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| Photo: Tim Gruar |
Tonight was all about EDM - forest sprites let loose on the dancefloor. Ripping up the grooves with an ecstasy of beats and pieces provided by two essential beatmakers. That started with our own home grown experimental electronic duo, Umu, the project of soundscape artist Daniel Beban and (I think) Rikki Gooch - both long-time collaborators from the Welly scene (It was impossible to tell if it was Gooch as tonight's drummer wore a mask). Set in the middle of the floor, with the audience gathered around, like buskers in the street, the duo blended live percussion and analogue electronics into modern tribal beats. The energy was raw and physical, with drums driving deep, looping rhythms from a bespoke electronic kit and two blocks of wood, with pick ups, mounted on mic stands, all hit in the traditional way but bent and manipulated on Beban's desk. That set up, like the lab bench of some mad professor, was scattered with an array of knobs, vintage synths, pickups, guitar pedals and other analogue tools that he used to manipulate and dub the sound, drawing on influences that span early electronic pioneers and global dance styles like kuduro.
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| Photo: Tim Gruar |
Their music was both fresh and intriguing. Almost impossible to really describe accurately. At a stab I'd say it sits somewhere between underground club and avant-garde performance. What I can say is that this was one complete piece, built around improvisation, repetition and textures - designed to be felt as much as heard, creating a hypnotic, body-moving sound. I thought they were a fittingly immersive opener. Especially the techno flavour. The drummer's mask, which to me looked like a 1920's Cleopatra headdress worn back to front, was an intriguing addition.
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| Photo: Tim Gruar |
A quick change-about and then it's time for the main act. Emerging from the murky fringes of East London’s warehouse scene, Snapped Ankles (great name by the way) are less a conventional band than a self-contained ecosystem. Formed in 2011 in Brick Lane, the UK collective have built a cult following by fusing post-punk, electronica and performance art into something primal, propulsive and defiantly strange. Their origins are rooted in DIY experimentation—early shows involved slicing up 1960s film footage and recombining it with live synth improvisation—but over time that chaos evolved into a tightly wired, rhythm-driven machine.
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| Photo: Tim Gruar |
Even now, the band maintain an air of mystery. Performing in ghillie suits and masks, they obscure their identities entirely, presenting themselves as “forest folk” rather than individuals. Reminds you of Daft Punk, maybe? Behind the foliage, though, there is a loose but documented core of contributors. Members have included Paddy Austin (vocals, guitar and “log synths”), Mike Chestnutt (synths), Giorgio Zampirolo (drums), alongside collaborators such as Clémentine March (bass) and others in a rotating lineup. Specifically, who was on stage tonight was unclear. The band were announced but I missed the names, due to the usual chaos of audience members cheering over the top of each name when it was spoken.
Their instrumentation is as unconventional as their aesthetic—combining a portable keyboard, driving bass synth, a highly wired up drum kit and and banks of analogue synths, alongside homemade “log synth” percussion tools that turned a mic stand into a rhythm machines. Organizer, Andrew Laking, went all out and provided a huge piece of tree to decorate the stage.
What makes Snapped Ankles truly distinctive is this collision of the organic and the synthetic. Their music pulses with krautrock repetition and dance-punk energy, but it’s threaded through with ecological themes and ritualistic intensity—equal parts rave, protest march and pagan ceremony.
Don't quote me but I think I heard tracks like I Want My Minutes Back, Jonny Guitar Calling Gosta Berlin, and Rhythm Is Our Business - all staples of their live sets. Each one built on elastic basslines and relentless beats that seem engineered less for listening than for collective movement.
And it’s live where Snapped Ankles truly mutate. There was a bloke in the audience with a KLF t-shirt. Tonight's gig reminded me of one of those. The lead singer or 'forest person') jumps into the crowd a few times and bounces around, his key board on his head. At one point he asks us to imagine a beach in a tropic location. He gets those on the right to make sea 'swishing sounds', and those on the left to imitate gulls. The middle all must bark like dogs. Unconventional participation techniques, but great fun.
For a crowd of barely 200, Snapped Ankles conjured something far more expansive—an engulfing, almost ceremonial experience where strobe bursts and driving rhythms collapsed the space into a single, pulsing organism. It felt primal and unrestrained, equal parts dancefloor chaos and immersive art piece.
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| Photo: Tim Gruar |
The mixed age audience loved it. Us older ones might remember gigs like The Gathering or Splore. The combination of forest and techno definitely conjured up those heady shamanic days of ecstasy and free love techno. This wasn’t a performance so much as an invocation. Something volatile seemed to crackle into being, rising from the depths and surging through circuitry and sound, until it took hold of the room—restless, kinetic, and impossible not to give yourself over to. As a Lōemis gig, with the emphasis on celebrating the Midwinter Solstice and all that means, Snapped Ankles were perfectly suited. After all. the best way to beat the winter blues is to run to the bonfire in the clearing and dance with the forest-folk like summer never left us.
Snapped Ankles played Meow as part of the Lōemis Festival.
Thanks to Andrew and the crew for access.
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