RENICK BELL IS standing in front of his computer at a small table in the middle of the dance floor. The stoic, bespectacled musician types quickly and efficiently, his eyes locked to his computer screen. Around him in a wide circle, the crowd bobs to his music. Sputtering tom rolls, blobby techno synths, and crystalline cymbal taps blossom and spill out of the theater's massive surround-sound system. All the lights are off, and the only illumination in the big room is the glow of Bell's monitor, the soft red LED backlight on his mechanical gaming keyboard, and a live view of his PC monitor projected on a wall-sized screen. Nearly every one of the hundred or so people in the room, myself included, is staring intently at the action playing out on the screen. But what's being projected is not some psychedelic animation, alien landscape, or whatever other visuals you'd expect to see at an electronic music gig. What we're watching is code. Lines and lines of it, filling up the black screen in a white monospace font.
