I’m in the Barbican watching a band from the Congo. Nothing new there then. But hang on a minute. Four of them are in wheelchairs. One is on crutches. One is playing an instrument fashioned out of a milk can and length of wire. And together, they are creating the most incredible afrobeat stew, an irresistible funk that is dragging most of the audience to their feet. The band are Staff Benda Bilili, finally making their UK debut following the acclaim afforded to their Tres Tres Fort album on the Crammed label. This is really something. Something else entirely.

The back story on its own is scarcely believable, a story of children losing the use of limbs after being struck down by polio in the slums of Kinshasa, some meeting when they worked on ferries (one still does, or did at least before this tour) where they had modified their wheelchairs into improvised forms of public transport, playing with some Congolese greats like Papa Wemba, before forming their own band. And while they sing about their condition – making a powerful plea for immunisation – their name urges you to “look beyond” it. And that won’t be difficult on the evidence of this performance – with the addition of a explosive rhythm section, and a teenage prodigy playing the string off that one-stringed instrument (the “satonge”), they are a band capable of ripping the roof off of any venue. Any venue which has a roof at least. Although I’d be surprised if they weren’t huge on the festival circuit next year, where they’ll probably even have a good go at ripping the roof off the sky.

Dressed for British winter in hats and jumpers (other than the semi-naked drummer, that is), they built a red hot set which alternated between the laid back and the funked up. The former’s afro-folk and rumba (as evident on the likes of the aforementioned “Poliomyelite” and “Sala Keba”) showcased the emotional croon of singers Theo Nsituvuidi and Ricky Lisabu, set amongst haunting harmonies. But it was the latter breed which astonished, unleashing the more exuberant members of the band. Over insistent guitar scratch, the crutch-waving Kabanba Kabose Kasungo rapped punchily, and drummer Cubain Kabeya spread his wings and laid down beats which harked back to the great Tony Allen. And so an album track like “Je T’Aime” was transformed into a magnificent ten minute-long homage to James Brown via Fela Kuti, a ridiculous repetitive groove filled with with chants of “Sex Machine!”, and one point just a matter-of-fact, completely undeniable “YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!”. Wheelchairs shuffled excitably, and vocalist Djunana Tanga-Suele just couldn’t contain himself, leaping from his chair to roll around and dance at the front of the stage grinning widely.

Atop all of this was the superb performance of the 18 year old prodigy Roger Landu playing his homemade satonge. Around his feet were strewn a number of these stringed cans, some emblazoned with skull-and-crossbones, all seemingly tuned to slightly different keys: from what I could make out they were “very high”, “very high sharp” and “very high flat”. The sound he was able to eke from that single string was revelatory, as he whittled one berserk and ragged solo after another. He played to the crowd, dropping to his knees like he was Hendrix playing “The Star Spangled Banner”, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had played it with his teeth or even set it on fire at the end. His solo lines sliced the atmosphere to ribbons and rearranged it into whole new forms of excitement. Both he and the bundle of joy that was Tanga-Suele had to be dragged from the stage at the end; likewise us from the venue. This was a show that neither the crowd nor the performers seemed to want to end: an extraordinary performance from an extraordinary group of people. Tres Tres Fort, indeed.