Watching Maya Carroll -The Instrument perform Night Glass Day Mirror is like watching two people move in and out of a nightmare or bad trip. The soundscape is created on stage by Roy Carroll and consists of a cacophony of loud pops, feedback, scrapes, and other distorted percussive gestures. Maya moves in precise spasms as she seems to interact with the visions of a disjointed reality. The musician and dancer are interacting, maybe even communicating, but we are unable to decipher the language or their psychotic break. Occasionally, the perceived chaos is broken by pointed moments of alignment between the two.

At one point, the madness stops. As the reverie dies down, the two seem to wake. They move about the stage in a childlike fashion and do their best to connect. Being unable to find a shred of the chemistry from their previous manic collage, they eventually give up. They then re-enter their dark, frenzied, nightmare to escape the mundane, to gorge on madness.

But they drink too deeply. The music solidifies and thick chords of synth-organ emerge. During this sonic transformation, their way of being in this world is slowly taken away from them. First the dancer’s feet are consumed by metal. Then the musician’s hands succumb to the same fate and both must crawl their way towards their dark god. As they search for salvation, the light fades, and the two fanatics are left lying broken – bathing in the eerie glow of their master.