The second (somewhat lower key) day of the No Signal Swedish Outsider festival required my first trip to the new Cafe Oto in Dalston. I’ve been looking for an excuse to go for a while, to be honest; not only does this converted warehouse sitting amidst some decidedly unconverted warehouses have an inspiring line-up of cultural events scheduled over the next few months, but it also sells the delicious ales of the Pitfield Brewery. Mmmm. If I can remember how I got there, I’m sure I’ll be back soon.

Tape had hung around from the previous night’s festivities, and their member Johan Berthling was involved again in an extremely quiet duet with guitarist Graham Stackenas. Stackenas played his instrument with plastic rulers, creating the creaking metallic sound that would accompany a swinging rusty train station sign in a Sergio Leone film. When that was a bit too loud, he switched to flicking the strings with the blades of a battery-operated pocket fan. Otherwise, I spent some time at this point being distracted by the fact that the girl sitting next to me was wearing the same shoes as me. I’m sure they were in the men’s section when I bought them, but shops are so confusing nowadays.

Wildbirds and Peacedrums, new signings to the electronica label that isn’t an electronica label any more, Leaf, were next. Mariam Wallentin’s powerful, controlled voice (a bit PJ Harvey) combined with Andreas Werliin’s rackety drums to create some exciting bluesy stomps. On “I Cant’ Tell In His Eyes” (”if he’s going to cry or if he’s going to fight”) Wallentin was full of emotion, choking on her words. They finished both pounding on drums, amid a multitude of false endings. I was quite taken with them, and need to investigate their album Heartcore further.

The following trio of Stackenas, Joe Williamson and Phil Durrant was as restrained as the first duo. Gentle guitar drones, arco bass and laptop static mingled effectively. Stackenas again used a variety of utensils to create his most other guitar sounds, while Williamson concentrated on eking out some rubbery low-volume rumble.

Henrik Rylander reminded me of great noiseniks Lasse Marhaug and Pan Sonic; I was unsuprised to read he has previous with both. From the moment he flicked the switch, Oto was reconverted to industrial use. Spluttering metallic rhythms bounced around the darkness, like a dishwasher learning to beatbox. Deep throbbing bass and electricity substation crackle added to this most unsettling yet quite exhilarating high volume experience, before he flicked the switch again to leave only that ringing noise in my head.

The festival which began in such stormy fashion yesterday ended with a damp squib in the form of Hans Appelqvist’s projections (pandas, beaches, erm, cunnilingus), drab guitar and vocals, which was only enlivened for me when he played a clip of the great Jacques Brel. A lot of people had left by then, probably due to how-the-fuck-do-I-get-home-from-here stresses, so will be unaware of this dip in quality at the end of what had been a pretty unimpeachable two days of music.