Amongst the crowded competitive-human-pyramid-building genre, Mount Your Friends undoubtedly has the most incongruous soundtrack of 2014. As you and your friends take turns to hurl grotesque ragdolls skywards, clambering up the sides of a gravity-defying mountain of manflesh, the orchestration soars, lifting you higher. You spin, you leap, you gather momentum to fling yourself to the very peak of the Babel-esque tower you’ve created, tumbling in balletic cartwheels through the air.

And then your fingers fail, a split-second of crossed neurons, and you plummet earthwards in a tangle of limbs.

Where Mount Your Friends truly excels is in the tension between competition and cooperation. Each time your friends glue themselves to the top of the ever-growing tower, it only makes it harder for you to do the same. Yet you’re all building something together, all striving to reach as high as you collectively can. Everyone wants to win, but it’s hard to want anyone to lose.

Once the weaker players have fallen by the wayside and only the fastest, most dextrous climbers remain, you all cheer the survivors on as they clamber to new heights. Gasping at dramatic fingertip grabs onto awkwardly-arranged appendages. Waiting for that inevitable slip. Against the absurdity of the nearly-naked climbers and their overacted grunts and groans, the music seems to understand: ridiculous as it may be, this is collaboration, creation, working together to reach a new pinnacle.

Only then can you arrange yourself suggestively atop it.