George Clinton with Parliament Funkadelic, Ocean, London

Forget Kurt Wagner and the Lambchop collective; when it comes to corralling a multi-dimensional musical family, Clinton is the seasoned maestro. A week short of his 62nd birthday, Doctor Funkenstein chose the ideal venue for the sole British date of his current European tour. The Ocean's purpose-built auditorium captured the entire scope of the aural and visual spectacular generated by the 20-plus band while the flexible curfew allowed the life-affirming 3-hour long display to flow freely past midnight.

An hour after the advertised time, the musicians start to appear onstage. A pouting and preening pot-bellied guitarist dressed only in a nappy leads the charge into a hotbed of Hendrix-style blackmetal. The music builds remorselessly and inexorably – a pattern that will continue throughout tonight's performance.

The mix is sweetened by the arrival of four stupendous backing singers in cowboy and cowgirl outfits; a belly dancer in Arabian costume shimmies into view. The guitar rage subsides, and mellifluous horns blow as the singers boast that "we've been taking every kind of pill".

As a recording artist, Clinton's heyday might have passed – in recent years, his dealings with the industry have mainly been through the courts – but his live show is as potent as ever. At its core is an acid-inspired dream featuring interplanetary funkateers and Superheroes on a mission to save the world from hangups and insecurity. The celebrated names who have passed through the Parliament Funkadelic ranks – Catfish, Bootsy Collins, Eddie Hazel – may be absent but their young replacements proudly adhere to the long-established principles of freeform spontaneity and electrifying dynamics.

Clinton himself, clad in cartoon African robes and sporting multicoloured dreads, isn't onstage until an hour into the performance, but he brings an evangelical sense of glee and abandonment. Untold samples have ensured that Clinton is a decisive influence on the hip-hop generation, but though it's years since he launched The Mothership Spectacular, his live show is a living monument to his crazed musical vision.

It embraces everything from opera to Latin pop, from psychedelic hardrock to Clinton's doowop roots. The audience is treated to vernacular slogans transformed into defiant cries of freedom, gospel roof raisers and Tsunami waves of funk. The musicians casually change places and instruments – the cowboy singer turns into an ace guitarist, the guy with the stick-on nose performs incredible contortions atop the speaker stack, the girl dressed as a belly dancer sings like Aretha Franklin, crying at the altar. "It would be ludicrous to say we are new to this/ We do this/ This is what we do," Clinton informs the audience at regular intervals. Long may they continue.