For many people, “the Fringe” means Rundle Street and the East Terrace parklands, and the chance to catch big-name national and international acts, often comedians. Sadly, this means many smaller venues and acts miss out, which is a great shame – digging a little deeper reveals nooks and crannies all over Adelaide filled with surprising and delightful performances, many of which defy easy categorisation. One such show is Lahara.

Part art installation, part electronica gig and part movie, Lahara takes place in the “liquid universe” and tells the story of “a Trilobite Space Gypsy who, due to his gambling debts with the Gods, has to undergo a quest to liberate a flock of Windfarm Battery Chickens from the slavery of an Evil Dude: ‘Ed’, a manipulative genius who is using the energy created from the Windfarm Chickens to help build an army of malevolent animal/machine hybrids in order to take over the Universe.”

This tale requires a singular blend of music, film, shadow puppets and the spoken word, and each element is woven together into an intricate whole. The digitalised shadow puppets are projected directly onto a large screen, giving them a sort of hyper-realistic appearance, with very defined, sharp edges. This also helps them stand out against the intricate patterns and scenes appearing on the screen behind them.

The puppeteer is visible throughout the whole performance, and cleverly incorporates real world props into the performance – a barrel sitting on the stage is an integral part of several scenes, with characters hiding and popping out at will. Another highlight is a literal fist-fight, the puppeteer using her hands to simulate the climactic battle between Yatlove the trilobite and his nemesis, Ed. Throughout the action, the ever-present music conveys a real sense of a journey taking place, laced with moments of danger and humour.

It would be a mistake, however, to focus on a single element – Lahara is above all an immersive experience, meant to wash over you all at once. The beating hearts, waves, fractals and colours projected onto the walls surrounding the audience are a constant presence in the corner of your eye, but never pose a distraction. It is very easy to become engrossed – I hardly noticed time passing.

The Lahara performers, talking with me after the show, explained that the performance is meant to be open-ended, allowing for people to read different things into it. They are very aware of not spoon-feeding their audience, even though some people would prefer a more concrete narrative. Then again, they informed me, another common response from audience members is that the performance isn’t abstract enough!

This is the true beauty of the performance – everyone who attends will walk away with a different impression. I picked up references to the dangers of corporate control, factory farming, global warming, and overpopulation, as well as several amusing sci-fi references. Other audience members may respond more to the spiritual elements of the show, or the superb musicianship on display, or the outstanding shadow puppetry. The artists themselves are also keen to encourage discussion after each show, which gives audiences a chance to explore the concepts raised in more detail, or ask specific questions.

I can certainly see how the performance would not be to everyone’s taste, but I was captivated. I highly recommend taking the time to wander off the beaten Fringe path and spend an hour taking in this little slice of another world.

Conventional wisdom suggests that when attending a dinner party, certain topics of conversation should be avoided – religion, politics, money and sex. Xavier Toby feels differently. In Binge Thinking, he chronicles his attendance at the dinner party from hell, and in the process gives his considered and coherent take on the “de-evolution” of critical thinking and intelligent conversation in modern society.

His fellow dinner-party guests, a mix of bogans and middle-class battlers, all well-off and conservative, were represented on stage by various types of alcohol, an amusing way of personifying some of the attitudes that exist in Australian society.

Toby ridiculed their obsessions with feature walls, share prices, mortgage repayments and baby clothes to great effect, though much of the humour relied on broad stereotypical associations – the Coopers longneck didn’t have particularly refined views on immigration, for example, and the box of wine was even less in favour of embracing multiculturalism.

You might argue that such attitudes make for easy targets, and there were certainly elements of the show that deliberately underestimated the complexities of people’s lives. But this was necessary to Toby’s real goal – to encourage his audience to think for themselves. Behind every joke lurked the question, “Does any of this even matter?”

That was left for the audience to decide, as Toby moved rapidly on to detail his frustration with political participation in Australia: “The only people who have time to talk to politicians are people who are home during the day.” He was as contemptuous of the way politicians use the limited concerns of marginal electorates as a basis for making decisions: “Don’t base national policy on the opinions of people who think sporting memorabilia is a wise investment.”

He also took aim at society’s wilful ignorance, comparing the bankers and stockbrokers responsible for the global financial crisis to a fat man being asked to look after a jar of lollies. Why would we be surprised if we turn around a minute later to find our lollies – or pension funds – have disappeared? This sense of outrage was particularly pronounced towards the end of Toby’s routine, and in fact his delivery seemed much more focused when he was angry about something. I would have preferred to have seen a little more of that intensity throughout the whole show.

The core message behind Binge Thinking is that “conversation is a precious and amazing thing; it should be used to challenge and entertain.” Xavier Toby’s conversation was certainly entertaining. Challenging? Perhaps for some, but if you tend to hold progressive views, then you won’t find anything here that you haven’t heard before.

Nevertheless, Toby’s casual demeanour, engaging stage presence and welcome ability to laugh at himself when a joke doesn’t quite work out, coupled with the intimate nature of the Funny Pork venue, means his show feels like a particularly enjoyable conversation with a guy who knows what he’s talking about and makes you laugh at the same time. Any dinner party with Xavier Toby as a guest would be well worth attending.

Canadian Mike Wilmot describes himself as a “professional dirty comedian,” and his Fringe show certainly contains plenty of the earthy language for which he is known. However, the show also contains some language that comes from much, much deeper underground. If you don’t come out of this show feeling considerably dirtier than you did going in, then you weren’t paying attention.

Wilmot was quite taken with the “geodesic dome” of the Hunting Lodge at the Garden of Unearthly Delights, though less so with the nearby Ferris wheel – a running gag throughout the show was his fear of being crushed to death should the wheel decide to make a break for freedom.

This fear was topped only by Wilmot’s anger at the constant rumble of Clipsal 500 cars that formed a backdrop to his performance, though he was able to rein in his frustration by imagining a version of the Clipsal in which the drivers consisted of nothing but pill-popping drunks. He concluded such a race could be further enlivened by “throwing stuffed children at them, and each one they hit they get a point.”

As well as this clearly outstanding suggestion – get on to it, Clipsal organisers – Wilmot’s show is full of valuable advice and interesting facts. You will learn that there is no funny way to call someone a whore; that bears can talk, but only in a whisper, so by the time you hear them it’s too late; that midgets are born when the truth attempts to force its way out of a lying British person’s mouth; and that the best way for a man to seek revenge on his menopausal wife is to fake dementia.

The links between these many and varied topics are not always clear, and Wilmot’s idiosyncratic delivery, which consists largely of heading off on wild tangents at the slightest excuse, means the show can be hard to keep track of. This seemed to be the case for Wilmot himself, who often appeared distracted, a situation probably not helped by the three beers he consumed on stage.

The key word, of course, is “appeared” – it is clear Wilmot knows exactly what he’s doing. A number of anecdotes and routines seemed to taper off or get forgotten completely, only to resurface later on, often in unexpectedly hilarious ways.

In fact, I would be greatly surprised if even half of the jokes that seemed improvised actually were. Wilmot skilfully blends the two to such an extent that you’re never quite sure if any one of his numerous tangents and digressions is truly random, or a carefully planned set-up for a punchline that might arrive ten or twenty minutes later.

If you want to know in intricate and expletive-laden detail the perils of taking sex advice from women’s magazines, or discover how to identify the world’s best tuba player, then this is the show for you. It’s not for the faint-hearted, but buried in the filth are nuggets of true comedy gold.

You know what sucks? Bringing your band over to Adelaide for the first time, to play at the world-famous Fringe, and having the venue you’re supposed to be playing at close down at very short notice, necessitating a rapid change of location. That’s exactly what happened to Melbourne seven-piece Sex on Toast, and sadly it showed, with only about 15 punters showing up for the gig.

This unfortunate beginning was compounded by technical issues that meant Sex on Toast took to the stage about 20 minutes late, and the opening number was marred by near-silent microphones. Once the problem had been sorted, however, the band soon settled in and started to enjoy themselves.

This enjoyment was evident in each song, with Sex on Toast putting on quite a show, and one that is difficult to limit to any single genre. Alternately described as yacht- or surf-rock, punk, and free improv specialists, SoT reach back in time and harness influences such as Prince, Michael Jackson and Frank Zappa to create a sound that is all their own.

With a wide array of instruments on hand, including a saxophone and bassoon, SoT were musically very impressive, with witty lyrics and nearly seamless musicianship. Opener Drive Til Dawn was uncomplicated, foot-stomping rock’n’roll, but the band soon ventured into stranger territory with Deep, an ode to, ahem, plumbing the depths of love. Punctuated by energetic drumbeats and scratchy guitar, Deep looked to be the highlight of the evening until SoT unleashed Product You Designed, a funky, fuzzy song with a darker edge, driven by vocalist Angus Leslie’s distinctive voice.

In fact, at times it seemed Sex on Toast were too good – without a musical bone in my body, there were a couple of instances when I felt like I wasn’t quite getting the joke. I’m sure there were additional layers to the intricate harmonies and arrangements that I would have appreciated much more if I was a touch more knowledgeable. However, this minor issue fades away when confronted by the band’s engagingly offbeat stage presence – Sex on Toast are probably the only band I’ve seen who offer cooking tips as part of their onstage banter. I’m looking forward to trying out their artichoke and anchovy pasta at home…

SoT’s constantly-changing line-up is comprised of alumni from several current and former Melbourne bands, including Umlaut, Mr Bungle, Project Puzzles, Combover, and Saskwatch. Speaking with Angus after the show, I was forced to admit that I hadn’t heard of any of those groups, but he was gracious enough to forgive my ignorance and provide his own take on the current music scene: “Too many bands stick to the same tedious formula of guitar, vocals, bass and drums, and you just get assaulted with the same textures for 45 minutes. We get bored with that.”

One thing you won’t be at a Sex on Toast gig is bored. The band are playing one more show in Adelaide, so if you’re cooler than I am, and you’re looking for music that’s a bit out of the ordinary, check out Sex on Toast. Mmm, toasty.