There was something weird in the basement Friday night at the Knitting Factory. Yes, there were a lot of fringe-dwelling bands there that night, as part of the experimental/noise/etc. showcase being held on all three of the Factory’s floors. But the lineup in the Old Office, the Knitting Factory’s lowest and smallest space, was the most eclectic. Unpredictability is a big part of what makes noisy, experimental music great (when it’s great), and unpredictability ruled in the Old Office.

“There’s like a thousand other bands,” the singer of the Mall said when the crowd groaned its disapproval that the band was about to play its last song. That explained why the Mall’s set was so short — they began playing at 8:30 sharp and were packing up by 8:55 — but the band made the most of that time, cramming in as much Blood Brothers-ish noise-punk as possible. Underneath the abrasiveness, the Mall’s performance was fairly structured. They were energetic, not frenetic, and that energy was extremely focused. The Mall’s drummer was the band’s MVP, laying down mathy rhythms that were still compelling enough to get a mosh pit going — a refreshing if sometimes annoying change from the stock-still audiences at most CMJ shows. The guitarist also went above and beyond the call of duty, playing intentionally cheesy keyboards and fractured riffs at the same time. Actually, the band’s lean set ended up working for them: If they’d had more time to play, their thrashy-yet-danceable sound might have gotten repetitive, but they didn’t have time to wear out their welcome.

However, the Mall’s schedule-conscious ways were in vain; about the time that Wizardzz were supposed to take the stage, a Knitting Factory employee announced that the band was running late and would play at midnight. Another groan of disapproval from the crowd, then a mass exodus. When informed of the schedule change, one guy said, “Oh no! I’ve got some time to kill.” Whether he was just disappointed Wizardzz weren’t on yet or wanted to avoid Dynasty Handbag was unclear, but either way, he missed out on the night’s funniest, scariest, most confrontational show.

Dynasty Handbag is just one woman (performance artist Jibz Cameron) and her laptop — the complete opposite of most of the night’s largely male, guitar and drum dominated lineup. She addressed her sore-thumb status right away: “Enough of this noise and testosterone crap. You want the sweaty man things. I can do that, but I’m doing something different right now.” Was she ever: If Peaches and Jerri Blank could somehow have an incredibly dysfunctional daughter, it would be Dynasty Handbag. She prowled, stumbled and writhed all over the stage as she sang “Suicide is a slap in the face” and mimed hanging herself with her microphone cord. In between synth-pop on the verge of a nervous breakdown like “Break Up Day” and “I Can’t Wait,” and a Stevie Nicks cover, Dynasty Handbag’s self-deprecating monologues became multimedia dialogues with a pre-recorded version of herself, a la Tracy + the Plastics. She consulted herself anytime she didn’t know what to do next, becoming the puppet and the puppet master at the same time. Unsettling and hilarious, Dynasty Handbag added some much-needed cheeky fun to the night.

Things were back on schedule with Yip-Yip’s checkerboard-powered synth-core workouts. Yip 1 and Yip 2 look like they’re still in high school (on the AV Squad, natch), but once they changed into their costumes, Winter Park, FL’s favorite electronic band brought animated, pixelated mayhem that churned up an even bigger mosh pit than the Mall’s set — another of the evening’s surprises. Kicking off with “Anarchist Clog,” Yip-Yip played with almost no breaks as their music veered into Middle Eastern and Klezmer-inspired melodies that benefitted from Yip 1’s saxophone playing. From the their endearingly geeky stage presence to the complex-yet-playful noise they generated, Yip-Yip’s show was pure fun. When Wizardzz (the side project of Lightning Bolt drummer Brian Gibson) finally arrived, their lengthy, fussy soundcheck had people confused, thinking that perhaps the show had already started. “Maybe it’s postmodern,” one girl quipped. “The soundcheck IS the show.” But once Gibson’s massive drums and Rich Porter’s blizzards of heavily processed synths came together, the audience paid trance-like attention. Wizardzz’ set was like the atmospheric flip-side of Yip-Yip’s: With an eerie black light glow lighting their robes, Wizardzz looked the part of sonic conjurers, and the crowd was in their spell.

Another of the night’s most compelling bands, Aa (pronounced “BIG A, little a”) was playing at the same time as Wizardzz’ rescheduled set, so it was necessary to level up to the Tap Bar and check them out. Aa’s album GAame plays like the soundtrack to a horror movie yet to be made, and their music is only more intense live. Their MySpace page describes them as a “never-ending percussion experiment,” and for good reason: Along with a few samplers and other electronic gadgets, Aa’s music is fueled by two huge drum kits and countless percussive instruments, with distant vocalizing and the occasional blood-curdling scream amping up the drama. With all of their contraptions and flailing limbs, Aa was truly a sight to behold, and left the audience begging for more.