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Wu-Tang Clan, see from somewhere deep in the crowd around the West Holts stage. Photograph: Craille Maguire Gillies/The Guardian

Two and a half decades in the game, Wu-Tang have undergone changes that would have probably seen off other groups. Deaths, falling outs and other assorted departures have winnowed down its original lineup, and their West Holts set is hampered further by the absences of Method Man and Inspectah Decks. Still sometimes compactness can be a virtue.

Certainly this a more spirited effort than their last appearance here in 2011, where Method Man’s decision to turn up in his dressing gown spoke to the drowsy, half-interested nature of the performance. Here, despite the absences, RZA, Ghostface etc al are in a more crowd-pleasing mode, leading call-and-responses with the audience.

Deference is paid both to the late, great Ol’ Dirty Bastard, with his son (stage name: you guessed it, Young Dirty Bastard) tearing through Shimmy Shimmy Ya in his stead, and, inexplicably, Kurt Cobain, with a cover of Smells Like Teen Spirit.

The real highlights though come when they dip into their debut and – still – greatest album, Enter the Wu (36 Chambers), which somehow celebrated its 25th anniversary last year. Shame on a Nigga and Protect Ya Neck sounds as great as they did a quarter-century ago.