Geese @ Barrowlands, Glasgow, 21 Mar

On Saturday, the bars in the city centre are more divided than usual. One half are out to watch Rangers reignite their title charge with victory against Aberdeen. Their increasingly slurred cheers make the other half, the football peripheral to their evening, jump. These are the indie kids, who have come from the furthest and widest reaches of the Central Belt and now are sat, overpriced lager in hand, nervously preparing themselves for communion, hoping to be present for the Second Coming of Rock Music.

Geese are playing the Barrowlands, their first gig in Scotland since becoming the Next Big Thing, almost overnight supplanting Black Country, New Road and Fontaines D.C. as the coolest and biggest indie act, respectively, on Earth. The band step onto the stage to the languorous rumble and twang of Husbands, bringing the room into the set as the band slowly weave a thread all the way to rapturous ecstasy. 'Will you know what I mean?' begs frontman Cameron Winter as the crowd cheer their emphatic affirmation, ready to receive the poetry of his body and blood. Geese swing and shimmer smoothly through their loose opening, three tracks barely separated, almost played as a continuous jam.

Mercifully, the crowd doesn’t try to will spontaneity into being with forced Here-We-Fucking-Go-ing. They don’t need to. Quite sweetly, the chant, when it comes, is led by Winter as the crowd sing the instrumental to Islands of Men – maybe the first "Here We Fucking Go” ever to be sung in 12/8. The band’s homage to Glasgow comes with a nod to King Tut’s, and a sublime segue from 2122 into Primal Scream’s Movin’ On Up painting the room red, the crowd enraptured.

Outwith this, audience interaction is minimal, with none of the usual trappings of rock performance – no band introduction before the encore; no tired rockstar-isms. When Winter does speak to the crowd, he does so in short sentences, nearly impossible to distinguish the words in his languid drawl. But Geese can rock; their frenetic, spiralling jams and particular brand of jazz-metal are more than capable of bringing out the best in a mosh pit. It's worth saying – they sound phenomenal. Watching them reconstitute Getting Killed, freshly imbued with visceral, vibrant animus, is thrilling. They’re at their peak, however, in their introspective moments, slowly conjuring a song through repetition and enlargement, circling around and around until the point is arrived at – not through sudden delivery, but a gradual dawning.

Here is a band on the brink; of what, it remains to be seen. Geese find themselves at the front of a long-coming cultural shift in rock music, away from the replication of the past, towards something tailored for now and beyond. As they set fire to their old lives, the light from the blaze illuminates the tensions and contours of the present. It feels, screaming and dancing along to funk-metal closer Trinidad, with one more push, we might finally glimpse something new through the flames. For Geese, we can be sure, nothing will ever be the same again. As for the rest of us – we can only live in hope.