2.25.19 by Ryan Masteller
The Lincolnshire Poacher done named itself after an English folk tune, the unofficial county anthem of Lincolnshire, a song that celebrates – wait for it – the “joys of poaching” (presumably) royal game. Well, that seems like nice little factoid to end on – I’ll catch the rest of you later. [Whistles around the corner]
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They gone yet? They are? Excellent! Now you and I can speak freely. See, the Lincolnshire Poacher was actually a shortwave numbers station based on the island of Cyprus that was presumably operated by the British Secret Intelligence Service until 2008. I’ll let you click on that Wikipedia link to learn more, but we’re talking about spy stuff here, real-life “Mission: Impossible Fallout” stuff, the kind of intrigue that would make someone like Alex Jones cock his head thoughtfully as he looked off into the distance to contemplate its importance. (Emphasis on “Alex Jones is a cock.”)
Anyway, this THIRD Lincolnshire Poacher, the one with the swell new tape on Prague’s Baba Vanga, is sort of a human numbers station, except instead of reading out numbers, this LP fucks with frequencies until you don’t know what’s up or down, right or left, ally or commie. That’s right, with “Frequency Disruptor Volume I” you’re thrust right back into the Cold War, pockets filled with codebreaking devices depending on which handler contacts you. Voices break through the surface of the electronic wastelands, full of meaning if the message reaches the right ears. Even if you don’t have the proper security clearance, you’re bound to find some nuggets of importance, even if these sometimes sound like the aural equivalent of redacted documents. Plus, anything with a track titled “Scanning for Scanners” knows to watch its back – that’s how you can tell this “music thing” on this “cassette tape” is being handled by a professional. Remember, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you, or haven’t already hacked your mainframe or broken into your apartment building or planted that car bomb. Keep your ear to the ground. The Lincolnshire Poacher is.
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Oh, ahem, I didn’t see you there, Mr. President!
We never spoke!
Edition of 70. Scare yourself back to the 1950s with one of these!