77BOADRUM at Brooklyn Bridge Park

“Seven is the number when we try to express sun as sound. When I glance at the sun, I see number seven” said Yamataka Eye, the mad genius of the Boredoms. He took position 0, the center of the solar flare, behind electronics and microphones and, most importantly, seven amped fret boards, each tuned to different chords. These could be played one by one with drumsticks, or a row at a time, or by hand. Positions One, Two and Three were the Boredoms drummers, each behind a three-cymbal drum set, including Yoshimi P-We, who battled pink robots. Then, radiating outward in a single spiral, were 74 more drummers. They wrapped around the circle three times before ending, position 77.

Cadences passed from the center outward. The band would start a beat and each drummer would pick it up, one by one, till it took over, a steadily building noise under a steadily diminishing noise. And Eye, in the center, could direct the drummers with a set of staffs. Hitting the fret boards with the blue-tipped staff meant that all the drummers would bang the cymbals and the kick drum The orange staff was a cymbal hit then stop. And the most important, a wooden spear with a trident top, that when hit told everyone to break down and play whatever the hell they wanted. When that trident hit, the whole world erupted in cacophony. Those staffs and the passing cadences were the only control the center really had over the whole; otherwise, once this miniature sound sun got started it just kept going. Eye kept it pretty tight though, an accomplishment considering the sheer ludicrousness of trying to direct 77 experimental-leaning drummers.

The way the drums were set-up meant the sound was different depending on where the listener was. From anywhere on the periphery there were three drummers between you and the center. When they changed cadences, like from a steady cymbal flourish to a steady beat, the noise would sweep over you at different times. You'd hear one noise begin to outweigh another only when those nearest to you took the new beat. And the moment when the wave passed right in front of you happened so fast sometimes you wouldn't even notice.

I was reminded of a long-standing installation at the Museum of Modern Art, a dozen or so speakers set up in a room, each piping out a single singer's voice. Together, they were a chorus. But walking around and between the speakers you could hear each voice individually, each color and tone and inflection. That's what 77BOADRUM was most like, a mass of individuality that somehow just barely becomes a whole. I wonder if the original design involved far fewer spectators, so they could walk around and wander while listening. You couldn't always tell where things began and ended from anywhere inside the park-the only people who could were either in the cherry-picker set up for video and photography, or up on Brooklyn Bridge.

But the sheer visceral energy of that noise, the tonal complexity, noise with a body, noise with fingers and teeth-it's not something one can describe, or reproduce. All those drum sets, different colors, different heights, some worn and battered, some new and oily-shining. And the drummers, all different. Young men in crew cuts steady beating, long-haired ones with limbs flailing, old men with scraggly beards, young women in jeans or skirts, a middle-aged woman in a sari, some barefoot, some rockin' in their socks. Some had perfect time, some were always late, some jumped. It was exuberant, over-the-top, orgiastic. And Sapporo was giving out free beer, which made it even more exuberantly over-the-top and orgiastic.

At the same time, it demanded active listening. You wouldn't at first notice how the cadences swept up and down the spiral, or how Eye commanded them, or be able to distinguish the signature sound of the drummer closest to you. But it grew on you as you watched, the complexity of it. Sure, you could just space out and dig the noise; you could also go to one of them run-of-the-mill NYU-dropout drum circles for that. An event like this isn't just dudes hitting things with sticks. This is, like, art.

Of course, it wasn't just the banging of drums all night. Eye punctuated the noise with screams and gargles, a few scant chords on his electronics, and of course those seven percussive fret boards. There really were songs, they really began and ended, even if there wasn't any silence between them.

The last Boredoms album, Seadrums/House of Sun, was criticized for being an unambitious turn towards hippie drumming and atmospherics; 77BOARDRUMS proves that hippie drumming doesn't have to be unambitious, or unintelligent, or unartistic. Eye was celebrating the sun, the number seven, the sound of drums, a numerological solar alignment, whatever, it was a celebration. What got across was an unforgettable event, a controlled cacophony, and 8,000 sore eardrums.