A Dog Ate My Fingers

Like a Rat up drainpipe, our columnist is as naked as a Jaybird and proud as a Peacock… he’s a sitting Duck. let sleeping Dogs lie. look, it’s complicated

Illustration: Joel Benjamin

Thanks for all your letters, readers. It’s always great to get feedback on our work at Electronic Sound magazine. The first missive from this month’s mailbag comes from Joshua in Norfolk, a post-grad with a penchant for early electronica. Here’s what Joshua had to say…

“What are you doing in my living room? Seriously. Get out of my house. What’s in your pockets? Are those sausages? Put those back in the fridge this instant.”

That’s a difficult question about Robert Moog, Joshua. We’d guess his favourite pudding was probably spotted dick, but maybe our readers would like to write in with their own guess.

Over the Atlantic now for our next letter. A man from Seattle who calls himself “Dark Raven” makes a good point about the use of effects in early Bauhaus in relation to Fibonacci sequences. He writes:

“Who the hell are you? Get your hands off my grandmother. Is that bacon in your pockets? Hey, don’t climb on my grandmother. I’m calling the police.”

Sometimes we get letters that move us to tears, and this month is no exception. Sally from Margate wrote to us about a relationship that ended rather badly, and how she found solace in one particular John Foxx record. Her story may change the way you think about John Foxx forever. We’ll let Sally explain…

“Hey, come back with that spatula. I’ve called security. We’ve got cameras, you know, all shoplifters will be prosecuted. Something just fell out of your pocket. Is that an egg? Hey! Come back!”

What a beautiful point, Sally, and so eloquently made. Next in our mailbag is Jonas, a tour guide in Berlin who takes issue with something our great leader said in the last edition. Jonas makes some pretty strong points – we hope that this particular correspondent’s fruity language doesn’t put you off writing to us with constructive criticism here at Electronic Sound. Brace yourselves:

“Who are you? Why are you in my bath? Did you get in through the window? Is that a stove?! Why does everything smell of baked beans? Mildred! Call the neighbourhood watch, Mildred!”

Finally for this month’s mailbag, a reader who wishes to remain anonymous. “Anonymous” says he’s a seven-foot Spaniard living in Inverness and he has an embarrassing problem with pets. After reading his letter, next time you’re jazzing on your electronic saxophone while in a state of complete undress, you’ll certainly keep those guinea pigs locked up! Enough from us – we’ll let “Anonymous” do the talking.

“Hey Electronic Sound, it’s Fat Roland here. Sorry for the long answerphone message, but you’re going to have to replace my column this month. I’ve been, er, kidnapped by aliens. No, wait. A dog ate my fingers so I can’t type anything. Hold on… I need something better than that. I’ve, er, just won the Nobel Peace Prize and I’m off to the award ceremony in Australia.

“Alright, I’m lying. It’s just… I had a VERY complicated breakfast this morning and people keep interrupting me and everything tasted awful. HAPPY NOW?! Let’s sack off the column for this month. Just do a letter’s page instead, people are always writing in with all sorts of guff. Just don’t get this phone message mixed in with the letters otherwise it’ll just confuse things. Hello? Is anyone listening? Hello?”

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