THERE ARE JAPANESE train fanatics. I have no idea if they constitute a major segment of the population, but there's enough interest in the market to generate DVD packages. I don't know where the DD14 line goes, or if it's for freight or commuters, but I do know it can't get through unless an advance snowplowing train clears the tracks.

I'm not particularly into trains, and I've never been to Japan, but watching this DVD has a hypnotic effect. It's technology in a Sisyphean battle against nature's entropy, or maybe it just looks like a postcard. I can see it as a subgenre of reality TV, sort of like porn for people obsessed with the Weather Channel.

I have to thank the men of Matmos for this particular insight. They were the guest DVD projectionists conducting the aforementioned snow train imagery for multimedia electronics powerhouse Sagan at the Hemlock Tavern. The 15 people present for the set, which followed Long Beach Christian rap-electronic wastrel Bizzart, were perhaps as confused as I was.

If you've seen Sagan before, it was most likely at an artsy space with interactive video components by Ryan Junell, as the cold glow of computer screens reflected off the faces of Sagan members Jay Lesser and Bevin Kelley. This was the first time I'd seen them since the addition of sampler maestro John Leidecker, a.k.a. Wobbly. Junell was in New York City shooting footage of the Republican National Convention for a video project, and while his absence was noticeable, I heard his trip was worthwhile because he managed to get into the convention and was handed a "Girlyman for Arnold" sign, which apparently made it onto some major media outlets.

Sagan shows are usually a little "drier" than that evening's. The music – a mix of drones, occasional beats, and manipulated audio tracks from their videos – is always solid, if a bit distant. I'd heard only the audio portion of their forthcoming CD and DVD, Unseen Forces (Vague Terrain), and it's a mighty meld of Cosmos-inspired organic space sound and the heavy digital crunch that its individual parties are best known for. One could be forgiven for thinking of this "band" as some highfalutin art concept, but Sagan have a strong, latent sense of humor.

They were a looser unit than usual, which isn't a bad thing for an improv group. Kelley, a.k.a. Blevin Blectum, was particularly vocal, demanding that we "get on the snow train!" Looking through my notes later, I discovered I had jotted down that she said, "The itching is gone!" I have no idea what that's about. The trio never really looked up at the screen, as Lesser played bass, which was run through some effects and a mixer, and Leidecker fiddled with a guitar, but the drones and slow, building sounds went well with the slow pans and tracking shot of a train plowing through what looked like powder.

It was hard not to think about the relationship between the band and the video at hand. Maybe the stern conductor was like the usually straight-faced Leidecker, who that night seemed to be wearing an exasperated "what am I doing here?" smirk. What seemed comical to me and the rest of the audience about the snow train video was its maker's extreme obsessiveness, I hope, rather than a Lost in Translation-type mockery of Japanese culture. Maybe the Japanese train enthusiast getting excited about the DD14's route has something in common with the electronic music fanboy or fangirl trying to figure out the correlation between those flashing red lights and bars on the performer's screen and the pings and clicks booming out of the house speakers. There are plenty of people who would be baffled by either pursuit. At one point, when the sounds built to a consistent heavy throb, a bartender from the main room popped in, looked around at the barefoot Kelley and the hunched-over boys with their boxes, and just shook her head.

Lesser's sludge dirge bass probably phased out through the plywood sound barriers between the live music room and the bar, and by rights, everyone's drinks were undoubtedly rattling. In my seat I could feel the rumble. There were choppy keyboard melodies, a fragmenting, stuttering voice, and an ominous beat, which I think signified the close of the set.

Leidecker messed with a live end of a cord, letting the hum fade, while Kelley and Lesser seemed like they would keep going, fading samples and feedback in rhythmic arcs. The DD14 rolled to its final stop, and a conductor broke through the layers of snow encrusted on his carriage. He waved a green flag. I didn't know exactly what that meant, but I got the idea. Sagan perform Sept. 24, Bottom of the Hill, S.F. (415) 621-4455. (George Chen)