As the pair started playing, Gould using live instrumentation and Edwards manipulating these sounds and using electronic samples, you realised that the two had been playing together for a long time. The two musicians played off each other extremely well, building their sound slowly and tastefully. Edwards would play cello samples and create intricate and complex soundscapes as Gould would plod along on the piano with perfect restraint.

Many of the vocal tracks were be played through the boombox, giving the singing an eerie and distant feel as the music built and morphed around it. Some parts of the show were exceptionally beautiful and touching. It took me a long time to realise that they were playing pop songs. At the point where I realised that Beyonce’s Halo was being played, I was humbly humoured.

One of the things I enjoyed most about Musical Thoughts For A Darkened Room was that nothing was ever too flashy and there was no need or place for ego driven parts. Sometimes Edwards would drop a large beat over the top of everything, at times it could have seemed too much but it would never linger too long or be too fleeting.

Visual artists Lisa Stewart and Rachel Feery, who in addition designed the set, did the lighting. Next to the musicians was a mountain of blankets, which slowly lit up in different colours, with the colours seeping on to the wall. At times it looked like a striking sunset and sometimes like a big pulsating blue stone.

Musical Thoughts For A Darkened Room was a comfortable and engaging hour of aesthetically pleasing sounds and sights. I recommend this show wholeheartedly.

The first group, Williams and Hayes had a great undulating rhythm through wades of squeals and howls. For the most part it sounded like an intergalactic motorcycle race.  Despite a few nice subtle hooks, the squealing noise became a little obnoxious and unenjoyable.

To follow was VICMOD Ensemble, a Melbourne based collective of synth lovers. The set started with what one may call a three-man battle with incorrectly connecting to dial up Internet. It built slowly and tastefully to a point where it sounded like two aliens on opposite sides of a metallic corridor yelling at each other and then coming to a thunderous end.

Cray was next and was easily my favourite of the night. Starting with a bubbling and bleeping jungle sound, it sounded as if a giant beast was waking. Slowly adding layers and layers over this, the sound morphed into what I could closely describe as haunting classical music. I felt Cray had a method to his madness, and in method, I mean pop sensibilities and a desire for interesting melody.

Next was Cor Fuhler, a Dutch performer, who had an autoharp on one side of his electronics and a small radio on the other. In a creepy yet enjoyable way Fuhler wavered in and out of radio broadcasts and the autoharp chimed on through walls of electronic noise.

Last was the gloriously bearded Robin Fox, who played long wavering synth lines, which rose and fell slowly. It built in intensity like the inner soundtrack for a psychedelic deathtrip until reaching massive shudders of noise working as a beat. The noise was thick and moving, much like a strong motor backing off then coming on harder. This peaked at an almost inaudible bass purr that shook the room.

Electronic Abstractions may not have been the most comfy of performances, but it was certainly interesting. I was surprised to find myself constantly thinking of Electronic Abstractions and now I have a deep urge to play a vintage analogue synth.