The De La Warr Pavilion survived a pounding by Second World War bombers but would it survive an attack from grindcore merchants Napalm Death? That was the question which saw the band play through a public address system built by former V&A resident ceramicist Keith Harrison.

The plan was that the tiled, wooden system, constructed with 72 speakers and liquid clay in the tops, would crack and implode under the force of the musical vibration.

Did it? Well, as Death vocalist Mark Greenway commented, when his dad tiled their bathroom, more tiles fell off after ten minutes than they did at this gig.

Not that the band didn’t do their best. Artfully daft, their demented assault of distorted guitars, grinding bass and incomprehensible howls was both noisy and satisfyingly relentless.

A few tiles fell, more so when an errant fan clambered the barricades and put the boot in, but the point was already made.

Not just about the band, the artist or the venue, this utterly surreal combination of factors created a brilliant celebration of destruction, a joyful celebration of community spirit, of the power of the many.

Life-affirming, soul-lifting and good fun, suffice to say, the De La Warr still stands.