my tracks more than anyone else. Today I read a poem called my friend William, it has the line - ‘my friend William is a fortunate man: he lacks the imagination to suffer.’ That made me think for a while.
Ta,
Olly
Via email
Sir, I wish to thank the lovely Stool Pigeon distributor young gent, with the work wear gear and glasses for getting your fine paper to us around the UK.
I work as ents assistant at Clwb Ifor Bach in Cardiff, and always enjoy the arrival of The Stool Pigeon each issue at my venue.
I have a brief chat with your cheerful distributor each time, usually about where he’s been and where he’s going next, in the quest to get the south east done in one day.
When June’s edition arrives, I’ll gladly offer him in and make him a cup of tea.
Best,
Catrin James
Clwb Ifor Bach
Cardiff
Sir, the changing political landscape is good news for me and all music fans nationwide. I am so bored of the music in this country and pray for a deep dark recession. Nothing feeds the hearts and minds of artists better than pain and discontent. We need anger amongst the youth, something tangible to moan at other than the reception on a mobile phone and the price of St-st-Studio Hair Products.
A. Spaight,
Plaistow,
London
Sir, The Stool Pigeon is a sell-out mainstream capitalistic fascist-sponsoring cunt of a douche bag’s piss!
Team Kaputt,
Via MySpace
Sir, lovin’ the paper. Not only are you the only good free music rag, but one of best regardless…
No Pain in Pop,
London
