In parts, you can hear the impact of Subotić's relocation to Brazil on Wayang. Where drums were relatively minimal across Offen Music's previous Subotić retrospectives, various layers of Brazilian percussion run through much of Wayang. Some tracks ("Wayang 02," "Wayang 06") recall the laid-back fog of trip-hop, shot through with chugging psychedelia and the hypnotic, loop-driven drums of late-era Muslimgauze. "Wayang 01" paces along around pitch-shifted, unintelligible chanting and glistening electronics, coming to a head via hollering vocal samples. "Wayang 11" looks elsewhere for inspiration. Its shaman-esque refrain and rainforest sounds eventually give way to an unfussy drum machine pattern that, despite its almost naive simplicity, offers the record's most patent nod to techno.
With no gaps between tracks, Wayang plays through as one collective piece. "Wayang 03"'s quick-fire hand drums, phone samples and bizarre vocals fizzle out seamlessly into the beatless "Wayang 04," which seems to look back to Subotić's work as Rex Ilusivii and stands as one of the record's most mournful moments. "Wayang 06" and "Wayang 07" are tied together by serene orchestral strings and a brief wave of birdsong. The latter, a kind of centrepiece to the album, is coloured by lavish violins and an imperious female vocal that echoes Vangelis' Blade Runner soundtrack piece "Tales Of The Future." It's yet another arresting moment in a record filled with grand gestures.