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Acolyte, vol 1, issue 3, whole 3, Spring 1943
Page 10
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ver I'd brought in town that very afternoon. I cannot say precisely what I planned to shoot; the gesture was prompted by a feeling of impending tragedy. There had been in Baldwyn's manner a reticence I didn't like. Always before he had told me of his triumphs and discoveries . . . . . . . . . . . Without a word Baldwyn led me to the upstairs room. Motioning me to a chair near the Lunachord, he sat on the bench and turned the switch that operated the electric motors. The thinness and pallor of his cheeks frightened me. He crushed out his cigarette and faced me. "Rambeau, you've been very patient---I know you're curious. You also think I'm killing myself. I'll rest up for a while when I get through---here. I think I've found what I'm after---the rhythm of space, the music of the stars and the universe that may be very near or very far. you know how we've hunted for those other books, the Necronomicon, and so on? This translation of Yergler isn't very clear, but I've tried to bridge the gaps and produce the results he hinted at. "You see, at the very beginning there were two altogether different types of music---the type we know and hear today, and another one that isn't really earthly at all. It was banned by the ancients, and only the early historians remember it. Now, the negro jazz element has revived some of these outre rhythms. They've almost got it! These polyrhythmic variants are close; boogie-woogie has a touch. Earl Hines came near with his improvisation, "child of A Disordered Brain".... "What will happen I can't say. Yesterday I had a letter from Lancaster in Providence, and he's positively scared! I told him my plans the last time I wrote. "He finally admitted that he'd read the original Chronike, which is infintely more terrible than this book we have. Lancaster warns me repeatedly against playing the music he's afraid I've written. Actually, it can't be written---there are no such symbols! It would require a new musical language. I'm not going to try that just yet, however... "But it can't be that bad. he says there might even be some violent manifestation---the music might summon a certain thing from the shadows of another dimension. "What I've done surely can't do anything like that... but it will be an interesting experiment. And remember, Rambeau, no interruptions." I wanted to grab him by the neck and shake some sense into his head. My mouth opened twice, but no words came. He had started to play, and the whispering chords silenced me quicker than a hand clapped over my mouth. I had to listen; genius will permit nothing else. I was bewitched, eyes fastened on his flying fingers. The music swelled, following strange rhythm patterns I had never heard before and hope never to hear again. They were unearthly, insane. The music stirred me deeply; goose-pimples raced over me; my fingers twitched. I crouched forward on the edge of the chair-- tense, alert. A wave of cold horror swept me as the awful melody and counter-melody rose to a higher pitch. The instrument quivered and screamed as with agony. The mad fantasia seemed to reach beyond the four walls of the room, to quaver into other spheres of sound and movement, as if some of the notes were escaping my ear and going elsewhere. Baldwyn's pale lips were set in a grim smile. It was madness; the rhythms were older than the dawn of mankind, and infinitely more terrible. They reeked of a nameless corruption. It was evil---evil as the Druid's song or the lullaby of the ghoul.During a sudden lull in the music, it happened. The skylight above us rattled, and the moonlight splashing the glass seemed to liquify and race downward. A single bolt of intense whiteness smashed -- 10 --
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ver I'd brought in town that very afternoon. I cannot say precisely what I planned to shoot; the gesture was prompted by a feeling of impending tragedy. There had been in Baldwyn's manner a reticence I didn't like. Always before he had told me of his triumphs and discoveries . . . . . . . . . . . Without a word Baldwyn led me to the upstairs room. Motioning me to a chair near the Lunachord, he sat on the bench and turned the switch that operated the electric motors. The thinness and pallor of his cheeks frightened me. He crushed out his cigarette and faced me. "Rambeau, you've been very patient---I know you're curious. You also think I'm killing myself. I'll rest up for a while when I get through---here. I think I've found what I'm after---the rhythm of space, the music of the stars and the universe that may be very near or very far. you know how we've hunted for those other books, the Necronomicon, and so on? This translation of Yergler isn't very clear, but I've tried to bridge the gaps and produce the results he hinted at. "You see, at the very beginning there were two altogether different types of music---the type we know and hear today, and another one that isn't really earthly at all. It was banned by the ancients, and only the early historians remember it. Now, the negro jazz element has revived some of these outre rhythms. They've almost got it! These polyrhythmic variants are close; boogie-woogie has a touch. Earl Hines came near with his improvisation, "child of A Disordered Brain".... "What will happen I can't say. Yesterday I had a letter from Lancaster in Providence, and he's positively scared! I told him my plans the last time I wrote. "He finally admitted that he'd read the original Chronike, which is infintely more terrible than this book we have. Lancaster warns me repeatedly against playing the music he's afraid I've written. Actually, it can't be written---there are no such symbols! It would require a new musical language. I'm not going to try that just yet, however... "But it can't be that bad. he says there might even be some violent manifestation---the music might summon a certain thing from the shadows of another dimension. "What I've done surely can't do anything like that... but it will be an interesting experiment. And remember, Rambeau, no interruptions." I wanted to grab him by the neck and shake some sense into his head. My mouth opened twice, but no words came. He had started to play, and the whispering chords silenced me quicker than a hand clapped over my mouth. I had to listen; genius will permit nothing else. I was bewitched, eyes fastened on his flying fingers. The music swelled, following strange rhythm patterns I had never heard before and hope never to hear again. They were unearthly, insane. The music stirred me deeply; goose-pimples raced over me; my fingers twitched. I crouched forward on the edge of the chair-- tense, alert. A wave of cold horror swept me as the awful melody and counter-melody rose to a higher pitch. The instrument quivered and screamed as with agony. The mad fantasia seemed to reach beyond the four walls of the room, to quaver into other spheres of sound and movement, as if some of the notes were escaping my ear and going elsewhere. Baldwyn's pale lips were set in a grim smile. It was madness; the rhythms were older than the dawn of mankind, and infinitely more terrible. They reeked of a nameless corruption. It was evil---evil as the Druid's song or the lullaby of the ghoul.During a sudden lull in the music, it happened. The skylight above us rattled, and the moonlight splashing the glass seemed to liquify and race downward. A single bolt of intense whiteness smashed -- 10 --
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