It CERTAINLY was not the disco-pulse music that came over the sound system at the beginning of the privately taped proceedings. When would it ever stop, and why did the middle aged or even older onlookers (the tape showed them: I will later) not walk away from such canned pounding? (But strangely it DID stop…, and so did they, stay.)
Nor at first the play of airport powered strobe-lights that traced back and forth over the row of bewildered facades. That kind of killer strobe-wheeling is the calling card of all such big scale rock events, so there was nothing special about this. Except perhaps that it was implemented indirectly: through shadows whose exact machinery was hidden. The light itself ceased to be “on stage”; only the fantasies it perhaps overexuberantly put into motion, mainly as gearwheels, the latter something like a staple in the world of Cirque de Soleil and Ric Birch’s Spectak Productions Inc. Calling card remnants of Dali and Futurism? was it just delayed fad? A typical Postmodernist cliche whereby that most terrifying of Langian horrors becomes somehow part of an aesthetically intriguing bicyclular engine of almost religious signification, though we can never figure out what drives what or if indeed anything is doing more than (literally) spinning its wheels… frustrated movement?