Three decidedly nerdy gents move onto the small stage, each carrying two or three potted cactus. They set the succulents down and go back for more gear returning with high-tech amps, ancient looking cords and a lot of gaff tape. It's art almost just watching them set up -- abstract art for sure though. But they time their done, maybe twenty minutes have gone by, the set up is like no other band in the known galaxy, the one concession to modernity a small computer sitting atop a stool, with many or the cables hooked up to it. Each musician has a rolling stool, and is surrounded by their cactus. The band "leader" stands in front with a tall and extremely phallic plant full of long spines. He's holding a smaller round cactus with clusters of short stiff spines in one hand with a violin bow in the other. Next to him, a short plump man sits on his stool one hand on the computer the other gently brushing the spines of three identical bifurcated cactus, the spines faint twanging audible even without amplification. The final band member is a micronized zentran with grey skin and green hair, sitting crosslegged on the ground holding a 12" pot cradled in his lap. To his right and left are smaller pots, each with star-shaped flowering cactus, the 12" pot has a bulbous furry-bristled plant. His face is stern and serious, the padded mallets held aloft waiting to beat on the round plant.
The leader taps the microphone, "Test test? Okay, what we have here, is not an arranged piece of music, what we'll be performing is a collaboration between all of us, the cactus as much involved creatively as the rest of us. I'm Adeen, to my left is Ichiro, and to my right is Eins. Now, if you'll bring down the lights." The room goes dark, mostly, the stage is still visible with the performers dark shadows moving. Lorne's voice can be heard again, "Ichiro, do you have control?" The short man's voice is surprisingly deep, his response almost booms throughout the cafe, "Yes. We are ready. I am in control of the system. On my mark. Three, two, one, MARK."
All three of the performers dive onto the cactus, the disco ball coming to life filling the room with sparkling, moving points of light. The sounds coming from the cactus are strangely rhythmic, although some describe the sound "a squirrel scrabbling on a metal roof in a hail storm". For ten minutes straight, the trio bends, bonks, plinks, plunks, plugs, strums, massages, even bites the various cactus before showing any sign of pausing.
Language:
