By Jacob Williamson, Theslin Wanders-through-Bramble (theslin@mail.utexas.edu)
The origins of this bloodline are shrouded in the mists of antiquity, or at least buried in the dustbins of apathy. If any cared to, they could make a comprehensive study of the line. As it is, the Daughters of Schlockophony are best considered a minor and possibly deranged offshoot of Clan Toreador, and nothing more. It is ill-advised to advance this theory to a Toreador, however, as the Degenerates, usually a listless clique of indolent poseurs, will become physically violent when one links them to the Daughters. To this point, I hadn't thought them capable of any sustained action, much less violence, but having had an "arteest" attempt to stake me with his paintbrushes, I will assume they have their reasons, and shall endeavor to see what separates the mind-numbing, hellish abomination that is the Daughters of Schlockophony from the mind-numbing, oh-so-precious abomination that is Clan Toreador -- this may take effort.
My research has led me to believe that the Daughters of Schlockophony, if they are to be recognized as a bloodline, are of very recent birth. The earliest mention of them I have found was by way of Francois René de Chateaubriand of Clan Toreador. This ancient and respected writer met with the bloodline's founder in Reno, Nevada. While de Chateaubriand once led a life of vice and excess as befitting one of his clan, he has since fled to a monastic retreat in New England due to a sudden and acute terror of polyester blends. De Chateaubriand, when questioned, said: "In the name of the one who gave Caine birth, I have never in my life encountered something that tacky. If the Antediluvians let that, that, aberration walk the earth, there simply couldn't be a purpose behind the Jyhad."
De Chateaubriand claims that the founder of the Daughters of Schlockophony went by the name of Jack Wyeth, if the marquee outside held the creature's true name. Had he been of a more intelligent mind, de Chateaubriand would have suspected that perhaps a casino and night club was not the ideal place for a musical performance to suit his rarified tastes. The Toreador hoped only to forget his encounter, but I pressed the issue. René became incoherent. Between his sobs, I patched together that the creature's dress was alone a nightmare to the vampire -- a gleaming suit of the purest white synthetics, with vast, flared pant legs adorned with golden embroidery, accessorized by medallions of some stripe or another. Further, the apparition's hellish crooning, a twisted and plaintive ballad in an agonizing tenor of the "extreme vibrato" persuasion, "burned into [his] mind like the nightmare light of a thousand suns, only less delicately."
This is the only mention of the primogen of this modern bloodline I have found. I have been unable to question de Chateaubriand further, as his mental condition has deteriorated. Apparently one of his servants left a runcible spoon in his possession, and the old artist gouged his own eyes out.
The members of this bloodline are known both for their astonishing lack of taste and their widely varying musical ability. While the artistic Toreador have more than their fair share of musical talent, they have not been able to compete with the Daughters in sheer enthusiasm; whether or not an individual Daughter can actually sing is entirely beside the point. As for the bloodline's bizarre garb, its wholehearted embrace of platform shoes, disco and artificial leopard skin prints would indicate that its blood is tainted by the line of Malkav -- but if every member of the bloodline decides that "zoot suits" are the height of fashion, this indicates something more disturbing than simple insanity.
Basic to the Daughters of Schlockophony is the concept of "Funk," a term couched in only the vaguest of definitions. Like the Tao of the Confucians, it would take several lifetimes to achieve Funk. The Embrace gives them those lifetimes. "Funk" is a personal path to an aesthetic perfection, the ideal form of their musical expression, unity with the beat that surges within the Daughter. It is individual, and each Daughter must find his or her own Funk.
It is in this desperate search for their twisted aesthetic ideal that the Daughters of Schlockophony show their kinship to the Toreador. They devote most of their endless lives to their "art," be it on the dance floor or behind the microphone, through experiencing another's music or claiming the stage and neon for their own. In the end, nothing matters so much as the beat of the music, experienced in body, mind and apparel. Truth? Meaning? Ultimately unimportant. The bloodline considers itself to be the protectors of the world's greatest artists. Given their artistic choices, it's no wonder the Toreador haven't contested them.
The Embrace of a Daughter of Schlockophony binds the Kindred's soul to his personal Funk, whatever that be. In some strange manner, members of this bloodline can weaken, even die, if they are not permitted to revel in their complete and utter lack of taste. If this is a good or bad thing, I cannot say.
The five eldest Daughters take frequent tours across the continent, and are immediately recognizable by their garb. Eddie Peale, currently first in the Council, dresses at all times as a British "bobby." The rest of the council-- Mitch Adisson, Laura Laurena, Rick Louis and Tom "Dances-with-Elevator-Shoes" Sword -- dress as a centerfold for Gold Lamé Weekly, a cheerleader, a barbershop quartet member straight out of Norman Rockwell, and a stereotyped American Indian of indeterminate tribal origin, respectively. The Council caught the public spotlight years ago with their controversial cult song of dubious sexual practices, "S.P.C.A." They have been supporting themselves quite well on album revenue and occasional special appearances. Relying on his strength as "The World's Only Oglala Sioux Elvis Impersonator," Sword has been seeking the head of the Council. If he succeeds, Eddie's position will in all probability be passed on to one of the Spice Girls.
The Consumers: Disco Kings, line-dancin' kickers and buyers of multiple Macarena Mix CDs, the Consumers are treated as second-class citizens by the more influential Performers -- though many of them are far greater in their arts than their stage-hog rivals. It's rumored that some members of the Consumer caste have learned to tie Meltorminee to their dance steps instead of to their voice, but this is only a rumor.
The Performers: The most prominent members of the Daughters of Schlockophony. Their death-grip on the limelight is so strong that the Seven Clans fear for the Masquerade. Thus far, no major breaches. The artists, singers and soloists are the dominant half of the Bloodline; the Consumer caste has no representative on the Council of Stardust.
Neo-Elvisites: Servants and slaves to the King, these Kindred have adopted Elvis as the perfect manifestation of the Funk, and sleep in sequined white jumpsuits. The cult of Presley fervently believes that Elvis himself was the true Bloodline founder, and have through great application of their mortal influence and the power of Dominate captured every article of clothing, every possession Presley carried when he died in majesty on the commode. They bequeath these artifacts on one single mortal, a dupe Dominated to believe himself the next incarnation of Elvis. The Daughters hope that their "King of Graceland" will become the vessel of the spirit residing in Elvis's last outfit (via the power of the strongest manifestations of Meltorminee). Even the Malkavians regard these weird licks as a little "off."
Pipers: These kilt-clad Kindred are even more cliquish than the Tremere, if such a thing is possible. Their ties to their mortal ancestry are as important to them as their Kindred lineage, and they often isolate themselves from vampiric society and build up reputations in the anachronistic community. They usually play the bagpipes, very badly.
Western Front: A peculiar lesser Bloodline descended from "Bubba" Bryce William Brooks, an influential ninth generation Kindred in Nashville. Masters of Country Chic, the Western Front embodies all that is darkly twisted in the country music scene.
"There lived a certain man, in Russia long ago,
He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow
The people looked at him with terror and with fear
But to Moscow chicks he was such a lovely dear. . . .
"Rah, rah, Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen --
There was a cat that really was gone!
Rah, rah, Rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine --
It was a shame how he carried on!"
"What, you didn't know? That's the big secret of the Council of Stardust -- ol' Jack Wyeth, the founder of the bloodline--none other than the Tsar's mad monk himself. Least, that's what I hear. Seems he brought the court under his thumb with the power of Meltorminee, and that doesn't even count the jive he could pull when he was still breathing. Anyway, round the Fifties, he decided the best place to hide was in plain sight. Since Jacksputin got himself turned to a pile of dust, we can't get the whole dirt on him -- but that's the word I got."
Le Freak
Few Daughters outside of the Council of Stardust have matched Le Freak in sheer power. None know his sire; he has exhibited levels of Celerity that place him near the Council in Generation and called on the Disciplines of Fortitude and Presence in the past, but his grasp of the principles of Meltorminee mark him as a member of the Bloodline -- by adoption and mindset, if nothing else.
Fewer still have matched Le Freak on the dance floor. The masked disco kingpin made his first appearance in 1975 at the Gold Chain Discotheque in Houston, Texas, wearing a floral bodyshirt, garbadine pants, platform shoes and a swath of gauzy white fabric wrapped around his face, obscuring his features. Anyway, that night he won the Burn Baby Burn dance marathon by default -- after watching him dance with Celerity in effect, the rest of the contestants gave up. He's become the de facto representative of the Consumer caste, though to this day, nobody knows who's behind the mask.
Lady Marmalade
"Seeing her skin feeling silky smooth
Color of Café au lait
Made the savage beast inside
Roar till it cried More, more, more.
Now he's at home doing 9 to 5
Living his brave life of lies
But when he turns off to sleep
All memories keep, More, more, more
Gitchi Gitchi Ya Ya Da Da Da
Gitchi Gitchi Ya Ya here
Mocha Chocolate, Ya Ya
Creole Lady Marmalade
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
Voulez-vous chouchez avec moi?"
The only known antitribu of the Daughters of Schlockophony, the infamous Lady Marmalade holds her Haven in New Orleans where she brings her peculiar madness to those unfortunate mortals who cross her path. Like the Council of Stardust, she is one of the Childer of Jack Wyeth. Unlike the Council, Lady Marmalade has attained the sixth generation after Diablerizing an antitribu Malkavian -- and she has studied the power of Dementation. Lady Marmalade is amiable when it suits her, cruel when required, and without any sort of allegiance to the Camarilla or the Council of Stardust. She is seeking the Princedom of New Orleans, but has been thus far thwarted in her ambitions by her short attention span.