With the release of September’s Strawberry Jam, Animal Collective pulled off the indie-rock equivalent of a grand slam or a hat trick, depending on which sports cliché you prefer. The record managed to simultaneously please critics, excite longtime fans and bring in a slew of new listeners. It should come as no surprise, then, that the band’s appearance at the Starlight Ballroom felt like a long-overdue victory lap.

The sold-out crowd sounded a collective roar as Geologist, Avey Tare and Panda Bear took the stage surrounded by Biology-class skeletons equipped with glowing, orange eyes. With on-again-off-again member Deakin off-again, a steady electronic drum beat crept through the speakers. After taking their time settling into a groove via endless layers of loops, yelps, reverb and delays, the band launched into “Unsolved Mysteries,” the second track from Strawberry Jam. From behind a chest-high cabinet of sequencers, Geologist served as the group’s mad scientist/electronics wizard as he fiddled with knobs and toggled switches. Panda Bear jumped from adjusting sequencers to banging on half a drum kit to crooning into the mic—sometimes all within one song. Centered between his frenetic bandmates, Avey Tare became the sturdy frontman, providing vocals for most of the set.

Animal Collective has long been celebrated for its texturing skills, masterfully weaving untraceable numbers of sounds to form lush aural worlds. In their best moments, the repetitions become almost mesmerizing, like holding two mirrors opposite one another and peering into the endless worlds within. On record, these layers provide tension and rhythm for the songs as they saunter from Point A to Point B. Performed live, however, these same layering tricks propelled sound into an otherworldly dimension. Some of the audience looked hypnotized during a particularly extended jam session—as if they’d stepped into the reflecting-mirror universe and got distracted by the vastness of space. Yet it wasn’t simply the layers themselves that were so captivating, but the inventive ways in which the band utilized them.

The first 20 minutes of the set were a continuous stream of sound during which the band wandered through four songs, none of which ever actually ended. Instead, the deliberate pandemonium would wind down to a handful of sounds while the next song built up around the remains of the last spare vocal repetition or looping bass line. Like a parallel-universe version of the Pixies, everything was loud/quiet/loud. When the first chunk of songs ended, a spell was broken and the din of the music was replaced by the crowd’s ecstatic reaction. A simple “Thanks, thanks a lot man,” was the only response from Avey Tare before Geologist jumpstarted his machinery and the primal thump of “Peacebone” had the walls shaking again. With Panda Bear’s cymbals crashing and Geologist’s bass pounding, Avey Tare sent the chorus into overdrive with abrupt shifts from gentle singing to guttural screaming and back again—and then something really strange happened. The rest of the show took on arena-rock qualities (minus the power ballads). There was crowd-surfing. Balloon clusters got bopped around like beach balls. It makes sense that a band overflowing with animalistic themes and subconsciously primal beats could unleash music that would send a packed room into a frenzy. But it was the audience’s vicious, fanatical reaction after the band’s last song that cemented Animal Collective’s status as unlikely rock heroes.

After wickedly reworking the tension-relieving chorus of “We Tigers” from a playful string of gibberish into an all-out screaming assault—with Geologist providing his first, and only, vocal contribution of the night in the form of a throaty shriek—the three members departed the stage for the inevitable encore. As the minutes dragged by and no one returned, the masses began chanting for one more song. When the crowd’s demands were met with a sound guy getting on stage to dismantle equipment, he was assaulted by a harsh, unrelenting string of jeers and obscenities. He shrugged and went backstage, then returned minutes later to dim the lights for the band’s return. Settled onstage after a triumphant response, Avey Tare explained, “We had to have a meeting back there.” Not that the audience really cared why they took so long—they just didn’t want the night to end.

—Daniel Weisberg