Lyttle at large

Yesterday someone arrived at SWSL searching for "jason lyttle address".

Now, for all I know, it could just have been perfectly innocent - just someone eager to send the frontman of Grandaddy (a poor man's Flaming Lips) a belated Christmas card or something.

But I couldn't shake the image from my head of it being an obsessive fan intent on stalking Lyttle, rummaging around in his bins for beard trimmings and vaulting over the fence into the back garden in a bid to steal a pair of his Y-fronts from the washing line.

Or perhaps it was the FBI, engaged in an operation to pinpoint the location of indie-rock musicians across the US. After all, three fifths of Grandaddy have beards, and are thus terrorists who want to kill our children.

Anyway, at least I can rest safe in the knowledge I won't be aiding and abetting such activities, as I don't have Jason Lyttle's address.

However, if you ever feel like tracking down the keyboard player from The Shins, or paying Rilo Kiley's drummer a housecall, you know where to come.