Screaming, pulsing waves of electronic frequencies sliced through my every molecule for the sake of cultural experience. I'm not one to mince words, and Microwave Windows' set at Bridie Gannons on 4-20 kicked the snot right out of Tarpon Springs. She didn't see it coming. The sonic onslaught began with textured analog synth manipulated through a table-full of junk processors and effects. The sound echoed off every corner of the irish bar and shook up the complacent crowd. The guitar pulsed repeating ooze out into the windy Tarpon Springs night and chimed with ecstasy at every face turned to delight or retching. All of a sudden, this hip old lady, drunk, at the bar starts yelling "It sounds like fucking Star Wars!" while textured samples of American dialogue began shitting out of the speakers. "Kill-Kill-Kill-K-Kill Iraq Iraq Kill Iraq" stumbled over the other sounds flowing throughout the room. Apparently, all of this cacophony caused the bartender to shit his pants. The frequencies removed the control of his bowels and he had no faculty over his normal excretive functions. He motioned to turn it down-and it was turned down a little... but like a good Ravi Shankar mind fuck, the momentum builds upon itself organically until someone either gets it or tells him to turn it off. Sadly, the bartender with shit in his pants pulled the plug on Microwave Windows. This set exists only in the memories of the few who attended and the nightmares of the shit-stained bartender, but it was worth every second. Windows of perception opened for me over a Rolling Rock in a nice little bar with the sound of the apocalypse pounding and chiming while the textures ebbed and flowed through each and every one of our beings... whether we welcomed it or not.