The Kronstadt Mutiny was an uprising of anarchist revolutionary sailors on the eve of the Russian Revolution in 1917. But the evening at the ICA in London, named after this pivotal moment in 20th Century history and promising 'a chaos of endless delight', didn't quite live up to it's name. An exhibition of Lithuanian music and visual arts, the performances ranged from surreal soundscapes to singalong pop with much in between. But as is the danger with events like these, it ended up more tourist showcase than cultural exhibition, let alone revolution.

First up we were treated to the endless drones of Darius Ciuta: apparently a subtle exploration of sound and its conceptual meanings. But there was not much subtle or exploratory about the computerised drill that blasted relentlessly to the visuals of Egle Rakauskaite - an equally brain-numbing series of silent interviews with mall shoppers. The point about the monotony of consumerism was not missed. In fact it was hammered without mercy, dulling to the point of despair and less thought provoking than a Disney film. If that was the intended effect then it certainly worked, but this just isn't performance art - or even a clever re-interpretation of it.

The recitations of poet Tim Cumming brought relief and some colour (dark ones) to Ciuta's noise. What we needed though was an engaging performance, rather than more sit-down detached musings. I wanted him to stand up and spit the words into the mic and look at us like it was his truth and he meant it. Plus it's hard to escape the aura of self-congratulations when you're watching someone read from their own published works. That said, there's no arguing with similes like 'drunken sumos wrestling on ice', or when he addresses God directly and implores him to get a haircut.

On the steady slope from sublime to ridiculous, up next were Linus Rimsa and the Sutartines. A bold configuration of laptop, saxophone and four folk chanteuses with hands-free mics, plus enough synth pop fusion and bad choreography to make it eligible for a eurovision song contest. Ironically the hi fives and sugary western influence made this feel bizarrely authentic. But just as we were beginning to glimpse the real deal, on strolled B.R.E.I.S. chanting 'Li - thu - a - nia!' and spouting rhymes that sounded more Brooklyn than Vilnius. The icing on the cheese came with the chorus tones of Roger Robinson - in time but out of place, he added a soul presence to the ungodly mix.

Awaiting the headline act, we were treated to a film of Laura Garbstiene's 'Disappearance' - a visual performance piece featuring the artist endlessly sharpening pencils and scattering the shaved wood over an enlarged self-portrait. Postmodern psychobabble or profound statement on identity and time and being. Depends which side of the fence you fall but this was definitely the most compelling visual piece of the night. The artist is part of a collaborative duo known as 'G-Lab' and they really are straight out of Vilnius.

It was left to Londoner Sophie Solomon to whip up the mood which she did, it has to be said, with furious passion. Armed with a violin that she describes as 'an extension of her body', you can't help thinking if Jimmy Hendrix was blonde, female and went classical, he might have sounded something like this. Backed by a full band, the instrumental songs hovered somewhere between Marrakesh and Ulan Batur whilst still managing to sound coherent - even genuine. But the heart of Lithuania was beating a long way away.