It was First Thursdays once again, often used by many as an excuse to grab a load of Red Stripe from the offy and wonder between the many galleries on Vyner Street, which put on private views at the beginning of the early weekend each month. On this night however, we took a trip to Hackney Road for one show relating to a classic horror, and then on to Redchurch Street for the biggest East London exhibition for emerging artists of the evening; equally as intimidating as a matter of fact. Scary stuff eh? Here's how we got on

The First stop was at Xero Kline & Coma for the release of a record called Bad Brain Call from Annabel Frearson, using the words from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, with music composed by Joe Howe.

It was no strange thing to see columns of an album's lyrics up the walls, as well as the vinyl spinning on a turntable, in the context of an art gallery; at least this one anyway. Reason being that the gallery's curators, Pil and Galia Kollectiv, have performed many times as the band, WE. As well as this, they have expressed a desire in the past to have the same relationship with visual art that we do as fans of music, by going to gigs and collecting merchandise rather than witnessing unique 'art objects'. With that in mind, it was satisfyingly appropriate to come to the opening of this so-called exhibition, to be greeted upon entry by Annabel Frearson herself, sat at a counter with an offering of vinyl LPs and booklets for purchase.

A quick read and listen, then it was time for a brisk walk to Shoreditch for the Catlin Art Prize 2012 at the London Newcastle project space. The Catlin Prize is for the selection of artists from an upcoming generation to stand the chance of winning a sizable cash prize, and pretty much guarantees them a perhaps even more sizable reputation. And this all happens to them just a year after they've graduated from their courses. It was even more like a gig than the previous show witnessed; the claustrophobic, distressing kind.

The first thing to stand out about it wasn't the work, but the fact that at the time of arrival there was a queue stretching out of the building and round the corner, plus bouncers on the door. Was this a private view or a club night?

Once inside, the lighting was scarce. All lighting was in fact focused exclusively on the artworks, and all other space was filled with chattering silhouettes of the crowds, leading to an experience along the lines of Snow White running in terror around the woods, except in this case, the guilty assassin telling the protagonist to run away was a bouncer saying that drinks weren't allowed outside, and the trees resembling monsters were... well.. a taxidermy horse lying under a mound of jesmonite, amongst other things; appearing at every turn, unavoidable.

Once this writer had gotten over that melodramatic episode, there was actually a lot to be appreciated from the show. Photographs of meringue chapels, a room with a projection showing a several hours late feed of the same room, meaning that the audience watching it were being recorded, but would not be there to see themselves in the space, and were instead watching the artist, Poppy Bisdee, paint the installation. So, a somewhat intense viewing was finished with taking part in the public vote that accompanied the judges decisions as a separate, slightly more modest financial award. That was done by dropping a card into the slot with the name of Max Dovey, who's piece was a display of VHS box sets, containing recordings of the last 12 hours of terrestrial television.

Maybe not such a scary night after all.