Sergio Pizzorno bounces around in a half-ruffled/half-tassled all-denim getup that makes him look like he escaped from a Scissor Man attack at a Primark factory. Whenever he’s not bouncing, he’s kneeling or leaning, peacocking with a ceaseless desire to see mosh pits erupt in front of him. The crowd, spilling far out of the packed Woodsey Tent at Glastonbury, are all too happy to oblige, a sea of hopping loons oftentimes obscured by flare smoke shouting back almost every single word of the 13-song surprise set like it’s Kasabian’s 2014 headline slot all over again.