When I was a kid, raised on the dusty wastelands of northern Morocco, my imaginary father, a wise old priest, sat me down one day and told me some secret truths. As dead vultures plummeted to ground, he leant in close and whispered things far beyond my Ken, things that sounded too incomprehensible or just too plain stupid to be true. And then somewhere in the middle, he slipped in a little sub-Wildean quote to the effect that all true pleasure must be earnt. "Hah!", I thought – "throwing pomegranates at camel's tits don't cost me two shits, and I love it". But with the passing of years, I began to see his point. And if I wasn’t convinced then, the truth of his words have been firmly reinforced by my dealings with the jolly bunch collectively known as Mego. The music thrown out from the Vienna office of these neural bruisers is rarely quiet, and never easy. Yet, unlike so much that wanders around under the banner of experimental music, this is music of genuine intelligence and startling virtuosity. And so, as the 10th anniversary of their inception is upon us, it feels like a good time to celebrate.

Mego's back catalogue, now approaching 80 releases, is far too substantial to explore here in any detail. There are many classics to be found there – Florian Hecker's abrasive monolith Sun Pandemonium , the stochastic elegance of Explorers_We (Farmersmanual) and the sun-worn, blurred folk of Fennesz's Endless Summer are all records of no small significance. And that is to ignore some of the rather engaging byways and dusty paths that have been trod – from Jim O'Rourke's orchestro-pop take on powerbook detritus to the polymathic abandon of General Magic. But fortunately, such a celebration of past achievements is more or less unnecessary – an overview of their recent releases seem to demonstrate that the Mego spirit is alive, well, and kicking like a steel-toed goat-baby.

For the nervously uninitiated, Hecker's recent PV Trecks, is a fairly indicative piece of Mego plastic. And, by the by, it also happens to be one of the most engaging albums I've heard in a long time. There are no beats here, no narrative progression based on standard rhythms – instead, the focus is on the presentation, modulation and alchemical transformation of a small number of samples and patches. Now, this may sound rather dry, but the record swiftly develops from these beginnings into a glorious array of petri-dish experimentations, which Hecker introduces and then prods, tickles and tortures into a glorious profusion of thwelches and burbs, grawks, churbles and any other onomatopoeiacs you'd care to invent. Oh – and there’s a track that seems to consist entirely of tonally complex burping. All of which does represent something of a deviation from how you normally listen to music... In place of recognisable melody or sentiment, PV Trecks is a radio play of unintelligible voices, of psychoacoustic trickery and tease which leaves the listener focused not so much upon the music but upon the continual modifications to and manipulations of his own expectation. But most importantly, it is Hecker’s damnfool genius which ensures this experience is not simply interesting, but is also supremely fun.

And should PV Trecks leave you hungry for more of the same, Gert Jan Prins' Risk EP is the place to go. Okay, so this is a little more hardcore – created from the manipulated feedback of grumpy radio transmitters, it gibbers and spatters white sound and grey noise through an air that singes, flowing between pure whiteout and pulsing idylls of scar tissue and gentle wind. For me at least, this lies at the extreme end of my sensibilities, and I did find myself running away to escape on at least one occasion. But at its best, there is an eviscerating, brutal energy here that is hard to resist, let alone refuse.

And whilst we dealing with extremes, the Recent Live Archive by Farmersmanual demands mention. But unlike the other fare dealt with in this article, this isn't an album in any conventional sense. In fact, the DVD itself is not a complete release, rather the record of an ongoing process, as it stood in the summer of 2003. Yet it is still a formidable release – stretching over three whole days of music, it contains every live performance made by Farmersmanual and associated artists from 1995 to the present day. Given the nature of this music, it is a daunting prospect. But once again, the sheer quality on display overcomes any reservations. Perhaps the most surprising element is the variety on display here – whereas live performances often are simply a run-through-by-numbers of album releases, these concerts are all one-off, highly individualised performances. And whereas Hecker poses as neuro-musician/physician, the three members of Farmersmanual are more like a small army of improvisationally-gifted Daleks. And so these recordings are less a series of tracks and more extended glitch-bop workouts. Of course, sound samples do re-appear, but the artists probe and test each other so that the content continually veers away from the anticipated course, leaving a vast, generative palimpsest of near infinite variation. Which, for less than twenty pounds, is something of a bargain.

But I’m running away with myself here. Most of the article is gone and there are many other recent releases that deserve attention. For one, Semi Peterson by Sluta Leta is certainly worthy of note, if for no other reason than that it presents a far more personable face to Mego than anything mentioned so far. Instead of aural disorientation, Sluta Leta offer an engaging diversity of lolloping gothica, discoid pop and, if I’m not mistaken, a rather disconcerting sample of a Twin Peaks harmonica. And in the middle of the Mego gluttony that precipitated this article, it represented a very welcome moment of calm. But throughout the disparate faces of their releases, there is an intellectual rigour and clarity of intent that is almost continually present. This music does require focus and attention, and it is almost certain that somewhere within their catalogue there lies a record completely beyond your tolerance level. But that is kinda the point. These guys are genuinely taking risks, probing and redefining the very basics of music in such a way that their output exists at the extreme edges of our customary perception. And whereas so many artists seem to use technology for the shortcuts and ease it affords them, those on the Mego roster seem to relish actually getting their hands dirty with the intestinal juices of these machines – not just using the fuckers but bending their synapses till truly strange and wondrous new sparkles emerge. And in the septic night of Time Warner sound... see how they shine.