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Dear Record Company,

Despite all the amputations, the huff and puff on previous pages, secretly I'd love a smattering of your lolly (mostly people, talent) to give my songs that extra sparkle.

Sometimes at night I crawl into my basket and dream. Dream of being a net Elvis, an MP3 megastar. My Jaz disks, a mere Sun sessions. "Atomic Noir", just a deeper "Blue Moon".

I'm usually awoken by the folk upstairs humping, and I get up and start stuffing envelopes with CDs to you guys. I rarely post these envelopes. Not through lack of self-belief. I'm just waiting for the right label. Where the boundary-crossing net-orientated young anarchists?

I'm going to play live, of course. But it's healthy to take universally yawned-at blueprints and stamp question marks all over them. No? So much is baggage. Not actually that much fun. And probably loss-making for you lot.

My songs, even in a basic form, have done spectacularly well. The net, I think, gives you the chance to be smarter, dumber, dangerous, more thoughtful, direct, playful, darker, lighter. All at the same time. Like the 70s New York punk scene. Still my favourite musical era, all in all.

A German chanteuse or two, a few foxy Superstars, some uptown junkies and downtown trash, some cool artists, and - voila - a net Factory to be proud of. I'd subscribe !
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