A young black man with a mouthful of bright white teeth stands onstage at Greenwich Village's (le) poisson rouge in late March, shadowboxing. He bends down to his laptop and grins. Two projection screens behind him flash visual noise: pylons, static, colliding shapes. The guy—Steven Ellison, a/k/a Flying Lotus—snaps upright and starts doing a zombie walk with his arms out in front of him. His eyes swell. A hippie-ish kid with his hair in a bun tries to dance, but the beat is too unsteady to follow: It twists, splatters, and collapses. Bun is out there like a suffocating fish and tries to make body-language conversation: shrug, shrug, shrug. He wants to know what his feet are supposed to do with this shit. Really, there's nothing to be done,... More >>>