First, the stage went black. Then I got punched in the face. The energy that Death Grips brought to the Village Underground last Tuesday started at an incredible level, and didn’t let up until the lights went down an hour and a half later.

The manic, paranoid rage of Death Grips completely filled the former warehouse. The juddering synths of Flatlander and Zach Hill’s explosive improv drumming alone could have carried the gig, but from the second MC Ride moaned the first bar of ‘Whatever I Want (Fuck Who’s Watching)’, the crowd was electrified.

By the time the cascading ‘Get Got’ echoed off the harsh brick walls, it was almost impossible to move; by the fifth track, the convulsive ‘Hot Head’, it was too hot to breathe. The security sprayed the crowd down with water just as the building drones of ‘Inanimate Sensation’ drove the crowd into a frenzy. Moshpits three feet wide yawned, and collapsed with an immediacy and intensity that even Deafheaven couldn’t muster.

Throughout the entire set, the lighting remained completely static. All three members were bathed from behind in an electric blue – all you would see through the flailing limbs and pulsing waves of the crowd were writing silhouettes, illuminated for split-seconds by the gunshots of camera flashes and smartphones.

As they lurched into ‘I’ve Seen Footage’, a crowdsurfer slammed into my jaw, and I fell into the crowd, which immediately picked me up and threw me back at him. At this point, I was overwhelmed by the chaos. I couldn’t tell how much of what I was hearing was the ear-shattering howls of MC Ride and how much was the animalistic response of the grunting crowd. As I continued to tessellate to ‘Why a Bitch Gotta Lie’, I felt my breath shortening after a particularly brutal knock to the ribs: and, for the first time in my life, I actually had to leave the moshpit.

The intensity of the crowd was probably a function of its diversity: everyone I talked to seemed to have a unique background. From Physics students at Edinburgh to a kid from a village in Grimsby, it seemed like every part of the country was represented.

Even more unifying was the fact that everyone I spoke to said the same thing: they had been waiting for this gig for years. The last time Death Grips were in this country was 2013, and since then they have been uniquely prolific, releasing four albums and two spinoff projects. This productivity was reflected in the breadth of the gig: they even slipped in ‘Full Moon (Death Classic)’ from their very first EP. What was more amazing was being surrounded by people who could scream every single word at the top of their lungs. It was deeper than enjoyment; it was belonging.

The trio continued without mercy throughout their set. Not once did they stop between songs; every moment was addicted to the continuous power of the sound. As they launched into their (unjustifiably) most popular song, ‘Guillotine’, the room truly lost it, and I had to jump back in. The crowd rode the beat exactly; as the guillotine rose, a palpable tension built – every nerve in the place was on edge, and then, with an orgasmic “YAH”, release came in the rush into a hundred twisted arms.

No such suspense was afforded for ‘I Break Mirrors With My Face In The United States’, as the unceasing janky energy caused the crowd to twitch and judder in and out of exhilaration. The unadulterated crescendo came in ‘The Fever (Aye Aye)’, whose flexing synth stabs had the whole crowd losing their mind.

Then the stage went black again, and a second later we were illuminated with blinding floodlights. Death Grips had disappeared into the night. We chanted “ONE! MORE! SONG! ONE! MORE! SONG!”, but to no avail. They had vanished just as soon as they had appeared. In the harsh brightness, we reviewed our bruises, examined our blackened sneakers, and shared in the post-coital moment of the best gig we had ever seen in our entire lives. Bucket list worthy and utterly, completely, #noided.