And so we get the diverse world of subway music, which most of us happily ignore. Yet the other day I had a pleasantly startling experience with it. I was walking through the 14th St. A/C/E station wanting to transfer to the L, dog tired and needing a beer, when I hear this very abstract simple figure played over and over again on a sax. “Wow,” I think. “Something about that tone is so conscious, so creative, so grabbing-me-by-the-balls.”

So I turn around and check the guy out. He’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, looks just like the typical subway rider. And then he poured out this stream of Coltrane channeling Bartok that really blew my mind, especially when he pursed his lips and played an actual chord on the sax, a painful squeal like elephants being tasered behind the scenes at the circus that was simultaneously as beautiful as a dewdrop on a cherry blossom. This, I would later learn, was Aaron Burnett.

One day later, I was happy to see the same guy setting up with a drummer at the Bedford L station in Williamsburg around eleven PM. I was there with my friend Al and we stood around to watch. Some local sleepyhead was in Aaron’s face right from the beginning, telling them they couldn’t make noise and that “A lot of people in Williamsburg don’t like music.”

Way to get the crowd rooting for you, man. People were literally shouting from numerous local rooftops for the little group to start playing. And so then they did.

With a snap of the snare drum and a squeal of the sax, the two players suddenly started peeling off blisteringly fast drum ‘n’ bass. I must say, only in the presence of Jojo Mayer have I seen a purely acoustic band create such hot music in this genre. And Mayer tends to play a little too closely to the book, a little on the cold side, whereas this was full of energy.

Five minutes into it, about a hundred people were standing around, camera flashes strobing and video cameras sucking up the vibes. Some local Polish kid in office wear came stumbling drunk out of the subway and started dancing like some kind of sexed-up go-go dancer, at one point going so far as to hump a nearby ATM machine. Aaron started pulling those sick chords out of the saxophone, and the crowd was literally screaming. The scene was openly more fun than the scene in any nearby club, and it was free. The path from the curb to the subway had been instantaneously transformed into something in between a fashion catwalk and a circus sideshow.

Such are life’s beautiful moments. A few minutes later, two donut-munching cops pulled up, responding to the complaints of the original guy who didn’t want the band to play. “You got a permit?” the first cop said, and the music ground to a halt. A boo went up from the crowd, but the cops weren’t going to play villain. They told the band not to stop but to move it to McCarren Park, which they did.

In short, Aaron Burnett put on the best impromptu street party music I’ve seen since, maybe Rude Mechanical Orchestra at the Mermaid Parade two years ago. But Burnett has a singular vision and an energy that’s different from the marching band scene, harder and more intellectual with far-out influences like Schoenberg and Squarepusher. Keep it up, Mr. Burnett. We’re glad to have you in Brooklyn.

From right: Chris Carter, Sleazy, Genesis P-Orridge, Cosi Fanni Tutti

I was lucky enough to see the seminal industrial band Throbbing Gristle last night. I’ve been a fan since high school and, because all the members are mostly dedicated to current projects like PTV3, Chris & Cosey/CarterTutti, and the Threshold Houseboys Choir, I never really thought I’d get to see all four TG members gristle-ize it on the stage together.But all that changed last night at a show at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple in Fort Greene.

A band like TG, known for defying every expectation in its initial run from 1975 to 1981, is going to have a hard time living up to that reputation. Additionally, in the late ’70s TG was innovating relentlessly, seeming to produce or inspire whole genres with every note they played. Again, that’s a hard—or even an impossible—act to follow.

I tried not to come in with impossible expectations and just listen to the music. The four members of the band seemed to be thinking the same thing, as they avoided the kind of bizarre performance antics they were once known for and seemed to listen carefully to the sound of their instruments and each other. Singer Genesis P-Orridge put a huge amount of energy into every song, stretching that cynical yet cosmic voice like taffy in old songs like “What a Day,” “Hamburger Lady,” and “Something Came Over Me.” That last one was a special treat to me as it’s a little obscure and one of my favorites. Meanwhile, Cosey hammered out abstract guitar grit with a slide, while Carter and Sleazy—in an oversize leopard-print robe—sat at a table full of implacable electronics.

The music sounded good but it was a little confusing that the bouncers came in and stopped people every time they started moving around. The combination of wild music and aggressive policing was a little hard to take—especially when one guy who was bouncing around in an obnoxious but harmless manner was literally carried out the door.

The Emeralds’ opening set was a treat as well. The three members of the group played a single long analog jam rich in grit, deep sawtooth drones, and sparkling processed vocals.