If you’ve ever wondered why Dan Snaith, the polymath behind Caribou, steps on stage with the unassuming charm of your favorite high school science teacher, it might have something to do with his academic roots. Long before crafting beats that could shake a festival field, Snaith earned a doctorate in mathematics from Imperial College London, completing a thesis titled Overconvergent Siegel Modular Symbols. Now, I can’t tell you what that means, but if it’s anything like his most recent records, it’s a certified banger.
Snaith’s background as a low-key math whiz has always been central to his origin story, earning him a place among the prestige of the kind-of-serious-but-kind-of-not moniker of “intelligent dance music.” Back in the “Gray Era” of hipsterdom, this label stood as a badge of honor, celebrating music that demanded thought as much as movement. As culture shifted and Gen Z rejected gatekeepers like Pitchfork in favor of algorithmic discovery, Snaith’s role in dance culture now feels akin to that of an elder statesman. His work, which has always balanced accessibility with cerebral depth, stands as a rare constant in a world of curated chaos.
This duality — music that sparks both instinctual movement and intellectual appreciation — has always defined Snaith’s artistry. From the euphoric highs of “Can’t Do Without You” to the delicate textures of Swim, Snaith has consistently met listeners where they are. But with his live shows and the bombast of his most recent record, Honey, this balance has seemed to hit its apex mountain. The hooks and drops are bigger, more ecstatic, yet they never lose the craftsmanship that has anchored his work from the start.
Nowhere is this evolution clearer than on stage. Caribou’s live shows have grown into theatrical spectacles that blend operatic visuals with the communal joy of the dance floor. Snaith, no longer the quiet professor hunched over a sampler, commands the stage like a maestro, orchestrating a symphony of light and sound. The precision that can only come from a math doctor is amplified by kaleidoscopic projections and geometric visuals that transform the venue into a foreign world. Tracks like “Sun,” “Come Find Me,” and what might be the drop of the summer, “Honey,” deliver cathartic communal release while retaining the elaborate details that remind you of Snaith’s mathematical mind.
What sets Caribou apart, though, is how Snaith uses his music to dissolve barriers — between performer and audience, intellect and instinct. This was never more evident than during the closer, “Can’t Do Without You,” which has evolved from a wistful headphone favorite to a full-blown anthem. As the final chorus soared, the crowd erupted, arms raised in unison, faces alight with something that felt like pure devotion. Dan Snaith once crafted music for private moments of escapism, but now he’s cracked the code of connection. At the Shrine, Caribou didn’t just perform; they ministered. And for those lucky enough to be there, the dance floor felt like sacred ground.
Words and photos by Eric Han
