Enigmatic collective GOAT were transmitted into the nation’s living rooms thanks to an utterly compelling Glastonbury set earlier this year.

Myths surround the psychedelic band who claim their Swedish hometown has a history of voodoo worship.

On stage at Concorde 2 their chugging, desert-rocking riffs, African rhythms and ceremonial dancing was just as arresting as their storied festival performance.

All band members wore pan-tribal masks, a simple yet totally effective way of delivering on their calculated other-ness.

Two central witch-doctor figures acted as spiritual mediums, howling over the clamour, shaking staffs and lurching in a kind of free-form performance art. It was not just theatre, the heavy blues, African funk and prog fusion clinging together in an intoxicating acid-laced brew.

There was certainly a collective feeling something special was going on, the venue’s main room packed with craning necks and faint-inducing humidity levels, the heat seeming to allow the mesmerising noise to be absorbed straight into the pores.

Rock bands have been trying to induce transcendence since the 1960s – not to mention indigenous tribal music and jazz before that.

Part of that same genealogy, it was exhilarating to feel involved in a performance that channelled such a powerfully physical response rather than the more common self-conscious nod.