The percussion duo of Tim Barnes and Sean Meehan opened an evening of quiet music at the Quakebasket label headquarters, and played a beautiful set, Barnes with a fairly full kit (though never used as such) and Meehan with his trusty snare drum. On the whole, Barnes was more overtly percussive, often employing what I couldn't help but think of as a "tiddlywink" approach. That is, for example, he'd place a small cymbal on a drum and then, with another cymbal (or bowl or gong or whatever), exert pressure on its rim, eventually slipping off onto the drumhead with a satisfying *plunk* using much the same kinetics as one does when tiddling a wink. It not only sounds wonderful but, more importantly, Barnes has developed a strong spatial sense so that his choices as to when to thwack here or kerplink there were always both poetic and to the point. Meehan tended toward providing a drone with his by now patented technique of stroking a thin wooden dowel held perpendicularly on the snare itself or on a cymbal laid on the drum. He also produced high, eerie, whistling tones by carefully dragging a fork across the snare's surface and created some delicious crunchiness by rolling a dowel over some white granular substance (salt or sugar, I take it, though I resisted the urge to wet a finger and sample after the show). The range of sounds was rich and impressive, the interaction careful, restrained and endlessly fascinating. A superb set.

I get the strong impression that John Butcher has more sheer control over his instruments than any saxophonist I've ever heard. In a context where lack of absolute control is often valued, this can set up some interesting dichotomies. Happily, Butcher's musical judgments and choices generally obviate any concerns that his formidable technique might get in the way. Here. In duo with the fine and inventive harpist Rhodri Davies, he achieved the delicate balance between dexterity and musical thought that's increasingly rare on the contemporary improv scene. Beginning on tenor, he employed fluttering tones that would segue into overtones, back and forth, soft and loud, forming a dense, fluctuating matrix that, on its own, could easily enrapture the listener for any length of time. Davies, however, added significantly to the music, utilizing an e-bow for supremely delicate drones, bowing his Celtic harp while holding a tambourine against its strings and plucking sparse, koto-like figures. Again, restraint was much more in evidence than ebullience, though when they hit stride they were more than content to ride the wave for a bit. Typically, though, one or the other would cut things off before the groove became a rut, another unfortunately less than common feature of many a free improviser. Butcher and Davies ended at the absolutely perfect moment, leaving the audience convinced that there was much, much more that was held back.

The four joined for a closing set which took a while to gel, the units acting very like two duos rather than a quartet for the first 15 or so minutes. Gradually, though, fine plateaus were achieved, maintained for a moment or two, lost and regained. Once again, Barnes' fingernail pluckings of his metals was a highlight; on this night, he was master of the well-placed tap. Butcher intrigued by attempting to find a middle ground between fragmented noises and steady drones, actually producing something that approximated a melodic line here and there. It's an interesting problem as much improv tends to fall in one or the other camp and melody is usually suspect. How one negotiates this issue is something to listen for and concerts like this one show that there are musicians out there thinking about it. One of many reasons the show was so rewarding.

Lost Planet/Quakebasket on Spring St. is a comfortable room, a long, slightly narrow office with 40 or so seats, perfectly reasonable acoustics and some amount of shelter from ambient street noise. This was the second time I'd been there for a concert and I'm very much hoping it becomes a regular occurrence.