Surprisingly you will find that I rather approve of your average joe dating a Pop Star. The reason is simple, the more time he or she spends doting over their new found love, the less time they will have to commit their attrocities of sound upon the world. Nevertheless there are a number of hints and dangers which should be highlighted before you dip your wick in the musicians wax. Hint one is very much one of personal safety.

If a pop star asks you to go down to the river with him – DO NOT GO

For some reason if a pop star feels that a relationship is not going well, they are usually presented with two options. Option one is to wait to be dumped by their partner and write a dirgey album about it (hello Damon Albarn). Option two however is the slightly more unusual act of taking them down to a river and murdering them. And then writing a plaintitive song about said act, asking their audience for forgiveness. Neil Young, PJ Harvey, Bruce Springsteen have all owned up to riverside murders. Nick Cave has – on last count – murdered about fifteen people via the simple use of flouncey dress and babbling brook. He could almost certainly be cited as an accomplice in Polly Jean’s crime too. Neil Young, being a bit simple and all that, took his love down by the river and then shot her. Cave would disapprove of this method, too messy and noisy – but then Neil was always a bit fan of pointless noise (circa – his entire career).

So remember kids, pop star + river = danger. Which brings us nicely on to the greatest unsolved crime in the history of pop music.


The only reason that this murder was never solved, and the least amusingly named of the Marx brothers was left to go scot free, was that the police in Hazard County were never all that bright. (I mean – all they had to do to catch Bo and Luke Duke was to wind up their windows.) Still let’s look at the facts as stated over cheap Casio backing:

“I swear I left her by THE RIVER
I swear I left her safe and sound”

That’s a river he’s left her by. You know, pop stars choice place of murderage. I cannot see a court of law where Richard “Up The Proletariat” Marx would not go down. I guess it was just beyond Roscoe P. Coltrane’s brain power to see it. That’s what happens when you grow up in a southern state and your brain is addled by listening to George Fucking Jones all the fucking time.

(As an aside – would you move to a town called Hazard? You’ve got to say the clue is in the question.)