Dear Mr. Diamond

Re: Forever In Blue Jeans

Unfortunately, denim is not an appropriate fabric to be worn “onstage” by any performer. Not only does it look scruffy, but it conveys a disrespectful attitude, as if “the turn” is so disdainful of their public that they can't be motivated enough to get changed out of what they've been wearing all day and sport snazzier togs for the admission paying crowd. It is for this reason that our household is not as taken with Shakin' Stevens or Status Quo as it might otherwise be.
 
What bamboozles me Neil is that your distinct gravelly vocals speak of a desire for your legs to be clad in blue jeans for eternity, yet whenever I have seen you ironically re-asserting this aspiration in song on various TV appearances, you have been immaculately presented in a pristinely pleated and pressed high quality trouser of a cotton appearance.

Our neighbours Ron and Gwen very much appreciate Matt Monroe and often drop by at a predetermined time for macaroons. Last week while putting the world to rights about the cycle menace rife in the pedestrianised area of Bournemouth town centre, I put on a complilation LP featuring your vocal talents. Our guests seemed to find “Song Sung Blue”, your version of UB40's “Red Red Wine” and several other compositions most agreeable, tapping their fingers on their knees and available furniture surfaces, but the cordial atmosphere became strained when your ode to scruffiness filled the living room, and they politely asked that I replace the record. However, as I was complying with their request, Ron and Gwen spied you on the jacket cover of the long-playing record, resplendent in your natty strides and striking rhinestone waistcoat and glitter shirt ensemble, and reversed their decision, allowing me to replay the whole of side one whilst they consumed their coconut-flavoured snacks. You now have two new admirers, albeit only after seeing your image on a cardboard canvas.
 
To precis then, I think that you should vanquish this erroneous paean to slovenly tailoring from your repertoire immediately. Yours is a redoubtable talent which should not be sullied by misleading lyrical images of untidiness, and I feel you will find the omission beneficial for the reasons outlined above. Indeed, I saw a male/female vocal group while in Clacton recently, of whom only one was an original member, and was extremely disappointed with their performance. Despite their musical shortcomings, however, the group members were exceedingly smartly turned out, and as such the audience appeared largely satisfied. (I wouldn't be so ungallant to as to name the protagonists after such a damning review, but suffice to say that “making my mind up” not to repeat the experience was a simple decision.)

Yours

Wilf Turnbull

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