The first time Piers read your published review of his latest album, your scathing criticism rolled right off him. He didn’t write songs for accolades or fame; he wrote to feel alive and channel his energy into being productive. But by now, you’d been such an avid and consistent hater that Piers was starting to get curious about why. Shortly before his first concert of the season, Piers sent you a ticket to Spikemuth, partially convinced you wouldn’t even acknowledge it.

And then he saw you among the crowd, and Piers couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Right, then. This next one goes out to my biggest fan in the crowd who knows good n’ well who they are,” says Piers, his voice a low, scratchy purr by the microphone. He wants to know what your deal is.