If pop music is eating sweets bought from a brightly-lit mall, Turntable Hell was walking through a delicately scented pine forest.

Barefoot. With, sometimes, very sharp pine needles.

Wittily introduced by curator Martin Tetreault as The Cartridge Family, eight turntablists turned the notion of being a DJ on its head by using their decks as actual instruments.

This was done by banging, scratching and thrashing objects, including vinyl records, either on or with a stylus pick-up.

The end result was a cacophony of sound, which was organised into something that approached music but really worked better as a creation of atmosphere. Still, making music isn't the turntablists' primary aim.

They are more concerned with our preconceived notions of what music actually is.

Not that this was just any old racket. These people were virtuosos of their genre and it was intriguing to watch how they adapted their turntables to create particular sounds. At least, for a while.

On the whole. this felt like an experiment - the point of which I got fairly early on. After that, it became fairly repetitive, though chin-strokers of the world may disagree.

Not that it didn't have its effects. On leaving the venue, the usual sounds of a clicking door, footsteps and the screech of a seagull all took on a different significance. Rather worryingly, I found myself stroking my chin.

Review by Louise Ramsay