Rocker (feedbot)
Platinum Member
Hidden within the increasingly gentrified confines of Digbeth, Birmingham, Supersonic Festival has been a sanctuary for underground and experimental music for over two decades. Now earlier in the year than usual and scaled-back to two days, the festival nonetheless continues to champion music and culture indiscriminately.
It’s for this reason that the depth of Supersonic 2026’s lineup is so ineffable. This year’s performers exist not within genre but within some hazy universe of their own making. Acceptance is a central pillar of Supersonic and this extends to the music, however arcane; Thorn Wych’s experiments with homemade instruments, Lucifer Sky’s brutal soundscapes of noise, etc. Folk remains ever-present too, as ØXN and Milkweed draw two of the weekend’s most attentive audiences.
Similarly evident is Supersonic’s penchant for the type of heavy music that thrives within counter-cultural spaces. “Supersonic recommends wearing earplugs to all shows” says a sign near the bar at the festival’s main venue, The Crossing. As the weekend progresses, one thing is clear. This is extremely sage advice.
Greet consists of little more than harmonium and voice. Masterminded by Yorkshire’s Matthew Broadley, it is in principle a minimalistic project. The result, however, is akin to the maximalism of the undulating Yorkshire Dales. Alongside a free-standing setup of harmonium and microphone, Broadley plays the instrument like a pair of bellows, breathing life into each fiery pulse of the harmonium’s stoic chords. These dense textures neatly sit underneath Broadley’s voice, at once both gentle and valiant. Crafted as folk songs, the compositions themselves have more in common with the sombre ambience of genres like doom metal and drone, as instrument and voice blend into the room, becoming one with the building itself.
Original Bong members Dawn Terry and Mike Smith reunite alongside Smote’s Daniel Foggin to present the inaugural performance of Bong II, an exciting continuation of the longstanding drone metal project. It begins with a roaring eight minutes of noise, with Foggin, back to audience and guitar pointed firmly towards amplifier, handling his instrument like an ancient relic. Smith’s drums, once they eventually begin, build to a pummelling of seismic crunches that produce visible wobbles from the precariously placed surrounding microphones. Terry meanwhile adds melodic depth through both bass and vocals. The latter is far from lyrical, and instead adds an additional texture to the already multi-layered performance. Between the three musicians is a remarkable telepathy too, as tempos are pushed, pulled and twisted across a 45-minute display of rib-cage rattling vibration.
Traidora are an anti-fascist queer punk band led by Eva Leblanc, a Venezuelan-born trans-woman currently living in the UK. Performing tonight alongside Charley (guitar) and Maeve (drums) as a three-piece, although the exact personnel of musicians vary between performances, the scale of the occasion has not escaped Traidora. “You can usually see us in the basement of a stinky-ass pub” says Charley. The band however remain unbothered by the venue’s size as they power through a 30-minute performance of gnashing punk energy. Leblanc’s conversational tone between songs adds context to Traidora, a project that celebrates queerness in a way that aligns to Supersonic Festival’s continued support of queercore music. It’s a rapid half-an-hour of effervescence that viscerally entertains as much as it culturally matters, perhaps now more than ever.
Leeds’ Guttersnipe is a curious prospect. The duo, consisting of Urocerus Gigas (guitar/keyboard) and Tipula Confusa (drums), face each other on stage as they unleash a cocktail of noise rock, their flailing profiles partly obscured by their equally flailing hair. Tipula Confusa’s drumming style is jazzy, sticks falling into a mic’d up drum kit that is itself heavily distorted. It adds an industrial edge that blends well with Urocerus Gigas’ frenetic guitar playing. What’s most remarkable about Guttersnipe however is the duo’s ability to conjure a variety of sounds, seemingly from thin air. The music at times slows to a grungy sludge, and at others accelerates to something of chiptune free-for-all. With both members singing into microphones that are fed through enough processing units to make their between-song stage patter sound like the clangers (to their own admission), the duo’s endearing chemistry only adds to the thrill of each noisy digression.
The pleasingly DIY Monoxide Brothers – made up of Emily Doyle and Sophie Hack – stand before their setup of electronics with a sense of pride. It looks like a collection of findings that an EDM-obsessed magpie has gathered. This motley assemblage is the powerhouse behind Monoxide Brothers’ surprisingly catchy but nonetheless heavy electro-leanings. Above this sits Hack’s vocals. Her lyrics traverse songs about trans rights and female body autonomy, consistently delivered with a sly and cutting matter-of-fact sardonicism. Doyle’s supporting role is one of controlled chaos, as she battles, mostly successfully, to keep each looped electronic pulse under control. They’re backed by a tapestry of live coded visuals courtesy of collaborator Rose Davies. Protean shapes of psychedelia create colourful swirls as code sprawls across the screen, adding a techno-futuristic flair.
Microplastics’ debut performance is one of Supersonic 2026’s most hotly discussed bookings. Jennifer Walton, 96 back and aya are each known predominantly as solo artists. Now united, they unleash a whirlpool that intersects black metal, hardcore and techno with seldom paralleled creativity. With 96 back’s frantic electronics remaining centre stage throughout, the remaining two members swap sides and instruments (guitar and drums) during what aya calls “switcheroo time”. It offers ample opportunity for some friendly bickering about which ear aya is slightly deaf in (the right apparently) and why Walton’s glasses are falling apart (aya accidentally punched her in the face earlier this evening). Following an incendiary opening run, ‘Kick Stupid’ brings a moodier energy that’s haunted by the ghosts of stoner rock, while a cover of ‘It Eats Itself’ from Walton’s debut album ‘Daughters’ is aptly melancholy. It all sums to a breathtaking premiere as the trio deliver the performance of the weekend.
Formed by S and K but performing as a five-piece, Ameretat are a punk band who seriously know how to riff. They’re also likely the fastest band to perform at Supersonic 2026, but much is hidden amongst the velocity. With both core members contributing vocals – each deploying vastly contrasting registers (Blood Brothers, anyone?) – S and K are a complementary pairing. Both can roar like they’ve eaten barbed wire for breakfast too. They are also children of the Iranian diaspora, and the sounds of Iranian music permeate Ameretat’s sound palette. Away from the music lies the reality of the band’s friends and family, living in Iran during what has in the past few months become an increasingly unsafe environment. The band retell a harrowing story of the fatality of a loved one, while imploring everyone: “Don’t talk over people when they’re telling you their experiences.” It’s one of several moments of Supersonic 2026 where the bleak realities that exist outside the festival’s perimeter are acknowledged with candid honestly.
“I’ve come to dance”, deadpans Prostitute frontman Moe. “So, let’s dance.” He means it too. As Detroit’s Prostitute bully their way through the experimental post-punk of their debut album ‘Attempted Martyr’, Moe’s body is transformed into a vessel through which every musical impulse the band produce is electrically passed. The band are tight, fearfully quick in dexterity and aloof in presentation. The music is aggressive too, but having come here to dance, there’s also a spritely energy to Prostitute’s toe-tappers. Between songs, Moe pauses. Staring at the audience and saying nothing, his eye contact is eerily intense. This is post-punk at its most volatile; frighteningly unpredictable. Throughout a lean 45-minutes, he consumes multiple bottles of water. This presumably provides the strength required to lift his keyboard over his shoulder as he departs the stage in what looks like a bid to become something of a post-punk Rick Wakeman. Far from ostentatious, it’s a striking image and a fitting ending to Supersonic 2026; few could draw the festival to a close quite this brazenly.
As Supersonic Festival’s Artistic Director Lisa Meyer says: “We are living through dark, volatile times shaped by war, violence, and the erosion of freedoms, alongside the ongoing struggle for bodily autonomy, trans rights, and basic dignity. These realities are not separate from this space. They are part of why coming together like this really matters.” Supersonic Festival is therefore both a meditation on and an escape from a hostile planet. It remains one of the only true independent festivals. Local artists run workshops throughout the day, a local brewery keeps the bar stocked, and a core audience of independent music-lovers keep the festival alive. It is for these reasons that an overwhelming sense of possibility emanates. Supersonic is unafraid to confront difficult topics. But in doing so, one leaves with more hope than when they arrived.
BEN WILLIAMS
It’s for this reason that the depth of Supersonic 2026’s lineup is so ineffable. This year’s performers exist not within genre but within some hazy universe of their own making. Acceptance is a central pillar of Supersonic and this extends to the music, however arcane; Thorn Wych’s experiments with homemade instruments, Lucifer Sky’s brutal soundscapes of noise, etc. Folk remains ever-present too, as ØXN and Milkweed draw two of the weekend’s most attentive audiences.
Similarly evident is Supersonic’s penchant for the type of heavy music that thrives within counter-cultural spaces. “Supersonic recommends wearing earplugs to all shows” says a sign near the bar at the festival’s main venue, The Crossing. As the weekend progresses, one thing is clear. This is extremely sage advice.
Words: Ben Williams // Photos: Supersonic – Joe Singh, Robert Barrett & Sam Frank Wood
Saturday
Greet
Greet consists of little more than harmonium and voice. Masterminded by Yorkshire’s Matthew Broadley, it is in principle a minimalistic project. The result, however, is akin to the maximalism of the undulating Yorkshire Dales. Alongside a free-standing setup of harmonium and microphone, Broadley plays the instrument like a pair of bellows, breathing life into each fiery pulse of the harmonium’s stoic chords. These dense textures neatly sit underneath Broadley’s voice, at once both gentle and valiant. Crafted as folk songs, the compositions themselves have more in common with the sombre ambience of genres like doom metal and drone, as instrument and voice blend into the room, becoming one with the building itself.
Bong II
Original Bong members Dawn Terry and Mike Smith reunite alongside Smote’s Daniel Foggin to present the inaugural performance of Bong II, an exciting continuation of the longstanding drone metal project. It begins with a roaring eight minutes of noise, with Foggin, back to audience and guitar pointed firmly towards amplifier, handling his instrument like an ancient relic. Smith’s drums, once they eventually begin, build to a pummelling of seismic crunches that produce visible wobbles from the precariously placed surrounding microphones. Terry meanwhile adds melodic depth through both bass and vocals. The latter is far from lyrical, and instead adds an additional texture to the already multi-layered performance. Between the three musicians is a remarkable telepathy too, as tempos are pushed, pulled and twisted across a 45-minute display of rib-cage rattling vibration.
Traidora
Traidora are an anti-fascist queer punk band led by Eva Leblanc, a Venezuelan-born trans-woman currently living in the UK. Performing tonight alongside Charley (guitar) and Maeve (drums) as a three-piece, although the exact personnel of musicians vary between performances, the scale of the occasion has not escaped Traidora. “You can usually see us in the basement of a stinky-ass pub” says Charley. The band however remain unbothered by the venue’s size as they power through a 30-minute performance of gnashing punk energy. Leblanc’s conversational tone between songs adds context to Traidora, a project that celebrates queerness in a way that aligns to Supersonic Festival’s continued support of queercore music. It’s a rapid half-an-hour of effervescence that viscerally entertains as much as it culturally matters, perhaps now more than ever.
Sunday
Guttersnipe
Leeds’ Guttersnipe is a curious prospect. The duo, consisting of Urocerus Gigas (guitar/keyboard) and Tipula Confusa (drums), face each other on stage as they unleash a cocktail of noise rock, their flailing profiles partly obscured by their equally flailing hair. Tipula Confusa’s drumming style is jazzy, sticks falling into a mic’d up drum kit that is itself heavily distorted. It adds an industrial edge that blends well with Urocerus Gigas’ frenetic guitar playing. What’s most remarkable about Guttersnipe however is the duo’s ability to conjure a variety of sounds, seemingly from thin air. The music at times slows to a grungy sludge, and at others accelerates to something of chiptune free-for-all. With both members singing into microphones that are fed through enough processing units to make their between-song stage patter sound like the clangers (to their own admission), the duo’s endearing chemistry only adds to the thrill of each noisy digression.
Monoxide Brothers
The pleasingly DIY Monoxide Brothers – made up of Emily Doyle and Sophie Hack – stand before their setup of electronics with a sense of pride. It looks like a collection of findings that an EDM-obsessed magpie has gathered. This motley assemblage is the powerhouse behind Monoxide Brothers’ surprisingly catchy but nonetheless heavy electro-leanings. Above this sits Hack’s vocals. Her lyrics traverse songs about trans rights and female body autonomy, consistently delivered with a sly and cutting matter-of-fact sardonicism. Doyle’s supporting role is one of controlled chaos, as she battles, mostly successfully, to keep each looped electronic pulse under control. They’re backed by a tapestry of live coded visuals courtesy of collaborator Rose Davies. Protean shapes of psychedelia create colourful swirls as code sprawls across the screen, adding a techno-futuristic flair.
Microplastics
Microplastics’ debut performance is one of Supersonic 2026’s most hotly discussed bookings. Jennifer Walton, 96 back and aya are each known predominantly as solo artists. Now united, they unleash a whirlpool that intersects black metal, hardcore and techno with seldom paralleled creativity. With 96 back’s frantic electronics remaining centre stage throughout, the remaining two members swap sides and instruments (guitar and drums) during what aya calls “switcheroo time”. It offers ample opportunity for some friendly bickering about which ear aya is slightly deaf in (the right apparently) and why Walton’s glasses are falling apart (aya accidentally punched her in the face earlier this evening). Following an incendiary opening run, ‘Kick Stupid’ brings a moodier energy that’s haunted by the ghosts of stoner rock, while a cover of ‘It Eats Itself’ from Walton’s debut album ‘Daughters’ is aptly melancholy. It all sums to a breathtaking premiere as the trio deliver the performance of the weekend.
Ameretat
Formed by S and K but performing as a five-piece, Ameretat are a punk band who seriously know how to riff. They’re also likely the fastest band to perform at Supersonic 2026, but much is hidden amongst the velocity. With both core members contributing vocals – each deploying vastly contrasting registers (Blood Brothers, anyone?) – S and K are a complementary pairing. Both can roar like they’ve eaten barbed wire for breakfast too. They are also children of the Iranian diaspora, and the sounds of Iranian music permeate Ameretat’s sound palette. Away from the music lies the reality of the band’s friends and family, living in Iran during what has in the past few months become an increasingly unsafe environment. The band retell a harrowing story of the fatality of a loved one, while imploring everyone: “Don’t talk over people when they’re telling you their experiences.” It’s one of several moments of Supersonic 2026 where the bleak realities that exist outside the festival’s perimeter are acknowledged with candid honestly.
Prostitute
“I’ve come to dance”, deadpans Prostitute frontman Moe. “So, let’s dance.” He means it too. As Detroit’s Prostitute bully their way through the experimental post-punk of their debut album ‘Attempted Martyr’, Moe’s body is transformed into a vessel through which every musical impulse the band produce is electrically passed. The band are tight, fearfully quick in dexterity and aloof in presentation. The music is aggressive too, but having come here to dance, there’s also a spritely energy to Prostitute’s toe-tappers. Between songs, Moe pauses. Staring at the audience and saying nothing, his eye contact is eerily intense. This is post-punk at its most volatile; frighteningly unpredictable. Throughout a lean 45-minutes, he consumes multiple bottles of water. This presumably provides the strength required to lift his keyboard over his shoulder as he departs the stage in what looks like a bid to become something of a post-punk Rick Wakeman. Far from ostentatious, it’s a striking image and a fitting ending to Supersonic 2026; few could draw the festival to a close quite this brazenly.
As Supersonic Festival’s Artistic Director Lisa Meyer says: “We are living through dark, volatile times shaped by war, violence, and the erosion of freedoms, alongside the ongoing struggle for bodily autonomy, trans rights, and basic dignity. These realities are not separate from this space. They are part of why coming together like this really matters.” Supersonic Festival is therefore both a meditation on and an escape from a hostile planet. It remains one of the only true independent festivals. Local artists run workshops throughout the day, a local brewery keeps the bar stocked, and a core audience of independent music-lovers keep the festival alive. It is for these reasons that an overwhelming sense of possibility emanates. Supersonic is unafraid to confront difficult topics. But in doing so, one leaves with more hope than when they arrived.
BEN WILLIAMS