http://dualplover.com/justice.htm

"Yeldham's live performance consists of grinding his face into a sheet
of mic'd up plate glass. It is hideous for a variety of reasons. One
is that the transparency of the glass means you get to view his face
all squished up against the other side of the glass like a kid on a
special bus wiping his nose down the window as you overtake them on
the motorway. Another reason is the sound really is quite nasty. The
resonant properties of the glass means as he yells onto/into it and
then pulls and squeezes at the sheet, the pitch of his voice wildly
varies and wavers and this in turn is run through some truly ugly
processing that makes it sound like a Dalek in it's death throes."

-Chris Summerlin on 151105 nottingham

"Blood. Noise. Broken Glass. KY Jelly. DJ Smallcock [justice yeldham]
is once seen, neverforgotten. Working at the bleeding edge of
performance art and noise terror mentalism with adash of carny
showboating, he screams and hyperventilates into contact microphones
while his laptop morphs the nightmarish results into inhuman
ring-modulated torture. This is a perfectly formed miniature that says
a great deal about the principles of performance, entertainment and
the wisdom of standing at the back."

-venue magazine on 081105 bristol.

"A writhing, contorting, nauseating, sensational
screamingfuckingbloodymess, the 33-year-old Australian glassjaw who
performs as Justice Yeldham And The Dynamic Ribbon Device has a show
so visceral, so alive, that it can move a room full of the most jaded
noisenrrds to gaping-mouthed wonderment. The pock-marked bloke born
Lucas Abela, mischievously takes the stage of Denver
avant-loft/noisenik playhouse Monkey Mania wearing a belt surrounded
by distortion pedals and a single contact mic limply dangling from a
wire. He squeezes a tube of KY Jelly all over his weathered mug and
into his mouth. He clicks on the pedals and presses he face to a
triangle of glass. Hideous black garglescuzz pours out of the speaker,
each yelp, hum and fart matching his face's disgusting rubbery
contortions. The sounds are inhuman, but their patterns are most
definitely familiar, a hyper-distorted screech-tantrum howling in
bone-rattling harmonies, all set to the bittersweet aroma of warm
lube. He leaps into the crowd, face twisted into apoplectic
distortions, and begins seizuring. And here is where everyone starts
flipping the fuck out. Abela gnaws on the glass like a lion gutting an
antelope. Each sickly crack jettisons through the distortion pedals,
blorts out the amp and is followed by the screams of shock, fear, joy
and various combinations of the three. The glass comes smashing down
on his face. He waits, panting, for the cheers and screams to die
down. His cheek is oozing blood from a sharp red line. His earlobe is
sliced open and spitting a steady stream down his neck onto his
KY-soaked shirt."

-christopher r. weingarten on 030405 denver

"It was louder than anything that had preceded it, and it had an
organic quality that demanded my attention - so I took a look. The
Australian stood in the middle of a semi-circle of onlookers, the DJ
and a hospita lgurney behind him. He wore a belt of effects peddles
about his waste which were wired to a contact microphone affixed to a
three foot long triangular piece of plate glass that was balanced on
one shoulder and pressed wickedly against his face with both hands. It
was like some perverse facial ham press. He blew into the glass like a
trumpet player trapped in a two dimensional universe, sliding the
glass back and forth across his face to change the pitch, vibrating
and adjusting pressure to alter the tambour. The sound was a
combination of the vibrations created by his manipulations and the
feedback from the amplification, and he truly played it like an
instrument. In totality, it was kind of like a cross between a dental
vacuum and a jet engine - two of my favorite sounds. The first cuts I
noticed were on his shoulder where hewas supporting most of the weight
of the glass. His tee shirt had been sliced in two or three places,
and a little bit of blood was starting to show. It was evident that
this was going to be more than anyone had expected, and to drive that
point home, he stuck the narrow end of the triangle as far into his
mouth as he could fit it - and bit down. Breathing through barred,
clenched teeth, a whole new sound appeared and then the glass gave
way, shattering in his mouth. Quickly spitting out what he could, the
larger, unbroken section of glass was again up against his face -
smaller now, higher in pitch and somehow more urgent. His mouth was
bleeding, and the distorted image of his face took on a new aspect of
horror as the blood formed an organic liquid gasket between man and
instrument. The intensity of the noise had not let up one bit, and
with a few quick twists of the knobs on his belt any sense of waning
was replaced by a new level of sound and violence. He bit the glass
again, removing another big chunk, and then returned to the "first
position," now with a piece of glass less than half it's original
size. Again, the sound advanced to a new intensity, and at this point
his entire face was red with blood that was mixing with his saliva and
mucus to drip in tendrils from his hands, chin, and of course the
glass. By this point, he was completely unable to stand still. The
focus and control of is initial stance was replaced by a twisting,
stomping, arching tangle of odd dance moves clearly inspired by the
drive to continue the performance to it's conclusion. The final
moments of the performance are hard to describe - suffice it to say
that there was no piece of glass remaining that was larger that two
inches in size. I was definitely left with an awareness that I had
seen something that was totally for real - and I know that I've been a
better person for it in the three days since."

-micheal SMITH on los angeles 050305

"A barefoot Australian in faded jeans and a beer shirt was strapping
on a belt of electronic devices. Two wires led from the belt. One was
attached to a large set of speakers and the other was attached to a
jagged piece of glass. This was Justice Yeldham and the Dynamic Ribbon
Device. The sound man turned on the power and the whole contraption
started to hum ominously. Meanwhile our shoeless bloke was squeezing
half a tube of KY jelly onto his face and into his mouth. The live
music performance was about to begin. He played the device by rubbing
his face up against the glass. The sound traveled down the wire and
into a set of amplifiers and distortion boxes attached to his waist.
This distressing music then came squealing out of the speakers at
incredible decibels, instantly deafening all other sounds. Eyes
widened in uncertainty and hands covered ears but he played on. He
played with agonizing passion, sliding his face against the glass
while flecks of KY jelly flew in all directions. The front row of
spectators inched backwards out of spray range and some fled
altogether. I was transfixed. As he glided his cheek across the glass
he played with the switches on his belt. The squealing noise varied in
pitch but never in intensity. It was like electrified teeth rubbing on
a blackboard. It was like uncontrolled guitar feedback played
backwards. It shouted of sorrow. It screamed of pain. It was art. Five
minutes into the performance and his mouth was cut by the glass as he
played the edge. Blood mixed with KY jelly in a red smear. More
spectators fled. The sound continued to attack us in volleys of crazed
noise until the final spike as he smashed the pane of glass. Then it
was over. I didn't know whether to clap, laugh or pray."

-Ravi Jeyachandran on 040604 beirut.

"PEELED HEARTS PASTE [justice yeldham] brought out a 3'x3' sheet of
glass and some substance, covered his head and fucking went NUTS,
screaming/ flapping/ cutting with the glass. after a few insane and
gross minutes he broke the glass over his head and used a large shard
as his instrument, smearing blood and goop all over the glass with his
face disgustingly smashed against it. did i mention he was barefoot
the whole time? fucking insane. glass all over the basement at this
point.. someone yelled "SUICIDE!" and it almost happened."

-greh on 061203 ann arbour..

"DJ SMALLCOCK [justice yeldham]: This guy runs a pressing plant out of
Australia called Dual Plover - the cheapest place to get your CD
printed in the entire world. Also a noise label. So I had taken him
outside earlier because I figured, he's like ten thousand miles from
home and would probably really like to get high. I'm asking him about
his tour and I'm noticing that there's something wrong with his face -
dried blood on the end of his nose and assorted scabs everywhere, and
I really want to ask him but I don't. I mean, what am going to say? So
he sets up barefoot: a contact mic run through three octave pedals, an
EQ, and something that looked homemade; the contact mic was stuck to a
piece of glass and the piece of glass was stuck to his face. He hummed
and vibrated the glass and the sound that came out was jarring - how
it could be that rhythmic and rich in that limited source was
impressive on its own. He ended his set by smashing the glass with his
face, blood running down his forehead, slivers sparkling on the stage.
Totally fucking amazing. I walked up to him after and brayed, "So
that's what happened to your face!"

-donna parker on 091003 boston