Like a lucid-dream during the peak of a decent LSD trip, the Fuerza Bruta experience is a confusing kick in the brain. I could rave about the over-the-top visual stimuli, the surreal sound-scape, or the cute nymphs splish-splashing overhead forever. But I would be hard-pressed to come up with anything that shitloads of other reviewers haven't already shouted from the rooftops.... if not for the extended "DJ-Connection" by NYC's "mack-daddy of mood" David Hollands.
Surprisingly the DJ-Connection isn't just a lame shtick to fill the auditorium on an off-night; Holland's DJ set actually linked the theatrics to the rave. Scenes of jarring gunshot wounds, exploding confetti, Blue Man Group stomping, and Matrix style wall-running, segued into a messy dance party lead by the aforementioned mood-daddy. After all that mise-en-scene, when shit finally began to make sense again, mood-daddy cranked up the choonz and the Daryl Roth theater began to piss on me. Not before checking the restrooms for a hand-dryer, I walked out to Union Square soaking wet. Did I mention its almost December and pneumonia has been known to kill. And the strobe lights!
Owing this experience to the generosity of New York City's rhytmism.com I was given the opportunity to witness a spectacle that makes up for the pneumonia.
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