John Doran, Stool Pigeon, The, March 2010
IN CALIFORNIA WE MEET a traveller from an antique land. On two scrawny legs – KFC issue – he stands. He has a shattered look. His face is a frown, a wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command. He is instantly recognisable to the fans of dyspeptic outrage and ye olde punk rock. (Not to mention the purveyors and purchasers of spreadable dairy produce.) He has the air of majesty. A man given divine right by his Royal Family motto: "I do what I like. I made Metal Box. (And Never Mind The Bollocks.)" But despite living in a glittering city built on sand in the desert all he can do is moan. "It's fucking freezing in here. The cold goes right through me. I've really got to cough this up", he says in an instantly recognisable sing song voice.
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