I stroll into SAT at 5:30, half an hour into Mitchell Akiyama's set and the place is packed to the tits. Deciding not to fight my way to the bar, I fight my way to the back and am fortunate enough to score a seat amongst the sea of incessant chatter. Like the Montreal Jazz Festival or any free event in Toronto, free music has a way of making fans of people. The mish-mash of personalities -- as varied in age and appearance as those from last Thursday at Ex-Centris -- enjoy their Happy Hour drinks as Mitchell Akiyama squiggles on. Conversation continues around the music. I read "Let it Blurt", a biography of rock critic Lester Bangs, as my contribution to the cocktail hour vibe.

These types of events make MUTEK difficult to gauge. Who comes to techno shows? If it's free, everyone does. But I doubt that the six year olds in attendance can save enough allowance from making their bed each day to save up for the newest Kompakt releases. So who comes to MUTEK? And when they come, do they know, or care, that Tomas Jirku scrapped his well known deep dub, Pole-ish approach in favour of a more slamming sound?

Coincidentally, Tomas Jirku is a major reason for me being here, which is certainly unbeknown to him. Once day last October, I made one of my regular visits to Penguin Music, where he was working, and he was playing a wonderful, Detroit-meets-Basic Channel techno concoction. At that point, I'd considered Kompakt releases to be a hit-and-miss series of highly abstract, irregular rhythms, sometimes lacking in melody and focus (I was somewhat confused and mixed up between Kompakt releases and those of its more experimental offshoot, Profan. So some of the qualities I attributed, in my mind at least, whether accurate or not, were attributed to Profan). I loved what Tomas was playing and bought it on the spot. That record was Jonas Bering's marvelous "Bienfait" and was easily the best thing I'd heard from the Kompakt family, which changed my perception of the label to the point that I bought and appreciated more of their work, and thus, the Kompakt label showcase (which includes Jonas Bering) was a major drawing point in getting me out to Montreal for MUTEK. Got all that? And my MUTEK peers -- what are their reasons for being here?

There's certainly the ambient drawing card, as I re-arrive at SAT at 9 PM sharp to find about fifty people already in attendance, many of them lying supine, bathing in lush ambient records. After some time, Olaf Dettinger's set begins. I used to always talk about the distinction between "warm" and "cold" ambient. Essentially, the labels are self-explanatory, with the former representing comfortable (including dubby) moodscapes and the latter focusing on isolationist ventures. My error was in pigeonholing all ambient into exclusively one category or the other. Dettinger's set drives home the exception. It's a beautiful blanket of sound, the sound of the night sky if it were filled with ten times as many twinkling stars (hence, the warmth) but also rich in lower harmonics and humming bass vibrations. And the volume seems to increase throughout, until it's downright intimidating, as the occasional stutter-stop rhythmic subtleties emerge to further throw off the body's sense of self-equilibrium (hence, the cold). And at 40 minutes, these feelings are all to fleeting, as in the meantime, the room continues to fill up and yet nobody budges an inch.

As expected, the place comes alive for Jonas Bering, who must have been getting the deep rub from his label brethren since the release of "Bienfait", because he bombards SAT with a set of funky, abstract techno (the "a" word is overused, but it's one I find difficult to avoid when it completely encapsulates so much of Kompakt's work) that bears little resemblance to said album or his recent 12-inches. In front of me, two French guys are standing and holding their drinks. One is wearing a turtleneck. They're trying to sway to the music as immeasurably as possible -- to project an image that they are too cool for all this music. Behind me, there are two women in formal wear. One of them sports a pearl necklace (Pearls Girl) and one wears a black dress that wears like a sash strapped over her shoulder (Black Sash Chick). They're dancing like pre-pubescent teenagers. To my right, there's a white guy with a huge afro (Fro Boy). He's not dancing. During the beatless moments between songs, people almost immediately stop dancing but when the beat begin again there's a hysteresis effect, as we the collective somehow take a good minute or two to get back into the beat. It's as if everyone's dancing out of instinct with their minds in some faraway place, and are relieved to have a breather when they hear the beats stop, but they have to look around and make sure it's not too unhip to recommence dancing. Whoa, did I fall asleep during Dettinger's set and wake up back in Toronto?

With that in mind, Tobias Thomas is a good four tracks into his set before he wins the crowd over. Which can't be blamed on him, as he treats us to a grade A selection of Cologne cuts, cavernously deep and yet equally lush. And he's a closet Britpopper, with a mop top haircut and a very campy Blumfield t-shirt (a French pop group, are they). Best yet, he dances during every second of his time behind the decks, which is something I really like to see because I do the same when I spin. Of at least I would dance if I was any good at spinning and could spend more time dancing and less time cueing records.

However, the nagging question that crawls in my mind during TT's performance is the question of why this showcase is headlined with Closer Musik -- a relatively new combo with but one 12-inch to their credit -- instead of one of the more established artists. But I was soon to discover that it was all in good sense and sensibility, because ladies and germs, Closer Musik are the WHOLE F'N SHOW.

They take to the stage looking like a couple of Germans (although one of them is Chilean, I know, but just go with me on this one). Polite Germans. Polite Germans wearing dark slacks and white collared shirts. Please insert snarky Kraftwerk comment here. With movie star haircuts. One of them has very short brownish hair and a round, babyish face (Babyface). The second, who bears a striking resemblance to Kraftwerk's Ralf Hutter circa 1977, has longer black hair with well-styled curly bangs, and hence is the Finely Coifed One. They break into simple electropop, which is probably all they *can* play from the antiquated look of their equipment. I look closer -- they've got a pair of 1987 Ataris and a sampler that looks like it was assembled on an episode of "Junkyard Wars". Are we having a Pac-man contest later on? Yow -- the Finely Coifed One is gyrating and styling like he thinks he's Tom Jones! And he's got a microphone!! And he's going to sing!!!

"Dah, dah, dah" he signs, aspiring to be the second coming of Hasselhoff. And people are going WILD for this stuff! Babyface and the FCO occasionally look at each other and smile. This is the most fey performance in the history of techno, which is sort of like calling something the most grueling performance in the history of croquet, or canasta, or dominoes. Does techno really need an injection of fey? I don't know.

"Whassup, whassup, whassup" sings the FCO, although it more closely resembles a cross between a croon and a whisper. Babyface often tinkers with the ancient computers. The songs are so basic, it's unclear what is keeping him so busy, but still, he tinkers. Later on, Babyface picks up ... an electric guitar! Everyone pops like balloons at the mere sight of the guitar. And to think, in 1994 it was a major controversy when Underworld had the gall to use a guitar in their live shows. They even used them to trigger samples. Some people were calling for their heads on silver platters because of this. And now Closer Musik bust out the six string and get huge cheers. The FCO warbles something about the stars while Babyface picks out the occasional melody over the simple backbeat and four chord accompaniment. I overhear Fro Boy saying that the point of all this is to "do the things that you're not supposed to do". How true, but somehow, however inconceivable it may seem, Closer Musik and their dinky, catchy melodies are fun-tastically brilliant. This may all go to pot and fall into a casualty ditch as did with Rephlex records' similar experimentations with electro-retro-futurism, but for now, this crowd adores them and they attempt an encore. Predictably, ironically and unfortunately, something goes awry with their aging sampler which prevents it from happening.

Tobias Thomas returns to the decks and revives the room (which had lost some hot air due to the downtime from CM's technical difficulties) with deep, but ordinary house music. Frighteningly, despite being presented with the most unremarkable music of the festival, it goes over better than a stripper on a battleship. Philippe Cam levels of insanity ensue, with the crowd going nuts during every breakdown. Pearls Girl and Black Sash Chick are having copious amounts of fun. I spot them embracing and kissing -- wa-hey, they're lesbians, COOL! But is it really true that the attendees of MUTEK have hearts that beat for house, while techno stands out only as their cheap, outer facade? Minimalism, bah! Breakdowns are the antithesis of minimalism. After 20 minutes, I'm about ready to give up on them and head out, but the tempos speed up, the music gets harsher, and with Dave Clarke's "Red 2", the transition is complete. We're in a hard techno zone. People still love it, although those pops are considerably quieter. So does anyone truly care about the techno, or is MUTEK just the best dance party happening this weekend? "The whole of MUTEK's programme can be seen as a long trajectory over five days" says the flyer, with its long words and purple prose digital smooth culture performance compositional organic textures abstract collage floaty pretty warm blissful rippling ambiance blah blah blah. Sure, until next weekend's rave, that is.

After a couple of hours of frenetic dancing, I depart, personally satisfied but disillusioned in the slightest.