Caitlin and Ben cascade lights-on-lights-off over a yogurt of electronic wash-pulse (Ian Weiland). A drum kit was pieced together from a beer keg, the base of a metal lamp, buckets, requisite kicks and snares, and stacks of cymbals fit for garbage. Ben and Caitlin do not each play their own separate drum kit, but rather sit next to each other, sharing the intonated trash. Some contact microphones and an echo pedal are rigged up to the beer keg and lamp base, so every time they get the girth of a drum stick they ring off like some otherworldly gong. Then, all of a sudden synthesized kalimba joins the echo-cadence; everyone's in a three minute trance. Then Erik turns the distortion up on the snare drums WAY TOO LOUD but Ben and Caitlin like it, so they thrash.