There are a profusion of bands currently hailing from Oxford with a penchant for shimmering, evolving soundscapes and unpredictable arrangements. Their music, while varied, seems to be infused with youthful exuberance and a sort of idyllic rural melancholy. It’s clear from the start that Suitable Case For Treatment grew up on a different farm, where the buildings are weathered like ancient faces and the brook is reduced to a fetid, algae-strangled trickle. A spotty ploughboy is having it up the farmer’s wife in the barn while the local youth procure illicit substances from the stained hands of carny folk in the bottom field.

As I walk into the packed Zodiac venue midway through their first song I’m half expecting to see the farmer slumped in the corner, sipping at a measure of noxious grog from his own still and blaspheming the local goth girls as he stares through eyes like black-glass beads. Onstage, the band’s deranged yokel twang builds to a crescendo of searing chaos as vocalist Liam yelps like the offspring of Tom Waits and a cave troll. In person he’s friendly and softly-spoken, but he throws himself so deeply into character that it’s tempting to imagine him ordering a burger after the show with an anguished howl, his face galvanised into a haunted vacant expression. He has the habit of boring into members of the audience with his eyes; at one point he stares fixatedly at me and I am frozen to the spot despite an impulse to duck and run to the bar. At other times he strikes his forehead and mutters incoherently, seemingly lost in some schizophrenic dispute with himself. This theatrical element adds to the sense of drama as the band twist and turn through genres and styles with ease.

During the set they manage to evoke deranged carnival oom-pah, seedy filthy blues, a more redneck Slint, phlegm-inflected sea shanties, intense rhythmic hardcore, free-noise jamming and all-out Slayer-style thrash. It’s a disorientating, disturbing mix, but I can’t help but crack a smile at the sheer eccentricity and derangement of it all. Between songs Liam paces around impatiently and demands more beer, while the rest of the band banters with the audience. A heckler shouts “Where’s John Snow?” in reference to the band’s recent collaboration with said newsreader. “We fired him,” replies guitarist Jimmy, dryly. Towards the end of the gig, in typically unassuming style, he announces: “We’re not doing an encore; we just need a break.” They exit the stage, throwing out handfuls of CDs as they go.

The crowd bellows for more anyway, and they return to play the epic 'Dead Pidgeon Teachers'. It starts off in fine bludgeoning style, as the hardcore kids at the front erupt into a moshing frenzy. All of a sudden the sound falls away and Liam reels off a stark, bleak monologue. He seems genuinely pained: no-one in the audience utters a word, and the sense of pathos and tension is almost unbearable as he screams: “Do not fear the dark… but you will… you will…”

Now it feels like we’re not so much watching a performance as witnessing an exorcism, as the band smash their way through a series of slab-heavy atonal, primal stabs. As the encore draws to a close I’m left feeling thrilled, a wee bit shaken, but also saddened, as the band have now officially split up: this was Suitable Case’s final show. All I can think of to say on this matter is R.I.P. SC4T, you will be sorely missed.