One night, one big bill in Williamsburg, with Sonic Youth guitarists sharing the stage with New England free blower Paul Flaherty and Anthony Braxton offspring Ty Braxton: North Six presented a big night of improv for a low ticket price.

First on the bill was Parts & Labor, something of a hardcore band replacing the vocals with a synth and proving why it's the singer everyone remembers in punk bands. The trio is capable of some garrulous, glorious noise, inspired by equal parts of Velvet Underground and amphetamines. Their set was helped along by bagpipe innovator Matthew Welch, an alum of the elder Braxton, who provided a bit offront line to the pound and squall.

Ty Braxton's relationship with his father would seem to be only genetic. His heavily looped guitar and vocals fell somewhere between Magical Power Mako and Terrence Trent D'Arby - dreamy and trance-like, ethereal songs, floating lines (and some clashing sounds) emanating from his Strat.

Jim O'Rourke seems to be picking up rockstar tips from his bandmate Thurston Moore (it's not too difficult to imagine them in front of the mirror in Thurston's bedroom practicing moves), and a cooler intro to his set you couldn't ask for: O'Rourke, stage left, a piercing feedback loop begins right when he lights his cigarette.

O'Rourke has covered a lot of ground over the years, but the rocker stance was something new. Playing a battle-scarred Fender Mustang knock-off, working the strings over with a screwdriver, he created a fierce overdrive, accompanying himself on a small plastic, heavily-processed keyboard. He jumped and gyrated, tossing his locks to the no-beat.

One never knows what's in store with an O'Rourke performance, but more often than not he does it quite capably. After two sets of meandering noise, O'Rourke showed a purity in noise controlled. It clearly wasn't to everyone's liking, however. He was doused by an audience member halfway through (and didn't flinch), and yells of "Fuck you!" and "Get off the stage!" weren't entirely drowned out by the appreciative hollers.

Paul Flaherty's set started without fanfare or introduction or, apparently, any need to warm up. Flaherty and drummer Chris Corsano breathed fire from the moment they hit, leaving the strings momentarily in the ashes. The fury of saxophone and drums seemed more than amplifiers could match.

Moore has never had the improv chops of fellow Sonic Youth guitarist Lee Ranaldo, but his marks for playing well with others have improved in the last couple years. It took him all of about four minutes to break a string, and once the muddy mix leveled off and he went from strum drive to tortured single notes, his playing was fairly strong.

Corsano's playing, on the other hand, is always strong, maybe too always. He has a William Hooker onslaught, the roar of which left little breathing for Matt Heyner's upright bass. Heyner, who also plays with the No Neck Blues Band, slapped like hell to compensate but is better when things are quieter. He stands up to Test, his quartet with Sabir Mateen, Daniel Carter and Tom Bruno, but stopped and started in spurts with this line-up. It did take him a good half hour, however, before he broke one of his strings (but then the low one).

The main attraction was Flaherty, who effortlessly rode whatever the rest of the band could put out. He plays a mighty tenor, fronting the group like a pink Pharaoh Sanders. Within the mayhem, Flaherty was calling the shots, the others (somehow) listening to and following his leads. Flaherty played with startling definition, even if the unbridled energy robbed (or was caused by) the rest of any subtlety.