October 18th, 2009
Seattle, WA
As Leah Buckareff quietly sat in the front row, attentively watching her partner in Nadja begin his tinkering, the crowd politely grew still and began the absorption process into the drone of Aidan Baker.
Nadja happened to be passing through Seattle on this rather sunny fall Sunday but Dissonant Plane only entertained notions of showcasing the solo talents of Baker, whose 100+ releases litter the landscape of limited albums and small-run labels. Baker did not disappoint. Armed with an old suitcase full of pedals and a wonderfully uncomplicated electric guitar, Baker began to unfold layer upon layer of drone, leaving no octave, stanza, or riff untouched. To call Baker a guitar player--at least in terms of the evening's events--would be a bit presumptious; rather, Baker is a string and knob manipulator. Each strike and turn, while minimal, was also extremely calculated as one idea bled into the next. The intimacy of Dissonant Plane only fueled the intimacy of Baker's creations. With each subtle shift in sound, the audience mimicked by changing their positions in an attempt to recenter and recapture the vibe.
If it is performance you are after, there was none to be found in Baker's motif. Despite a history of putting the doom in metal and the drone in experimentation, Baker's report is not with the audience but with his machines. While many would find this cold--perhaps a turn-off--it is in fact a main component of connection. No one has to focus on a personality, instead their mind must hone in on the sounds. There's a reason why this sort of music draws the crowds it does; the isolationists, the pontificates, the bedroom magistrates. Yet drone, especially in the agile mind and surgical fingers of Aidan Baker, is communal. We were all separate before and after the show but for those 30 minutes of music, we were one with the sound waves.
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