It was approximately 120 degrees inside Lansing's Mac's Bar, 2700 E. Michigan Ave., on Wednesday night.

With instrumental math rockers Don Caballero pounding away on the bar's stage, it was an evening well-suited for hyperbole.

That being the case, the members of Don Caballero are — in terms of physical appearance and talent — humongous. Dressed in a striped polo shirt and jogging pants, drummer and head Don Damon Che bore a slight resemblance to Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban, unleashing his fury on a cadre of drums instead of NBA commissioner David Stern.

Behind the kit, Che was a marvel of coordination — arms flying fluidly from cymbals to toms to snares while his feet beat out rhythms in inconceivable time signatures. They wouldn't call it math rock if it wasn't the sonic manifestation of advanced placement calculus.

Throughout their set, the band members' playing was mind-numbingly precise. The sweat pouring down their faces was less a result of the heat and more an indication of their absorption in the music. Bassist Jason Jouver's upper lip often curled into a sneer offering some respite from the intensity of the other Dons' concentrated scowls.

With their dense arrangements constantly threatening to spiral off in different directions, Jouver's sparsely barreling bass lines were — like Phil Hartman in the early '90s seasons of "Saturday Night Live" — the glue keeping things together.

As for the guitar work of Gene Doyle and Jeff Ellsworth, that was more like one of those two-headed rattlesnakes you'd see in a museum of Old West oddities, preserved in a moment of attack. They worked against each other in several songs, trading distorted arpeggios and effects-laden squawks that sounded like a dime-store toy ray gun. Only when they came together to deliver a few measures of synchronized riffing were they a truly effective beast.

The same could be said for most of the set — the heat seeking accuracy of the band's sound makes no room for improvisation, but that doesn't mean its members aren't prone to noodling. It was far too easy to zone out during their more virtuosic indulgences, only to be sucked back in by a bone-crushingly cohesive climax. The emotive heights the band could reach were astounding, even without vocals.

Che was provided with a microphone, which he dubbed "the talk-back mic," but it was really more of a "back-talk mic." There was a playful contention between the drummer and his devoted fans, with both parties exchanging jokes and insults in between songs.

Late in the set, Che's fatigue kept the breaks longer and the comments shorter. But he did offer advice — his preference for being addressed.

"Damon is what the IRS calls me," he said. "If you don't want me to look at you as The Man, call me Delmer."