Chris Cunningham @ The Roundhouse, London

Feverishly bringing his big, smouldering cloud of darkness and holy mind-altering shenanigans back to the big smoke, the man favouring the intensive lens flare swarmed upon Camden's Roundhouse to a raucous crowd of oddballs, freaks and waves of self-aware haircuts.

Combining some of his notable older works with the usual three super-screens, smoke machines and retina-peeling lasers, Chris Cunningham's work has always been renowned for being truly mesmerising. It can feel like you've stepped face first into a black hole; it can also feel like you're snapping out of a brainwash with the help of some cyanide kool-aid. It can also feel like you're just flipping out and having some kind of fun seizure.

Opening up with his reworking of the Gil Scott-Heron song 'New York Is Killing Me', the dark, twisted train trails and Heron's haggard, struggling tones couldn't be more hard hitting and powerful given the timing of the show, and it gleefully sets a harrowing mood that trickles throughout the rest of the evening.

Short film re-hash Flex, a mirage of a naked man and women brutally beating the living goulash out of eachother, interspersed with a dog having a huge wank, is very much a standout. Its looping impact punches outwards, creating a devastating electronica beat, whilst its graphic nature heads straight to the core, doing just as much to entertain as it does to disturb.

It's not all perfect though, unfortunately. After being promised a plenitude of very dark, damaging imagery, there was no clear evidence of any new material, while some of the more intense moments - included in previous shows - had seemingly been erased, or deemed too much for a Roundhouse audience. On top of this the lack of any Aphex Twin, as predictable it might have been, does feel like a bit of a short change.

Still, an evil genius at work, and an encapsulating experience like no other.