Festival Review: Lausanne Underground Film & Music 2024
Across a weekend filled with head-splitting noise, gut-busting sci-fi B-movies, and boundary-pushing performances, LUFF 2024 proved to be a chaotic and unforgettable celebration of all things bizarre and beautiful.
The 2024 edition of Switzerland’s Lausanne Underground Film & Music Festival (LUFF) was a bold celebration of boundary pushing art, showcasing the avant-garde in both music and cinema. Held at Lausanne’s Casino de Montbenon (which apparently isn’t actually a casino), LUFF stood as a testament to experimental culture, challenging traditional notions of both sound and vision. The 2024 edition was a free-for-all of noise, experimental film, and general strangeness.
Ieva Balode and Biliana Voutchkova kicked things off with a performance that could only be described as a cinematic exorcism. Three 16mm film loops played on a screen, showing what at first looked like a burning tree, but as the night went on, the tree began to twist and distort, morphing into different shapes and colours like it was alive and pissed off. Meanwhile, Voutchkova’s violin screeched and wailed, layered with machine-like soundscapes that felt like nature’s angry ghost was being summoned right in front of us. This performance felt almost ritualistic in it’s nature.
Things really got loud and sweaty when Lord Spikeheart, aka Martin Kanja, stormed the stage. If you’ve never heard African noise-rap blended with metal, prepare yourself. The man came out like a force of nature, screaming, growling, and rapping over music that felt like it was ripped from the end of the world. His set was pure apocalyptic energy—metal riffs colliding with ferocious noise and African rhythms. The sound-system inside the venue really complimented the music with 12 subwoofer’s completely devastating everyone in the rooms ears. The sounds were so powerful you could literally feel your nose vibrating. The best part of this show was that you could see the crowd slowly losing their collective minds. Heads were banging, feet were stomping, and by the end, people looked like they’d been through battle. The walls were practically sweating.
And speaking of detonations, let’s talk about Bela. This Berlin-based sound artist might have been the most innovative performer of the entire festival. Originally from Paju, South Korea, she brought the kind of music that makes you wonder if your ears are malfunctioning or if you’re hearing the future of sound. Bela blends Korean folk music (Pungmul), extreme metal, noise, and post-industrial beats into a sonic explosion that grabs you by the throat. Her performance was like a ritual in itself - a cathartic release of queer rage, sorrow, and power, drenched in distortion and bass that shook the floor. Her set felt like an exorcism for the oppressed.
LUFF’s lineup was an unholy feast of radical sonic chaos. Radon, a Zurich trio known for their witchcore sound, brought doom, sludge, and anti-fascist black metal to the table, creating an atmosphere so thick and grimy you could practically feel the despair oozing from their amps. Their set was brutal—a gnarly mix of lo-fi doom with guttural, rage-filled vocals. Dark, heavy, and cathartic in all the right ways.
Luka Aron, who followed Lord Spikeheart’s destructive set on the first night was a massive juxtaposition to the music that preceded it. His piece, XV XXVII III XXI IX: Variations & Coda (yeah, that’s the name), was a quadraphonic mind-bender that felt like you were being slowly unraveled by sound. He contrasted the raw intensity of power electronics with the fragility of acoustic instruments, creating a soundscape that didn’t just challenge your hearing but toyed with your brain’s ability to make sense of what was happening. This set was a welcome shift, a more dreamy and vitally moving performance. It was like being inside a giant puzzle that was constantly shifting and morphing.
The films chosen for LUFF were weird, wild, and sometimes outright filthy. Fotogenico was a standout movie that blended punk, electro, and the grimy underbelly of Marseille’s alternative scene. The plot? A father on a booze-soaked journey to find out what happened to his daughter, who was part of an electro-punk band. What follows is a whirlwind of drama, dark humour, and a fantasy-like dive into Marseille’s underground. Between its catchy music, strong visuals, and the way it breaks every stereotype of the city, Fotogenico proved to be one of the more memorable cinematic experiences of the fest. It was basically a love letter to independence, youth, and doing things your own way.
With Flesh Gordon Meets the Cosmic Cheerleaders - what can I even say? This is the kind of film that throws subtlety out the window, shoots it into space, and lets it spiral into a black hole of pure absurdity. Flesh Gordon, the not-so-heroic hero, gets yanked into an intergalactic mess after being abducted by - wait for it - a squad of cosmic cheerleaders. They’re led by the busty Robunda Hooters, a woman whose name tells you everything you need to know about the highly intellectual nature of this flick. The movie doesn’t hold back. It's a sequel to the original Flesh Gordon (which was already a cheeky spoof of Flash Gordon), and it cranks the campy, sexed-up absurdity up to eleven. From its low-budget, high-laughs special effects to the over-the-top performances, Flesh Gordon is pure B-movie magic - a glorious mix of sci-fi schlock and bawdy humour. The film never takes itself seriously for a second, which is exactly why it works. It's a wild ride through a universe where sex jokes are the primary form of communication, and the only way to save mankind is through a bonkers mission to restore... well, manhood.
Back to the music.. One of the most innovative artists performing was Suzan Peeters, who broke every known code of accordion playing. That’s right, accordion. With distortion, electroacoustic wizardry, and even a vibrating fitness board, Peeters transformed the accordion into a noise machine from hell. Mosquito Farm were also very interesting, an experimental duo out of London, brought DIY energy to the stage, constructing a sound factory out of ping-pong balls, fans, powdered milk, and plastic bottles, alongside traditional instruments. Watching them was like stepping into a chaotic workshop where everything makes noise, and it all somehow comes together into a buzzing, clattering symphony of weirdness.
LUFF 2024 was more than just a festival - it was a full sensory overload. Whether you came for the headbanging, ear-piercing noise of acts like Lord Spikheart (seriously, creates some of the harshest, most relentless music out there) or the mind-expanding, sometimes absurd films, the festival delivered on its promise of experimentation. LUFF thrives on breaking down every boundary - musical, visual, cultural. It’s a place where you’re not just an audience member - you’re part of the experience, dragged along for the ride, whether you’re ready or not.
By the end of the weekend, my brain felt fried in the best possible way. LUFF isn’t for the faint of heart, but if you’re down for a full-blown assault on your senses, this is the place to be. In a world where culture can often feel like a packaged product, LUFF stands tall as a reminder that art can still be weird, wild, and perhaps most importantly, fun.
From the very first night, the festival offered visceral and transformative experiences. LUFF 2024 was not just about music and film; it was about experimentation in every sense of the word. The festival's programming embraced a multitude of perspectives and artistic expressions, each pushing the boundaries of their respective forms. By bringing together independent filmmakers, sound artists, and experimental musicians, LUFF fostered a sense of collective innovation and cultural collaboration.
Ultimately, LUFF 2024 succeeded in not only presenting radical and visionary works but also in challenging the very structure of how culture is created and experienced. LUFF proved itself as a haven for those seeking art that defies the mainstream.
