Set inside the industrial-cool surrounds of Plant 4 Bowden, the show feels perfectly placed. There’s something about that open, slightly raw space that matches the energy on stage – creative, a little unpredictable and buzzing with possibility. It’s not a polished theatre box; it’s a living, breathing environment and that makes what unfolds feel even more immediate.

Jobe walks out with minimal fuss – a loop station, a mic and a quiet, kind and gentle confidence that builds as quickly as his tracks do. What follows is a masterclass in live looping, but not in a show-off way. This isn’t about flexing technical muscle (though there’s plenty of that); it’s about constructing something real, right in front of you. Beats land, harmonies stack, textures ripple outwards – and suddenly one person becomes an entire soundscape.

“There’s honesty here that doesn’t feel manufactured…” Markus Hamence

What sets this apart is the emotional threading. These aren’t just songs; they’re fragments of a life being processed in real time. There’s honesty here that doesn’t feel manufactured. Moments of humour slip in effortlessly, disarming the room, before giving way to something more reflective – identity, growth, those awkward in-between stages of figuring yourself out. It’s intimate without being heavy, open without trying too hard.

The beauty of the show is in its imperfection. Not everything is slick, and it doesn’t need to be. There are edges, pauses, slight shifts in tone – and all of it makes the experience feel human. It’s Fringe at its most authentic: a performer taking risks, inviting you along for the ride, and trusting the audience to meet him there. Could it be a tighter in places? Yes. Could there be more eye contact with the audience? Yes. But, make no mistake, this is really good art and you can see a lot of time, love and talent has gone into this show, and that makes it work in my books.

The crowd at Plant 4 leans in, claps along, locks into the rhythm of it all. There’s a shared pulse by the end – that feeling that something has been built collectively, even though it started with just one voice.

“He lives in his imagination and doesn’t function with the demands of society’s reality and expectations. And thank gosh for that, because this mind-set has bred a beautiful talent…” Markus Hamence

Jobe, in his own words, is weird. He lives in his imagination and doesn’t function with the demands of society’s reality and expectations. And thank gosh for that, because this mind-set has bred a beautiful talent.

Loops, I Did It Again is clever, yes. It’s musically sharp, yes. But more than that, it’s connective. It reminds you that sometimes the simplest setup – one person, one idea, one space – can create something unexpectedly expansive.

And that quiet expansion lingers long after the final loop fades.