Translated by our pal Alan Cummings, anoyo no dekigoto could mean something like ‘happenings in the other world’: a phrase that captures the liminal nature of their performances, which seem to shimmer on a whole series of thresholds; the sensory threshold between sound and movement, the physical (or physiological?) one between audience and artists, the cause and effect of their actions and movement. For this improvisation, Takahashi uses tens of small personal alarms and oscillators, which once all going teem in an insectoid, swarming threnody that alters with even the slightest movement on your part: a cocked head enough to set off a whole other drone. Over these he slowly introduces intense but sparsely placed percussion: perhaps just a snare drum, belted with the heel of a hand, the drumhead pressed under a thumb. Muronoi’s wraith-like improvised dance, building from the Butoh tradition, feels like a channeling of energy, from her surroundings and the sound that fills them, directly to (at?) the audience.