We’re tempted to call the smaller P310 the height of tacky Japanese Pop Culture. It looks like a limited edition Tamagotchi designed by the people responsible for bringing us outlandish electric car concepts.

Nothing is understated, from the main menu that changes background colours as you scroll through its functions (complete with animated icons) to the cluttered and visually insulting playback interface. It takes 15 seconds to jump from a function back to the main menu. It also takes about the same time to turn the player on.

Music quality for the P310 is unfortunately quite good. We wish it were awful, like everything else about this monstrosity, but at least if someone gives you one and you must use it, then your desire to throw it at a wall will be reduced somewhat.

We heard cries of “Jesus, God, I hate this thing” and variations on that theme as we passed the player around the office. Nobody could or wanted to get used to the atrocious UI. When it’s playing back music, the only details you’ll get are the filename, track time and a containing folder name, which is contracted to 8 characters. There’s also a flashing, coloured spectrum analyzer that doesn’t actually analyze the playing music spectrum in any way.

It tries to soften the blow by including vaguely useful functions. You can change the tempo of a song, it can record from the inbuilt radio or microphone and there are two small but passable speakers in the side. Take the same speakers in mobile phones that are responsible for assaulting your ears with The Hottest Ringtones, and you’ve got a good idea of how they sound.

A promising film clapperboard icon appears in the main menu, along with the letters AMV -- a mildly capable codec that isn’t too hard on the batteries. If you want to watch any video on the player, you need to convert them to the AMV format. Software to do this, a manual and a few trojans were included on an installation CD. We put the disc back in the packaging and backed away slowly.

It feels like a souvenir from a friend’s visit to Taipei. Like something you’d see in a store that sells cheap knock-offs by the truckload, with the aid of an irritating pre-recorded English spruker. If it came as a freebie when you bought a motherboard, it’d be a somewhat functional toy that you can point and laugh at with friends. But as a standalone MP3 player, it bites.