Album Notes—Full title: The Dissection and Reconstruction of Music from the past as Performed by the Inmates of Lalo Schifrin’s Demented Ensemble as a Tribute to the Memory of the Marquis De Sade / 作为演出单位拉罗富林的痴呆症乐团的囚犯作为贡品萨德侯爵的记忆解剖和音乐的重建从过去. Personnel: Lalo Schifrin (piano); Jerome Richardson (alto flute); Clark Terry, Ernie Royal (trumpet); Kai Winding, J.J. Johnson (trombone); Richard Davis (bass); Grady Tate (drums).Recorded in April 1966.This is part of Verve’s Elite Edition series. Come again? This crackpot title—probably the longest ever concocted for a jazz album—actually is a front for a not-so-dangerous, hard-swinging album in which Schifrin invents or borrows 18th-century classical themes and sets them into big band or small-combo contexts. Such is Schifrin’s chameleonic mastery that his own inventions are a match for the themes of the period, and he is tasteful enough not to overload the window dressing and keep the rhythm section loosely swinging nearly all the time. Once, Lalo tries something wacky; on “Beneath a Weeping Window Shade,” he has singer Rose Marie Jun intoning a madrigal-like Francis Hopkinson song against some avant-garde multiphonic flute from Jerome Richardson, ministrations from a string quintet, and Schifrin’s own comments on harpsichord. There is also a stimulating pastiche “Aria” that sounds like Schifrin arguing with Heitor Villa-Lobos and Henry Purcell in 9/8 time. With the cream of New York’s jazz session men of the ‘60s on board—including the inimitable Grady Tate on drums, Richardson on flute and tenor, Gene Bertoncini on guitar, and J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding on trombones—and Creed Taylor’s production dictating the distinctive timbres, jazz buffs will have a fine time with this collision of the centuries, which leans heavily to the jazz side. The album was reissued on CD as part of Verve’s limited Elite Editions series. ~ Richard S. Ginell
Mondo experiences Jayne’s interrogation via Becky’s rekall. An abomination, Mondo is able to be privy to Jayne’s telepathic exchange. Because rekall is a synergy, Becky [through Mondo] is also now privy to Jayne’s telepathic exchange.
The telepathic exchange. The seed of reasonable doubt vis-à-vis Jayne’s guilt is planted in both of them. Also the suspicion that Jayne might be a mortal playing the long game, and therefore is guilty as hell. This is what puts Becky’s panties into a bunch. Mondo, on the other hand, could care less.
So, she’s just the back catcher on this one. Knowing this, with a flick of the switch so to speak, Mondo is bored and wants to go back from whence she came from. Or at the very least, if she’s got to be stuck here for the duration, she’d like to get lost, strung out, and dirty, a depraved junkie harlot who’s forcibly confined in a filthy hovel someplace getting her wretched brains fucked out by some bi-pedal or preferably multi-pedal humanoid leech.
Whether dressing staid spinster shrew or a little more mainstream severe, Mondo’s sober modes fall into three categories. High school mean girl, crazy, or overly sexualized [aliased as overly sexually repressed]. Right now, she’s in overly sexualized mode [aliased as overly sexually repressed]—with undertones of mean girl and crazy.
Passingly, the Hidden Ones make themselves perceptible to Mondo. It’s a mouthwatering tease appealing to Mondo’s degenerate tastes in sex. But. Been there, done that, been banged by that, a zillion times before. In other words. They’re offering Mondo her usual intoxication.
This time. Mondo wants something baser, even sicker, and more depraved. Which speaks volumes, because Mondo’s intoxicated mode is extremely base and decidedly feral—mindlessly bestial at its lowest ebb. She’s become jaded again. And needs it racketed down to an all new low. How the mighty craves to fall again.
In her mind she has an idea of what her newest debaser should look like. She’d like to be used by something like a Klapp only much worse. She’d like a she-male leech who’s multi-pedal, still vaguely humanoid, and overtly Gorgon. She’d like to be used against her will with absolutely no control over the situation. An inmate confined in an otherwise abandoned Victorian insane asylum. She wants something no one has yet to offer her before let alone while she’s been on this trek.
In short, the Hidden Ones are not the new low that she craves. Mondo waves them off. They fade from perception and leave. No longer is Mondo on their menu, but before they leave, they implant an impression in Mondo’s mind—maybe there’s something here in this world like what she seeks.
Something purely predatory, and exclusively solitary except for their only mate and maybe a lone robot lackey. Feeding and fucking at night. Sleeping during the day. Devoid of personal hygiene. Filthy and infested. Even baser than the Hidden Ones. Supernatural. Leeches, not people. Giant leeches in the guise of leech women. A feral Kum offshoot—as such a Kum variant. Mindless lunatics. Creatures of pure instinct. Parasitic enslavers. Repellant. Disgusting. A Dagon.
Physically, Dagon are akin to a multi-pedal version of The Hidden—octopus tentacles from the waist down. Tentacles that end in rattlers akin to a rattlesnake’s.
Mentally. Not sentient. Being creatures of pure instinct. Clicks and hisses are the only sounds that normally come out of their hideous, inhumanly-wide mouths. But, they can simulate speech to be used as a lure for prey.
What looks like a biomechanical harness composed of multiple overlords is anchored into their spine. Nasty parasites feeding off of an even nastier, much larger parasite. But. These disgusting parasites are not overlords and are not synthetic. It’s not a harness. It’s an ugly parasitic skin outgrowth, i.e. a large hideous convoluted wart, on the back of these multi-pedal creatures. These viral lesions are called “Schlags”, a byproduct of a Dagon’s spine being overloaded, their venom is much more narcotically potent than that of either a Klapp’s harness or an overlord.
Dagon only know rage, all-encompassing insanity, raped-ape fucking, the insatiable Hunger, and the unquenchable Thirst. They infect and addict. Their Kiss promises only Consumption.
From the waist up. Emaciated, ravenous, varicose-veined abominations. Septuagenarian she-male versions of the Master Vampires as portrayed in Showtime’s Penny Dreadful series, minus the exoskeletons or the tattoos.
There is no need for arcane glyphs to enhance their addictive nature by increasing their venom’s addictive potency.
Hairless bodies, bloodshot eyes, mouths full of sharp fangs, clawed fingers, and filth-engrained milk-white skin.
Teeth that are so filthy, they look rotten. A long, retractile proboscis, akin to a Klapp’s, in place of a tongue. Fetid, wormy breath.
Patches of reptilian scales on their face, arms, and torso. Male and female humanoid genitalia—hung like a horse.
Three waist-length shriveled floppy pendulous breasts with hideous stretch marks and stringbean nipples. The right breast is actually a disgusting moog, as such it has a sucker in place of a nipple.
A vile, reeking crotch. Their crotch has a strong, gamey odor. Hands that are horribly thin, the fingers are little more than claws.
Sections of their body are so dirty, they look black. Having no use for clothing, they go naked. Any attempt to clothe them will incite them to bouts of extreme rage and violence.
Dagon have a face that is a hideous parody of a human female’s. With living venomous snakes in place of a head of hair. Snakes that erupt from a bony skull.
Light grey eyeballs. Red, constricted pupils. And no irises. When their eyes fluoresce, gazing directly into their glowing eyes can turn susceptible onlookers into stone. For the resistant, those not turned to stone, it’s a fluorescent gaze that can be hypnotic and subjugating, mesmerizing and beguiling—or unsettling—or nauseating and stomach-churning—or vomit inducing—or just plain annoying. Just plain annoying, for those too jaded or otherwise not interested in their “charms”. Hypnotic and subjugating, mesmerizing and beguiling, for addicts.
Long dirty fingernails.
In summation. Dagon. The vilest personification, so far, of her ongoing unremitting fixation with intoxication by a human-like blood sucker, i.e. a giant leech. A large, full-grown woman sized parasite. A hermaphrodite. Hung like a horse. Labia, clitoris, uncircumcised penis, testicles—male/female human genitalia that’s equally unattractive, unless you’re a nercophiliac, that is. A she-male, genitalia wise. Nonetheless, a Dagon is an “it”, not a he or a she. Things grow on it. Things live on it. Things feed on it. Head lice, fleas, and crabs. Graveyard lichens and moss grow here and there on their filth-ingrained skin. Overall, it reeks of a foul stench—smelling like rotting meat that has been left to hang too long.
But. Therein lies the problem. Even for such as this. Used by a Dagon. The bifurcation of a Dagon’s insidious Schlag hooked into her spine. She knows that eventually, she would overcome this, and return to her severity of mainstream lifestyle. Addictions are just a momentary distraction. Depraved junkie whore would get put on the shelf again.
Although Mondo and Becky appear helpless, totally absorbed in reliving this moment in photogenic detail, they are no more helpless than when they are asleep. In other words, they aren’t helpless at all.
They are completely aware of their physical surroundings in the here and now. And they are totally immersed in reliving this memory of the past.
There it is again. That faintest suggestion. But. It is there. A very low frequency hum. Known as The Hum. It is a phenomenon, or collection of phenomena, involving a persistent and invasive low-frequency humming, rumbling, or droning noise not audible to all Kum addicts. The Hum is sometimes prefixed with the name of the Kum variant which the problem has been particularly publicized: e.g., the “Bristol Hum” or the “Taos Hum”.
Data from a Taos Hum study suggests that around two percent of the population [of Kum addicts] can detect the Taos Hum. For those who can hear the Hum it can be a very disturbing phenomenon. Among those who cannot hear the hum and some specialists, there has been skepticism about whether it exists; it is distinct from, and should not be confused with, the term sometimes used to describe the well-attested phenomenon of microseisms.
The essential element that defines the Hum is what is perceived as a persistent low-frequency sound, often described as being comparable to that of a distant diesel engine idling, or to some similar low-pitched sound for which obvious sources (e.g., household appliances, traffic noise, etc.) have been ruled out. There are a number of audio reproductions of the Hum available on the web [i.e. collectively, the various inter-world and intra-world internets], as well as at least one purported recording.
A study into the Taos Hum indicated that at least two percent could hear it; each hearer at a different frequency between 32 Hz and 80 Hz, modulated from 0.5 to 2 Hz. Similar results have been found in an earlier British study. It seems to be possible for hearers to move away from it, with one hearer of the Taos Hum reporting its range was 48 km. There are approximately equal percentages of male and female hearers. Age does appear to be a factor, with middle aged humans being more likely to hear it.
Mondo steps out of Becky’s first-person perspective and steps into the role of objective third-person observer. Extrapolating her perspective as if she were present in the interrogation room separate from Becky when this past event happened. Becky is aware of Mondo as if she was there when this happened, but no one else seems to be aware of Mondo.
Mondo moves slowly toward Jayne, at a diagonal. The Hum grows louder the closer she moves toward Jayne. When she reaches the table at which Jayne sits, Jayne looks up and smiles. Her toothy grin stretching literally and therefore impossibly [for a human that is] from ear to ear.
“Maybe you should try us … You will not become bored with us using you like you think you would. For you, it will be as if you were tailor made for us, depraved junkie whore.”
The words project into Mondo’s mind—overpoweringly so. It is not telepathy, nor is it anything remotely like it. It is something primal. Predating telepathy. Base. Twisted. Deranged. Animalistic. Electroshock for the brain that serves as a form of direct communication and a lobotomy all wrapped up into one, neat package.
Jaynes stands up. Again, no one else seems to notice except for Mondo and Becky. Jayne’s clothes shred as she changes into something. She changes into an “it”. She changes into a Dagon—a very old, and thus very powerful, Dagon. Its true form.
It points at Mondo.
It begins to drool, profusely. Hungry for chattel which it craves to use. User—Dagon. Chattel which it craves to use—Mondo.
The hum reaches a mesmerizing crescendo. The Dagon’s eyes fluoresce—fluorescent lime green. Mondo’s eyes, nose, and mouth begin to bleed. Her eyes marble like the peepers of a dead fish.
Becky’s now-altered rekall toggles. Mondo and Becky are forcibly bounced back into the here and now, no longer rekalling the past. Toggled and forcibly bounced by the ancient Dagon.
Mondo’s eyes are no longer marbled. But. Her eyes, nose, and mouth are still bleeding!