Three

Hidden just west of the always fragrant Gowanus Canal, the Project Room is two cylindrical buildings side-by-side with a sprawling back yard and a wrought iron gate. I’d live there if I could.

Meanwhile, a man stalked the perimeter of the second floor room, gently pointing his trombone at the audience. The PA could have been a bit louder, but even still walls of didgeridoo and horns came pulsing from the speakers. Technical difficulties cut the first piece in time with a CD player’s untimely croak; all the while footage of Asian field workers plying their crafts flickered against a bed sheet on the back wall.

People dozed next to me. Rude? Possibly, or very well just a sign of the moment. Not to be bothered, Phill Niblock sat in a chair in the middle of stacks of equipment, nodding his head and occasionally sipping a drink.