"TERRIBLE TOWN, TERRIBLE TOWN, TERRIBLE TOWN, TERRIBLE TOWN."

 NE OF THE most striking things about the somniloquies of Dion McGregor is that nearly every one of them ends with him screaming in abject terror, or gurgling as if being drowned or strangled. Indeed, scattered throughout even the interiors of the dreams are wordless utterances expressing anger, whimsy or, more frequently, fright. In the final and most disturbing somniloquy of the album version of The Dream World Of Dion McGregor, the narrator expires from a self-inflicted vivisection lecture gone horribly awry. The end of the album coincides with his final desperate exhalation. While these sounds are fascinating fodder for our voyeuristic amusement, they invariably raise many questions about the state of McGregor's mental health. Another dream from that album, "Our Town," ends with a shocking thud. Was it the dreamer smacking the microphone? Falling out of bed? Whatever its rational real-world explanation, the dramatic impact of that sound as it climaxes a frightful tale still has the touch of dread written about it.

The book's transcribers took pains to articulate every nuance of each uttered noise. Here's a sampling of a few such uvulations:

UUGHH!
OOOOPPPP!
Uuuuuuuurrrrraaaaahhhhh!
Aahheeaeeeeee-uhh-uh-uhh!
Yacht-kkkuccchheeeaccchhh!
Itus-bitsu a hatzibatsi whooh itabitatiz!
Whatdatdodeedahwhatdahdatadoodhattttt!
Ff-ff-iii-innnn-aaahhh-hahhh-aaaahhh-haaaa!
Dizzzzzaadizzzggggg-uuuhhh-aaaaieeeee-Iiiidaaaaaddit-ooophhh-ahhh!
Hhhmmmmge ... dreep ... hublub ... blubablubabluba lululululu ... ap ... aaaahhh ... eh.

While there are numerous pieces throughout McGregor's somniloquies that delight the listener or reader with their playfulness, the far greater bulk of them are morbid and haunted, dark burblings from what can only be interpreted as a deeply distressed mind. McGregor denied this view in a letter to me written shortly before his death, stating, "I don't really recall being at all angst-ridden," but he went on to acknowledge, "I could have been in my subconscious." In the Nebel interview, McGregor noted that Dr. Valentin Wolf Zetlin, a psychiatrist who had observed his sleep in a single overnight session, concluded that the sleeptalking served to benefit McGregor's mental health. "He said I got rid of most of my hostilities, so I was rested." He added, "I do think that I get rid of hostilities. And I feel rather good, every day." By Zetlin's assessment (and perhaps extrapolating a bit), the sleeping McGregor is a ticking time bomb. But it is the very expression of his sleeptalking -- perhaps moreso than ordinary dreaming could possibly accomplish -- that defuses the source of that anxiety. Whether or not this all adds up, McGregor was content to believe that it did, and that's the bottom line -- he wasn't at all disturbed by the horror of his own nightmares.

There was certainly no evidence, apart from his neverending refrain of money woes, of emotional distress in McGregor's day-to-day life. In fact he was regarded with great affection by virtually everyone who met him, and was known not for any morbid streak but rather for his sparkling wit and general good humor. His social life revolved around a string of private film societies that had sprouted up around Manhattan in those long days before home video. These clubs would convene in small auditoriums or even members' living rooms to screen 16 mm prints of obscure movies, mostly B pictures from the '30s and '40s. McGregor would invariably be granted the center seat, from which he would unfurl a steady stream of hilarious one-liners. "I still laugh at things, I think of things that he said," recalls Buddy Valentino of McGregor's film society court-holdings. "He tore everything apart. He could be absolutely hilarious in the bitchiest way." Another film-buff friend, Eric Spilker, remembers: "People would just die laughing in the room. ... I wish that everybody could have had just one night watching a movie with him." These were the waning moments of Camp sensibility prior to its discovery by the masses, and McGregor was at the pivot point overseeing the final private thrills.


chapter 5:

DO TURKEYS HAVE TITS?


CD home page:

DION McGREGOR DREAMS AGAIN