More LP Covers to Baffle and Terrify: Christian Ventriloquism.

Like any good Sex Detective I only have two fundamental fears: clowns and ventriloquist dummies.  The clowns thing is hard-wired.  We're talking about adults who paint and dress themselves up as psychopaths and idiots.  Think about it, this tradition of 'comedy' is based on feudal concepts of The Fool, a court slave whose pandering antics amused courtiers.  It's pretty much an abuse of the disabled.  A flamboyant, painted abuse.  Any entertainer that has to paint on a smile to represent a smile is inherently unhappy.  Clowns are not humourous, they simply and darkly parody humour.



Similarly, vent-dolls (as I'll be referring to ventriloquist dummies) are parodies of humans.  They differ from normal puppets in that the operator and doll are simultaneously present on stage and talking to each other.  Only it isn't a case of 'each other' because it's just one person talking to him/herself using a strange voice for half the conversation.  And in order for it to work, the operator must create a second personality that is significantly different from their's in order to provide contrast and conflict, otherwise it's just them apparently being psychotic while holding a lump of wood.  The audience has to believe that the doll is a separate entity, an artificial conjoined sibling, in order for it to work.  But the reason I find them so disturbing is because such a prop can only ever work in a comedy setting.  Try picturing a performer and their dummy having a serious poltical dialogue or academic discourse.  Then there's the whole creepy, uncanny valley child aspect - vent-dolls are almost always small enough to sit on the operator's knee, just like a kid.  A kid with an adult's hand inside it.

Anyway, here's some examples of album covers depicting vent-dolls and their owners in not-so-comedic settings, mainly because Christians back in the '60s still thought that children would be impressed by ventriloquism records even though such acts are a 99% visual medium.

So this is pretty much the standard nightmare - your ageing yet childless aunt and uncle rock around to your place to tell you (again) that Jesus makes them happy, only this time they've brought with them their new 'son'.  "Meet the latest addition to the Wheeler clan, his name is Brody!"  Your uncle then proceeds to talk to himself in weird, inconsistent voices while randomly working the puppet mouth.  Aunty Nancy thinks this is hilarious, mainly because she also thinks an orgasm involves prunes and toilet paper.  Meanwhile, you're standing there with a hangover, in your bathrobe, with a cigarette hanging out your mouth in whatever the opposite of awe is.  Inevitably the chick you were shagging all day wanders out to the lounge in an naked daze, assuming that you're watching cartoons.  She sees an old geezer fisting a toy child and screams.  Then the toy child SCREAMS RIGHT BACK.

If you want to double the horror of preaching with puppets, just throw a second retadred effigy into the mix.  You might think it's a girl vent-doll, especially when this freak starts using a squeaky voice whenever he clumsily operates it with his off hand, but it's clearly just his spare 'Charlie' doll with a wig.  I'm also pretty sure that Uncle "D" is standard code used by the FBI when it comes to classifying sex offenders.

This is the most mountain-centric cover I've encountered that doesn't actually have a picture of the key element featured.  I have no idea which one is The Mountain Man in this prosthetic duet, but I do know that they 'want that Mountain' and they want it bad.

DO NOT sing with Marcy, whatever you do.  That's how armageddons start.

Even when depicted as hand-drawn and painted characters, a vent-doll is always apparent: prominent cheekbones, dead, vacant eyes, arched brows and everything else splayed (including her hair for some reason).  Hang on, why the fuck is this one also called Marcy?  And why is the title written like Yoda-speak?

Grace and Wilbur Thrush are responsible for influencing every doll-themed horror film from 1963 to 1978.  There is nothing on this cover that doesn't evoke dreadful questions.  Why is the boy doll on his left knee disproprtionately larger than the adult male doll on his right?  And what the hell is that fully clothed dogcowbear puppet sitting on his wife?  Why does the dog costume look like it's had its eyes scooped out?  And the black thing kneeling next to Mrs Thrush?  Its sporting a big red tie, has its huge round eye pushed way back along its head, and is wearing some sort of pancake hat.

Fuck you for making me ask those questions, you bunch of Chthulu-worshipping freaks!