Thomas versus Thomas

Av Lillian Vatnøy

Vi får mye underholdende e-post til redaksjonen, og koser oss ofte med høytlesing til morrakaffen. Få ting er bedre enn et skikkelig klagebrev, hvor begrepet "in his thirties" gis ekstremt negativ klang, og avsenderen avslutter med "Piss off". Strålende! I en tid der de fleste tar på seg masker og kostymer for å svinse i offentligheten, digger vi at folk som St. Thomas overhodet ikke føler trang til selvsensur, men tvert imot gjerne blottlegger sin sjel og sine traumer. Fantastisk!

Vi gir dere her St. Thomas' svar på slakten hans nye plate fikk i magasinet Spirit.

Les Spirits anmeldelse her

Brevet gjengis i uendret, fullstendig versjon:

Directly from St. Thomas himself

Ville DU låst denne mannen inne i en mørk kjeller?

News from the St. Thomas world, directly from St. Thomas himself.

January 27th 2004 - A Personal Letter
I read a review of my new record today, in which the journalist, probably a guy in his thirties, writes that I, Thomas Hansen, repeatevely awakens his sadistic genes, and he would like to put me in a dark basement, and lock me in forever.

When I was nine years old, I changed school in the middle of the year. I was original, weird, shy, I had my own opinions. I wanted the world to be fair and was specially aware of cruelty among other children. If the tough boys did something wrong I told them. If the "bubble gum chewing girls" were giggling about the weird looking girl with glasses in the class, I told them.
One week after I changed school, my classmates dragged me, against my will, to a tree.
They put a rope around me and the tree so I could not move.
Then they spit on me and kicked me and screamed out nasty words. Back in the classroom there were 20 children speaking against my word, the teacher did not believe me, so I was punished. I still kept my head high, proud, I forgot about it and moved on.

Complain too much

- In his thirties? Jeg er for pokker ikke eldre enn 29! Thomas Talseth slår tilbake. (Foto: Spirit)

I used to sing songs in the playground. Strange american songs. Bob Dylan. Elvis Presley. One day, an older boy could ring the bell on my door and ask me out. I felt happy. Then he would put me to a wall and start punching me in the face.
I should not believe I was someone special.
So he gave me this treatment.

The journalist claims that he gets annoyed by me.
He writes that I complain to much. In interviews, for example, he says. He cant stand it anymore.

My new record has hit a nerve.
Some of the journalists are guys in their thirties.
When they went to school, they were cool, and popular.
They hang out with the pretty girls and wanted to become rockstars, the future was bright. They felt bigger than the ones that were stranger, that had other interests, hidden talents, behind weird, absurd faces.

They have to defend

When the twentyseven year old child enters the stage, opens his mouth, and spits blood on the ones that used to tease him, when he so hard tries to make them understand they did wrong, he scares them away. They have to defend.
And when he proudly presents a new record, so personal, so honest, so “complaining”, the journalist, does not want to hear anymore. It hurts to much. He hates it. It gets him on his nerves. Forever-cool guy hanging on to his coolness, doing his best to keep this annoying kind artist, who never was as cool as him, away from his girls, his money, and his fame.

Make up and image

Stridens kjerne: St. Thomas' nye skive - bra eller endeløs klagesang?

Some of you visiting this page, are my friends. You understand and you are sympathic.
Other of you visit to find scandals, and to find something to laugh at, something you dont believe in.

I have always felt like an artist you find on one special side of the pitch.The kind side, where the old weirdos belong. On the other side we find masks and make up and image. The old cool ones. Big in their mouth, swearing, feeling confident. Unsympathic.
With my new album I have clearly drawn the line.
The ones who want to follow me further are welcome.
The other ones: piss off. I have given up on you.

From The Complaining Thomas Hansen