THE WOLF SKIN draped over the piano was the first thing I noticed walking into Yerba Buena Center for the Arts for the opening night of a two-week residency by Matmos. In the center of a big square room was an elliptical studio-living room, complete with extravagant chairs and grand piano. Tables were littered with computer gear, toys, and instruments, the stuff that has made Matmos a standout in the realm of artists who combine sound manipulations and heavy concept. This is not to leave out their odd ascendance in pop, producing and collaborating live with Björk. It's tempting to think of the recent Wire cover boys as advisers in the pop deity's court, edging her sonic template out into more extreme realms, but that would fail to acknowledge the duo's own highly developed pop sensibilities.

Having seen them perform on a few occasions since the late '90s, I sometimes found the conceptual burden of Matmos's music overdetermines the end results. Their 2001 album, A Chance to Cut Is a Chance to Cure (Matador), integrated field recordings and the sounds of plastic surgery, laying a creepy overtone on the affair. Interviews with the duo tend to break the concepts into layered cross-sections, the sample informing a story, a feedback loop of meaning assuming competency on the part of the audience.

This Yerba Buena residency – part of the "Four a Row" series celebrating the center's 10th anniversary and encouraging cross-genre collaboration – felt like a meeting of mission statements. Titling their installation Work Work Work, Matmos's M.C. Schmidt and Drew Daniel worked on music in a public setting and interviewed visitors, producing "musical portraits" based on their interaction. They also planned guest jams with friends such as Jim Haynes, Lesser, and Wobbly.

With an attentive audience mostly seated cross-legged on the floor, Matmos opened with the drone of a bowed instrument or a bagpipe but most likely the hurdy-gurdy credited to Schmidt on their new album, The Civil War (Matador). The song extended into a sort of medley of The Civil War's first two tracks, "Regicide" and "Zealous Order of Candied Nights." Mohawked bassoonist Ned Howey started to play along, and the percussion slammed down in an epic Celtic stomp. Tuba player Mark Lightcap, who has performed with Acetone, Spiritualized, and Hope Sandoval's Warm Inventions, joined in, and Howey yanked the reed out of his bassoon for some squawking.

The side players literally sat out the next song, plunked in the comfy chairs. This piece involved a massive video projection that started with a slow zoom in on the hammers inside of a piano. As the shot tightened, the room echo grew and minimal beats started to click and whirr. The image cut to a close-up of a finger running across the strings, dust flying, and then the accompanying sound and image sped up in reverse. While all this was going on, it was hard to pay attention to the performers. Schmidt was bent over the piano, plucking its guts, and Daniel was waving his hand over what could have been a radio or an optical theremin. The piano treatment wasn't in sync with the video, which was probably prerecorded, but then we are used to Matmos giving away their sources, as challenges not secrets. The video cut to a different angle of the hammers falling, slowed down and blurred like the demons in the movie Jacob's Ladder. We got another shot of a hand rubbing a paper clip on the strings, creating grating high notes out of scraping metal sounds. You couldn't help but focus on the disturbing length of the thumbnail bent under the piano wire.

The next song had Lightcap back on guitar while a new video started up with black-and-white footage of a Civil War reenactment and some photos from what seemed like real battles. It's hard to picture Matmos having much in common with Ken Burns, except for perhaps an obsessive work ethic, so I'm not sure what sort of metaphor they were attempting. It was hard to watch without thinking of PBS, so when the drum solo kicked in, I made the association with the drum and fife music on the recent Blues documentary series. A heavy bass kick was followed by flurries of feedback, howls of digital ghosts. An image of a blue-gloved hand clinging to grass made me think of the dragging murder in Texas, a recent civil rights battle. Schmidt and Lightcap ended with an acoustic guitar duet while the video camera zoomed out from the image of a boot to a skull-littered battlefield.