Which is the best way to attract someone, a whisper or a scream? While the latter will immediately garner a response (i.e. irritation, scowls of "why is this person yelling?"), near-silent communication is mysterious, unnerving and causes all parties to calm down and lean in; maybe the whisperer is merely expressing "ouch, my vocal cords hurt from screaming yesterday", but he certainly has your consideration.
Betraying the fulminating idiosyncrasies of their instruments on the aptly named The Shade & The Squint, guitarist Barry Chabala and percussionist Lee Noyes delight in this form of declaration as they create suspended tautness from their shadowy musical cellar. A sequel to the group's Illuminati project, the two twenty-minute plus works continue an exploration of long-distance collaborations (Noyes in New Zealand, Chabala in New Jersey), blind edits and improvisations within the realm of extended "space, time and timbre".
Beginning with Noyes's reverent tap-drop-roll on "Yin (The Shade)", the duo crochets a meditation by politely burrowing into a spacious performance of judicious tinkering — that is, every gesture is prudent and well-placed. Sticks, knuckles, brushes, fingertips, rubber balls, eraser-on-paper emulations etc. join skin and metal, Noyes analyzing all areas of his drum and cymbal with creative kindness/coercion. Chabala guides a meager drone of lower frequencies with tone and volume knobs, gently runs a thumbnail across strings and manages fussy amplifier pots and pickups radiating near power strips. Form and development are determined by color and the otherwise meandering nature is purposeful due to gracious pauses; and with such an economic aesthetic, Noyes and Chabala can dramatically switch gears by introducing a single sound, as they do with a hollow breathy noise (blowing into hands over a snare?) at the thirteen-minute mark.
Working with even more concision, the duo removes the electrical hum and whirring scree, then pendulates between silent passages and punctuated atomic gestures (perhaps absence is the sentence and music the syntax?) on "Yang (The Squint)": Chabala coolly plucks open strings, or strums reverberating chords, or sits quietly while Noyes picks at rims, spins tops and wiggles objects; a momentary lapse of melody, someone clears his throat, end scene.
With extreme simplicity, intimacy at its most familiar and acute patience, Noyes and Chabala craft intrigue. They not only grab your attention but hold it with a dubious yet unexpected robust grip.
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