Loyal Readers

This month, our regular columnist has locked himself away in the stationery cupboard with a huge pile of letters from readers…

Illustration: Fat Roland

As you know, every few months Electronic Sound asks me to answer letters from its loyal readers. Please don’t check back issues of the magazine to see if this is true. Our mailbag is so bulging, the local post office have sent us several formal complaints. Which have only made things worse. Anyway, let’s take a look at some of our recent correspondence…

Edna Pifflewang from Nether Stirling writes: “What is it with music these days? You can’t hear the words and it’s all computers. Why can’t they play real instruments like lutes?”

Thanks for that, Edna. Perhaps you would like to have lived in the second century, when guitars were made of syphilis and cowpats. People like you make me sick. If you write to Electronic Sound again, I’m going to stick this magazine… Sorry, what was that? I have to be polite to our readers? Dammit. OK, let’s reset.

Alan Cake from Flannel-on-Thames says: “I enjoy reading ES. But there’s a page at the back that just seems to be random words, as if a fat man has slipped in a pool of his own lard and landed face-first on his keyboard. Can’t we have something more interesting here, like paint drying or maybe something by Gary Barlow?”

Reading between the lines, Alan, I presume you’re referring to Under The Influence, or the Welcome To Electronic Sound bit by Punch or Marcus or whatever their names are. To be honest, I only skimmed your letter because I was mid-air having slipped on some lard… Oh, erm, heck, erm… Right, let’s move on.

The KLF from The Land Of MuMu, near Anglesey, ask: “What time is love?”

I suspect that this is Mr Cauty and Mr Drummond looking to plug their ‘3AM Eternal’ single. Got to keep those streaming figures up. However, the answer is either ATB’s 1999 trance hit ‘9PM (Till I Come)’ or, if you’re in a rush, Silver Bullet’s 1989 breakbeat classic ‘20 Seconds To Comply’. I once asked Chris Martin this question and he simply said ‘Clocks’ by Coldplay, which was a rubbish answer and made the rest of our time in the pantomime cow very awkward.

Nathaniel Teapot from Wither Clenge writes: “Good morning, Electronic Sound. I have my fist stuck in a Pringles tube. Please help.”

Hahaha. What an amusing scenario, Nathaniel. You’re a one-man sitcom, like ‘Fawlty Towers’ with just Manuel, or ‘Porridge’ with just Christopher Biggins. I would suggest butter or lube or cat vomit. Or maybe listen to some hair rock bands – Poison, Mötley Crüe or The Lighthouse Family – and you’ll soon be thumping the air so hard that troublesome crisps container will be flying off your stupid hand. Great letter, by the way.

Sharon Crankshaft from Flott says: “I have my fist stuck in a Pringles tube. Can you please assist?”
What? No, that can’t possibly be right. Let’s look at another one.

Dexter Yacht-Humper from Little Nesquick writes: “I have my fist stuck in a Pring…”

Come on people, this is getting silly now. Hang on, let me sift through these letters… Pringles… Pringles… Another Pringles one… Pringles… More Pringles… Ah, here we go…

“Dear ES. I have my buttocks wedged into a Pot Noodle tub. Any advice? PS, it’s King Size.”

Oh, chuff off.

The rest of the letters are either more crisp conundrums, bad poetry or crayon drawings of willies. This letters page theme was a really terrible idea. And nobody actually wants feedback anyway. Electronic Sound isn’t a democracy. It’s not like Kraftwerk do a Q&A session in the middle of an extended wig-out of ‘Showroom Dummies’.

Stop reading, you lot. Go on, get away from here. Off you shoo. I might keep the crayon willies for later, though. I feel a stirring in my mailbag. And if this thought disturbs you, don’t write in to complain. For all our sakes.

0 Shares:
You May Also Like
Read More

Acid House

He turns up each month waving paper with words on insisting he’s a columnist. We think he might be lost.
Read More

Attack, Decay, Sustain, Release

Say there was someone, and He (or she) was sending us weird rambling emails And despite asking, he (or she) wouldn’t stop. We should call the police, Right? Anyway, here’s whatshisface
Read More

Scotch Eggs

Deluded, misguided, ill-informed, flawed, confused, and for the most part, barking up the wrong tree. Oh, sorry Fats, opened A letter addressed to you by mistake. It’s from your doctor…
Read More

Porkies Again

We really do try to keep him away from the “special” water. In this issue, the truth about bestselling albums. we are sorry