Stinglet, the stripey-shirted singer of The Bobbie Truncheons, shut down a major stream of malicious gossip last week when he admitted that, accent and attitude aside, he’s not actually British.
How did this major, potentially professionally damaging personal revelation come about? Somebody asked him.
We’d never thought of that ourself. The whole Stinglet persona is so farfetched we assumed it came with a self-protective streak. Not so, as we learned in a follow-up conversation.
“It’s just a lark, innit? I mean, I’m just having one off, taking the piss.” said—oh, you know who said. Who else in our little scene would say like that?
For the record, Stinglet was born just outside Winter Garden, 37 years ago. He has no European heritage that he’s aware of, though he’d like to believe that his father, whom he’s never met, and knows nothing about, is from England.
Stinglet seems alarmed to learn that members of our creative community have taken his stage identity to be anything except a joke. “They must think I’m barmy,” he blithers. “Off me bleeding rocker.” Actually, we think we speak for the whole community when we say we’re just relieved.
The Bobbie Truncheons play Thursday at Hamilton’s—UK ales discounted during their set. The Red Whites, doing American R&B stolen from British R&B stolen from American blues, open… A more independent American streak that night at the Bullfinch, with idiosyncratic solo sets from Patricia Henry and Ben Arnold… The Booming Skies at D’ollaire’s, a patriotic drinker’s night out…