Drum circles are passé. Titanium Sporkestra give you the drum octagon. Six drummers and two cymbal-clappers got down on the floor among the customers and brought a Burning Man meets marching band steez to the quarter-filled Neumos.

“Feel free to surround us, feel free to dance, feel free to take your clothes off,” announced the dreadlocked guy in the band. The audience heeded two of those suggestions.

Featuring former Infernal Noise Brigade members, Titanium Sporkestra combine military rhythmic precision with anarchic energy—while wearing gaudy ’70s shades and, in the case of the female bass-drum-pounder, a sliver lamé dress with red leggings. The Seattle troupe’s set was invigorating and mostly bombastic, full of brief episodes of rolling percussive thunder, which sometimes assumed familiar shapes. One piece alternated between the beats of Iggy’s “Lust for Life” and the Sweet’s “Ballroom Blitz”—a brilliant idea, as it represents a kind of ultimate hedonistic impulse.

After 30 minutes of boom boom ratatat tokka tokka (clang clang), their machinations resulted in diminishing returns, but for that half hour, Titanium Sporkestra really got the blood flowing.

By contrast, Morocco’s Master Musicians of Jajouka’s eight distinguished-looking gents in green robes and mini-turbans (tried in vain to find the correct term online) sat in a row of humble chairs onstage and masterly breathed and beat life into their ancient instruments—like their predecessors have been doing for four millennia. I think these dudes are finally getting the hang of this repertoire…

The first track was dominated by massed ghaitas, which articulated an eloquent squawk that soared majestically over the insistent pummel of the tebels and bendirs. The second piece was a moving lament set to a complex rhythm, sung in Arabic, but expressing a universal ache and triumph over it. The third composition unspooled a sinuous groove over which an intricate vocal call and response volleyed. During this, a chubby Bill Murray-looking member rose and started dancing and coaxing the crowd to do the same. It was utterly charming.

The set continued, moving between kundalini-unleashing, trance-inducing dervish-like excursions and eerie, circuitous, lira-led ambience, a precursor to Jon Hassell’s Fourth World music. (The lira is a North African equivalent to a flute, and its tone is utterly mesmerizing.) After one such cut, Attar asked, “Are you chilling out, man?” We were, indeed.

Toward the end of the night, Jajouka rose out of their seats and intensified things. The set’s final performance built to a raucous climax that had to be over 140 bpm. Primitive techno in the house! Damn, imagine what these geezers could do with Ableton Live…

The place went mad after that and pleaded for an encore, which came and which inspired the night’s most energetic dancing, especially that by a white debutante-looking nubile, who seemed to be having A Moment. Jajouka filed off the stage while still playing, as normally notoriously reserved Seattle-ites—ages 20something-70something—showered them with rapturous approval.

URGENT UPDATE: Esteemed KEXP DJ Riz reports that a woman at the show volunteered the information that she pissed her pants. This show is now officially legendary.