Stuart Flynn’s
Dear Britch (1st Lady of the Ghetto) is substitute to a nervous breakdown on a summer-sonic holiday. Someone screwed up the admin and instead of electrocuting him electrified him. The shock waves still continue like vocal seas eroding highfalutin moral shorelines.
“People often ask me, and I often answer. Dialogue is such a gift. If a song can paint a thousand words with a medical swab then I’ll sing it.
I’ve been known to wander with wonder, passing shops with no rainbow flag sticker displayed in their window. Do these shops hate me? Are they homophobic? Do they hate Judy Garland? Can you not like Judy Garland and still be gay? Can you not be gay and still like Judy Garland? Can I be Judy Garland? Could I be gay? Perhaps those who are ‘gay and display’ with their can’t-quite-pick-a-colour stickers, just wish to attract the militant homosexual contingent, or the nervous, shy, not out yet but yet out and about, as a feast/snack for their peering, leering, lascivious eyes as the punters (in low slung jeans and pencil pot butt cleavage) browse but fail to buy. That’s the trouble with blurred sexual types and the current economic upending: everyone’s becoming buy-curious.“
Stuart Flynn's Dear Britch will be performing at Little Other's first night of 'Special Sounds' at Oliver's Music Bar, Greenwich, on June 24th.
Slightly too embarrassed to fully play the part of 'artist in residence', our very own Mrs. Reed sketched these images rather furtively under the table at last month's Special Sounds night at Oliver's.
Steve would like to apologise for spelling Xylitol wrong.
Details of this month's night of Special Sounds to follow shortly.
