a love letter to Stuart Murdoch
When exactly did I become so smitten with you? Particularly as I didn't ever expect to like your music? It was insidious, that much I know. Robbie Burns Day clinched it - all Scottish music all day; Franz Ferdinand was perfect for exercising, and then Belle and Sebastian took over and never let go. Even the day after (would that be Robbie Burns Boxing Day?), B&S were still the exclusive performers on my playlist.
In fact, January 26 should be declared Stuart Murdoch Day. You are, after all, true heir to the title of Scotland's poet. Robbie has had his day, besides I can't understand a bloody word he wrote. True, your words may be a little enigmatic occasionally, but then straight narrative can become pretty boring pretty fast.
But how could I not love you? You have a poet's soul, an angel's voice (even though the NME called it a gay choir boy yodel - the fuckers). You are witty and clever and funny and, I am told, very kind. I even forgive you for ignoring Calgary on your upcoming tour.
I wonder if you realise you fascinate me so **
(**a free haggis for naming the tune)