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I am writing to you formally to challenge your work, Adam Sparks Biography 2007. Your depiction of the person in question is at best naïve, at worst, the kind of base propaganda not seen since the McCarthy administration. You should be ashamed.
Adam Sparks is a gangled nocturnal perversion. He is more likely to be seen rolling in his own filth, howling subhuman nothings in the dark and lonely recesses of Auckland's most depraved night spots, than partaking in any noble musical endeavour.
"Lush dirty and expanding, his sound is like Leftfield at a far eastern rave while Meat Katie Serves free booze!" writes Mortar & Pestle's Dan Mangan.
I have one of my own: "Looking like Abraham Lincoln on horse tranquilisers, Adam Sparks sweats behind the decks and keeps a switch blade to Dan Mangan's throat. Unsure of his surroundings and unable to communicate his demands lucidly, this cornered animal holds a tense dance floor hostage as the baby Jesus weeps."
His recent banishment to the fringes of urban society is a damning indication of his character. Adam Sparks is a bohemian of questionable morality.
Being signed to London Breaks is nothing to trumpet. They are earlobe-licking tweakers in search of their next fix.
Moreover, your description of his audience appalls. "Articulate and informed, they are the leading edge of Auckland's dance community." Indeed. They are an ambling and aimless mob of likeminded dribbling degenerates most likely wanted for rape and sedition charges in Western Australia. The '60s are over. The hippies lost.
If I ever track you down, I'm going beat your skulking ass like a kettle drum,