Trans Pecos was dark inside, which is pretty usual for backdoor-style venues in Brooklyn, and had a bunch of hidden and mysterious passageways, doors, and windows outlined in the shadows, throughout. Sam Hillmer was serving beer in a side corner room. The fellow from Words+Dreams, Matt, was DJing 100% Silk and DJ Clap in the play space, and was pretty much the only person in the room. People ended up showing around an hour later, which [again] is pretty usual for backdoor-style venues in Brooklyn.
A table is set up by the sound guy — I think it was the sound guy — and electronic junk and wires were dumped upon it. Two dudes donned the play-stage area and began trying to put all these electronic bits and pieces together on the table using cassette tape reels as adhesive and CDs and records as stabilizers for their concoctions. Assuming it was LAMPGOD & **Ł_RD//$M$, I snapped a picture, and immediately after, a projector screen blinked on and a mixture of VHS recorded clips began to shuffle through at random: vegetables, women working out, old science videos, sunsets, prepared meals, traffic, passenger-view driving, animals running and raring, skateboarders, etc. Then, creaking out of outlined shadow passages of the venue, emerged (in sync with the music and practically choreographed) seven or eight women dressed in Nike neon-tight workout gear from the Jazzercise-era of the mid-90s.
While (presumably) LAMPGOD & **Ł_RD//$M$ ripped through the guerrilla electronic style of mind-hack mixture, as heard on their **$$EXT8PE, these women began to aggressively tear each others’ clothing from their bodies, revealing that they were animatronic beings. At their elbows, knees, hips, and shoulders were lines revealing dips in their circuitry as they grinded into every nook and cranny on their automatic bodies, flowing mechanical clear fluids upon the crowd and drenching LAMPGOD & **Ł_RD//$M$. This measure of liquid made it seem as though their mix sparked more transitional initiative, finding further development by way of sampling worlds and dimensions. VHS images projected over all of this, making the visual of this reality seem as though it were an impulsion of color and shapes and noises.
As one dimension opened up another, the real world collapsed and out emerged a vision of Weller-esque RoboCop, wielding an enormous lazer; the pile of humping lady-bots behind LAMPGOD & **Ł_RD//$M$ parted and made room for the sci-fi being, swarming his existence, and is swallowed in the mound of fake flesh. The mess of orgasm climaxing as the music began its end, members of the display individually wobbled and/or crawling out, weak, finding their ways back into the passages from which they came. RoboCop had disappeared within the logic of things, yet the eye strip from the bot’s helmet has somehow been integrated into the LAMPGOD & **Ł_RD//$M$ installation. All at once, the music completed, the VHS fried out and smoked the projector, and the two fellows picked up their pieces and left the court. The audience, now packed, has been left in awe, and makes its way to seats within the venue.
