Admission £3.00

THE ABOVE ad was at the root of this evening's strange confusion. Scores of revellers arrived at the door of the ICA to be confronted with a 'sold out' situation (although, with patience, it seemed that many were able to squeeze in) and a notice, opposite the entry point but easily missable, to the effect:

'Tonight. Concerto For Voice And Machinery. This is not an Einsturzende Neubauten concert.'

Disgruntled would-be patrons were heard to exclaim: “'ere, Eric, does that mean that German band aren't on?" and gained no confidence from the door person's similar lack of knowledge.

Once inside, I thudded into Mufti. Sitting on the bar staircase, the Neubauten stalwart was annoyed that the event had been advertised as a regular Neubauten gig at all, when in fact, it was the first and last performance of the aforementioned 'Concerto For Voice And Machinery'.

He claimed that the ICA had only allowed them to pin up the above notice on the night and that Einsturzende Neubauten, as such, intended no London dates in the immediate future.

As the evening wore on it became evident that most of the crowd, by now happily rubbing shoulders with the likes Of Christiana F, Marc Almond and Andy Warren (who?), were still anticipating a Neubauten gig or, at least, an hour or so of metal bashing regardless of what label it might be going under.

Around 10.30 the stage was covered with road drills, chainsaws, a cement mixer and various raw materials, most noticeably a piano quietly awaiting its imminent destruction.

The performers, all wearing goggles for protection from the fierce showers of sparks flying from the hot slicings of wood and metal, included Neubauten regulars Mufti, Marc Chung and Alexander Von Borsig, plus Genesis P. Orridge, Fadist Frank Tovey, Jila (from Holland's Schlafose Nacht) and the svelte frame of Stevo. The latter first toiling at woodsaw and later switching to an assault on a locker room cabinet.

The noise was intense, violent, beautiful. A few ran, with fingers wedged in ears, to the exits as the decibels soared to agony-inducing proportions. The air became heavy with smoke, sawdust and, in places, sickly with petrol fumes.

And it was exciting. Madly and wildly so. People quaked in the bone breaking din, squealing their delight in a kind of euphoric giddiness. A sudden taste of forbidden pleasure, fuelled by a drunken adrenaline pulse of sheer noise and crazed destruction.

On the stage, things veered from gleeful, precise carnage to an exhilaratingly dangerous chaos. The protagonists jolted and bumped into each other. At times I seriously expected an arm or a leg to be severed, the disembodiment then insanely celebrated by the tossing of the blood-dripping limb into the audience.

Instead, Mufti showered the front rows with sawdust. The crowd, dense and tight, swaying around the small hall, fell back in waves as road drills were flashed at them and a musclebound figure dropped with one from the stage to begin pummelling the floor.

Someone (characters became indistinct in the haze) began throwing empty milk bottles into the cement mixer. The savage rattle of their crushing was lost in the overall row but the splinters vomiting out of the device apparently resulted in several gashed faces.

Suddenly the clatter faded and died. The ICA stewards quickly replaced performers at the front of the stage. The performers and the gaggle of photographers snapping from the rear were ushered backstage and the doors closed on them. No return.

What very few people knew (including me at the time) was that the piece was only intended to last 25 minutes. It seemed that the ICA officials had taken a reactionary view and stopped the gig, fearful perhaps, for the ongoing upright posture of their building.

The stage continued to be battered, this time by the angry audience, themselves using any available implement. A tug-o-war between stewards and a section of the crowd resulted in a road drill being hauled back to the stage and rapidly shunted, along with the rest of the equipment, to the rear.

Next day a Some Bizzare personage opined: “What appeared to be ICA reaction was actually a combination of the power being switched off and petrol lines not working. The only damage was a few small holes in the stage and on the floor. If we'd wanted to destroy the building we could've just drilled through the back wall, but what would be the point?"

While the ICA commented: “Initially We'd arranged an Einsturzende Neubauten concert but various members were unable to perform that night so it was changed to 'Concerto For Voice And Machinery' with some of their friends. This would last 25 minutes and is what they were contracted to perform.”

“They had actually finished, at least they left the stage after 25 minutes, fulfilling their contract. People at the front were pushing PA monitors towards the drills and obviously we wanted to avoid damage to the PA company's equipment. We certainly didn't want to be seen to have stopped the group.

“Admittedly some of the audience were unaware that it was only a 25-minute piece but I don't think a broken PA would have been much of an encore.

“The only damage was to the concrete which they brought themselves and to the piano, which we provided."

Concrete and road drills, phew! Possibly the best gig since the crucifixion.

This event was re-enacted at the ICA in 2007