In the late 1980s, Pierre Bastien designed and built his own orchestra out of Meccano - an army of automata, driven by old turntable motors, that could play traditional instruments from around the world. Closing this year's Fertilizer festival, Bastien has a travel version of his band: a tiny, busy desk of machinery, clustered around a record player that looks both futuristic and ancient, like a prop from Blade Runner. In a departure from the usual secretive business of laptop musicians, a video camera is trained on the table and the resulting footage projected large, so everyone can see behind the smoke and mirrors.

The arm of the turntable is lifted up and dumped back on to the vinyl in a repeating pattern, governed by a rotating camshaft, and we're off, air whistling down tubes that Bastien directs toward embedded microphones in his desk. Another camshaft begins its cycle, plucking bits of metal, or opening and shutting keys on some kind of hidden harmonium. A family of homemade whistles spins slowly around, each catching a gust of air at its allotted time. Happy the machine is running smoothly, Bastien solos on the pocket trumpet - a lone human figure on the factory floor.

The simple pieces have a friendly eccentricity, sometimes forlorn, sometimes cartoonish - and they give this table of nuts and bolts a human heart. But the real magic is in the transitions. This could easily become a series of unconnected episodes, interrupted by a man with a screwdriver, but Bastien never lets the spell break. The way each new tune grows from the last is as pleasing as a rabbit from a hat, and it makes this musical machine add up to so much more than its wheezing, spinning - and very moving - parts.