"The 8-bit Adventures Of Theramin Barbie"

Well, about five hours ago I got in from a gig. Of course, as a drinker of the Creative and Contemporary Arts, what constitutes a "gig" is essentially any time I go to watch people belittle me with their far superior creative minds, ideas, attitudes and approaches to the world around me. Case in point, the Modified Toy Orchestra.

In case the name wasn't self-explanatory enough for you, the Modified Toy Orchestra is an electronic art-music group, who create sounds with... wait for it... modified toys.

This means that, rather than going to watch your favourite singer and chanting along to their raw, easy-going, coffee shop lyrics (or of course getting involved in a moshpit so much you smack you head on the moshing head of the person next to you and bleed profusely for hours long before you care to notice there's anything wrong, by which point you're most likely dead anyway), I was instead treated to a heavy-droning, bass-laden feat of magnificence that somewhat resembled the closest we're ever going to get to "The 8-bit Adventures of Theramin Barbie".

On come the group, led by a man looking and sounding somewhat like a similarly-aged Rufus Hound, dressed in black and each positioned at a table full of electrical sound-emitting equipment ready to let the magic happen; imagine Kraftwerk, except less German... and with a Speak'n'Spell.

The evening didn't go without its upsets, mind. The "gig" took a good 40 minutes to get started after one fuse decided not to work and the replacement fuse decided to interrupt the opening song Black Star with an impromptu bang. Still, we got to see the behind-the-scenes technical roadie magic happen, which informs us of how the real magic happens. Turns out it's not magic, but in fact three audio decks (or whatever they're called), 703 cables and a shit-a-watt of electricity. Luckily, we managed to get back on track and waited with baited breath for the next technical fuck-up; one which, fortunately, never came. (Actually, that's a lie. The projections of the screen froze during one of the songs so we never got to see the forbidden love story featuring a stuffed toy elephant.)

So in the end, the Black Star shone through, and a hella load more electro-tracks filled the ears of the full house, and even perforated a few eardrums (probably) when a wee volume-orientated oversight meant that, while the guy was trying to promote the album, we were presented with a delightfully brain-scraping squeal from something that was once probably a drum, xylophone, or even "the cow says 'moo'" button-pressy-educational-thing. Then prompted that the album we're here to plug was called Scream If You Wanna Go Faster, this was later revealed to be a lie, and that limited edition copies of Plastic Planet would be on sale straight after the show and, as a bonus for simply showing up, the price was lower than normal.

As a student with all of negative-fifty-two pounds to my name, and a hypothetical one-pound-sixty on my person, I remained cautiously optimistic that this "discount price for theatre-goers" would swing in my favour. Naturally I did not rest all hopes on this, and it's a damn good job I didn't when I saw the Arial Bold instructing people to part with £12. In scenes reminiscent of a bazaar in Eastern Morroco (except with better indoor facilities and Contemporary Arts), I did witness some haggling going on, where I'm sure one copy was let go for a tenner because nobody could be bothered working out change, as well as someone trying to pay half-cash half-Argos Gift Card, pointing out that there was probably at least a tenner on it.

Well, technical difficulties happen, heavy bass vibrates your every being, and LeapFrog pads can be customised to sing only the syllables of Mary Had A Little Lamb you want them to. I've embraced the sounds of the evening as I embrace all kinds of new and experimental music I hear for the first time. And once I have money to my name (or at least my bank account), I'll be another follower of the Birmingham science-geek-fest. I feel it's fitting to round this off with a quote, and who better than me himself:

"They're absolutely mad. I love it."