Con Lab performing as part of the Bushwhack Series at the Bushwick Starr. See more photos>>

“Whimsical” is a wonderful word. I have a friend who was just offered a job at a design company with the word “whimsical” actually in the job title: “Whimsical Creative Director.” The word means “given to whimsy—fanciful or eccentric,” but also refers to something that is subject to erratic behavior or unpredictable change. For his job, I imagine the word means that he is expected to revolutionize the status quo by infusing it with downright nutso ideas that will scare stockholders but hopefully attract a new wave of attention from the un-pleasable, un-shockable, yet tirelessly new-newness seeking public.

The “Bushwhack Series,” the first annual Bushwick-based performance festival which took place this past weekend at the Bushwick Starr, was wholly whimsical—fanciful, eccentric, and entirely unpredictable. It pleased me, and shocked me, and was so new-new it almost smelled new. To clarify, the works were new, but the performers, creators, and curators were clearly seasoned pros.

This night of extraordinarily diverse works managed to be both divergent and broadly engaging. It began with a dance (at least night 2 did). Ann and Alexx Make Dances like to present dance in spaces that challenge convention. With the audience cross-legged on giant teal and coral cushions on the floor, and the four dancers in the all-reserved risers, the roles were confused, and the eerie staccato music began. You know that feeling when you stick your hands in a bucket of dry beans or grains and you start squeezing and writhing? Then imagine three more people stick their hands in and you all start writhing together in the beans or the grains, and the sensory input just makes you feel like you might implode? That is more or less how I felt during this 20-30 minute dance which involved climbing and rolling on top of each other, throwing bodies into chairs and walls, tearing, sliding, clapping, screaming and sitting.

Do Elephants Dream of Eclectic Sheep? followed. Do they? Do I? That’s not entirely the question I don’t think. For me the question is how can puppets make me cry? How can an egg rolling down a newspaper mountain, smashing on the floor, egg guts dramatically spewed, make tears well up in my eyes? It’s an egg. And I don’t cry in public. But the brilliant cohesion of chariots of fire-esque music, sputnik-like-mini- egg-techno-climbing-gear-a-trois, and how midway, as if it wasn’t challenging enough for three eggs to climb a 20 foot 45 degree angle, huge newspaper snowballs started shooting down upon them from above, and this all made me just well the hell up. When the lone egg made it to the top, a mini triumphant flag was raised, but there was melancholy in the air and it made me think of all the things we will lose in this journey called life. Eggs did this to me.

This post is getting long, so I will try to be less long-winded with the rest, though they by no means deserve less wind. There was a tragic Madame Butterfly aria set in a Bushwick kitchen performed by the superbly talented soprano, Abby Acero. This was followed by a site-specific “lecture” of sorts, from the National Theater of the United States of America, which involved an utterly engaging slideshow on relationships—time, space, biology, money, ecosystems, Bushwick. As part of this eclectic performance, there were also leggy-dances, a real nature woman, men in tights fervently wrestling (you could feel the heat), and full-frontal nudity. The show ended triumphantly with a piece by ConLab, an interdisciplinary arts team, Bushwick based. The piece involved a basketball game, “performed” outside (when the weather permitted) under stadium-esque lighting. The spirited two on two game was accompanied by music from a personal favorite, DJ Crisis, and narration by two commentators with highly relevant and inspiring social messages delivered in sportscaster cadence.

On the way home, Anna and I saw a pile of dog poo with a little American Flag stuck in it on Wyckoff and Starr (part of a movement?). Not entirely unpredictable but whimsical nonetheless.