With the election of Gerald Ellon to the office of the President of the Republic the whole atmosphere darkens as people begin to starve on the streets and cops bash brains on without a warrant. You go dark yourself. Wearing all black to your gig, applying dark paint around your eyes. A sinister jazz man for sinister times. You are not getting but seven gigs a month now but you are still surviving and you are starting this whole strange dark Mutant jazz thing.