Hey Bobby it's me Bryan Ferry From My First Solo Album in 1973!

Dude! Dude, you have to rein this shit in a little bit. A gentleman never goes on about this crap. You don't hear my artschool English ass going all scat on this record, cock. What you've got is Wrecking-Crew-thick slabs of glam R&B with me convulsing away on top like a tortured teenage Lothario on Ketamine 'n' Old Grandpappy.

Man, I was reading this shit and getting an occasional chuckle and then you did the fuckin' one on McKenzkie and Pud and Ken happens to be my half-brother from my mom's second marriage so forgive me if I seem a bit distraught.

And Pud is actually the love child that I had with Amanda Lear and Pud had to go into hiding. My original name for her was Lucretia but fuckin' Amanda has this sense of humor and she was all coked to the gills. Not when she was pregnant, of course. This is during the delivery.

I was hoping it would be a boy so I could call him Larry Ferry. This is actually why Jerry Hall left me for Mick Jagger. Actually, never mind. "Jerry Jagger" is no gently shaken apple martini of a last name now, is it? Fuckin' A. Jesus.

But anyway never mind because I'm Bryan Ferry from my first solo album in 1973 so none of this has happened yet. Right now I'm fixing to do two nights at the Royal Albert Hall with a full orchestra. Can you believe that shit? You got an orchestra?

The Orchestra Of Sweet Regret doesn't count, Lightfoot. You can't count an orchestra where the strings are the wailing of tortured souls, the woodwinds are the mournful harbingers of depression and the brass section is pure spleen. I meant, like a good orchestra like the god damn one I had in 1973.

For my two nights at the Albert Hall, cock.

Anyway, dude- chill, you know? I mean, you've got a good thing going here. You should just try to take walks every day. That's the place to start with you, Lightfoot. I little beatin' the fucking pavement never hurt anybody. I've been doing some Tai Chi and I would recommend that, too. You gotta do something to get outside of that head, man. It's like a decrepit haunted attic in there. Yow, dude.

Also, Bowie and Iman and I have regular three-ways so I'm hanging in there pretty good in the flexibility dept., you know what I'm saying?

So dude- chill. Like I did on this 1973 masterpiece, "These Foolish Things". This album where I did these whack-ass versions of like "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall", "The Tracks Of My Tears" and "Loving You (Is Sweeter Than Ever").

And "River Of Salt"

And "Sympathy For The Devil". Yeah, that's a fucking good god damn one. Fuck!