Highlights from the Auckland leg of Laneway 2026.

Chappell Roan

Holy fucking shit! Chappell fucking Roan! How to ever sum up such a powerful combo of pop-princess-power-ballad-goblin-creature-in-a-castle-perfection?! The sky fittingly turned baby pink as ye olde booke of Chappell flipped open onscreen, and her 90-minute fairytale began with ‘Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl’. She high-kicked around the stage in layers upon layers of shimmering mint green butterfly wings, using her giant fairy wand to command the crowd like the drum leader of a marching band. She traversed every corner of her giant gothic hand painted(!!) fairy castle set, from writhing around on the floor for a ‘Barracuda’ cover, to head-banging in a turret, standing atop the battlement to lead us in our mandatory ‘Hot to Go’ dance-a-long. 

It is at this moment where Aotearoa made history and subsequently got the strongest injection of mojo in years. As she pondered at what point in her career she’ll have to stop teaching the ‘Hot to Go’ dance onstage, tens of thousands of us roared back at her. We are a Briscoes piss country at the ass end of the world and devour any crumb of interesting or viral pop culture that makes it through customs declaration – we didn’t need a damn tutorial. “Okay this is the first time I’ve ever played the song without teaching the dance” she beamed, as we cracked our knuckles and got ready to diligently flap our arms in unison. I can’t say for sure, but I reckon even the orangutans at the nearby zoo would have been making major shapes.

There were other huge mojo soaring moments like the belter chorus of ‘Red Wine Supernova’ and unforgettable outro of ‘The Subway’ (“I’ve just realised the play on words” my husband gasped, grateful for the onscreen lyrics) but it was when Roan chatted in front of faux twinkling candlelight before ‘Kaleidoscope’ that things got serious. “It’s tough in my country right now, I mean it’s always been tough but Jesus fucking christ,” she said. “To be here and to see so many businesses with pride flags is fucking awesome… I’m just so grateful that this is a community that accepts and values queer people.”

We also must shout out the incredible all-femme band too, delivering remarkable guitar solos and elongated costume-change interludes from all manner of turrets, totally unencumbered by their billowing bloomers and tight corsets. During ‘Coffee’, the only song with a few lyrical stumbles, Roan introduced another thrilling bandmate: a Wēta workshop-looking gargoyle creature called Shigella. Role Model has his Sally, Chappell has her Shigella. Although it was sometimes difficult to hear her chat between songs (charmingly mumbly for someone with those pipes), she talked about being propositioned by a man after doing the recent Grammys red carpet with, and I quote, “my tits out”. Her response: “Bitch, I’m gay.”

Closing out with the perfect trifecta of ‘Good Luck Babe’, ‘My Kink is Karma’ and ‘Pink Pony Club’, fireworks rained down over Roan’s almighty castle. The crowd was completely rapturous for the final song of black lights and a mirrored disco ball, a feeling that lingered long after the floodlights cranked back on and we all trudged out past MOTAT, tens of thousands of transformed pink pony girls. All hail the queen. /Alex Casey

Wolf Alice

Lesser acts than Wolf Alice would have got swallowed up by the task of playing directly before Chappell Roan, as bodies manoeuvred around for a good spot by the adjacent stage. But this set had an epic quality of its own. 

Ellie Roswell is an electrical storm of a frontwoman, a snarling, tender, mesmeric presence, yet this is still a band, you know, a band, powering towards Seven Sisters, North London in ‘The Sofa’ and, in the other MVP of the set, hovering celestially towards ‘The Last Man on Earth’. /Toby Manhire

Lontalius 

A minor delay to doors opening on the Great North Rd entrance meant Lontalius started off to a genuinely empty stadium. Honestly it suited his melancholic, choked-up guitar – just him, with some atmospherics, drones and the ghost of percussion. The mood matched the humid sky. “If you’re not here to see me, that’s ok,” he said. And it was true, but even if his delicate, resonant music feels better suited to small rooms, it was still beautiful to hear it here. /Duncan Greive

Geese

An unexpected aspect of being in one’s forties is how easily one can assume that one’s tastes and interests will be for things that primarily appeal to other post-youth people. I was slightly worried, then, that arriving to see Geese at the small stage beyond the bottleneck, I’d be greeted by a crowd of middle-aged record-store types, that they’d be a young band that primarily appeals to their elders. 

Thankfully, the opposite was true. The crowd for Geese – a band that has risen in stature since last year (called both the worst debut performance in SNL history and the best rock band to play the show in who-knows-how-long) – was mostly young. And they were eager to engage, jumping wildly whenever a rhythm was sustained long enough and singing along loudly to frontman Cameron Winter’s scattershot imagery. Being surrounded by people belting out lines like, “like a sailor in a big green boat / like a sailor in a big green coat,” was both hilarious and genuinely heartwarming. 

The band itself was a combination of music-class jam band, ironic detachment, and hyper-sincerity – a wild, unhinged cacophony in a time when popular music (rock especially) prioritises maximum precision, proficiency and legibility (see, later, Wolf Alice, whose expert presence on a larger stage an hour or so later provided an interesting counterpoint). 

Whether Geese will live up to some people’s hopes as the newest in the long line of saviors of rock (or, similarly, Winters appointment for his solo work as the new Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Van Morrison, whoever) remains most extremely doubtful, not because he/they aren’t making great, potent music like they did yesterday, but that it’s more sensible just to let Geese be Geese and if more people join gaggle, great! I just hope they come back and play at night next time. /Henry Oliver

Ringlets

Ringlets played by the lake and had a slight delay, but made up for it with the kind of frenetic energy the day needed but didn’t always get. They’re an extremely well-composed band – a yelping, electrocuted singer, a guitarist unleashing devastating Pere Ubu-esque riffs and bass and drums which are deep and ominous. Their lyrics are constantly great; “I would live here but / I hate the curtains” was one which leapt out. ‘I Was on That Roof Once’ got the first real bump from the crowd. Something is going to happen with this band. /DG

Mokotron

I dashed to get from Ringlets to catch the end of Mokotron, playing indigenous bass music in a big field. It’s a really singular product – ancient instruments and te reo rap drenched in dread, melded with this popping drum ‘n’ bass. 

Later he pulled out a melodica and it was like London in 1993. A “fuck David Seymour” chant got an unsurprisingly positive reception. 

I wanted to see him 13 hours later in the day, but this was also the energy the day needed, as the sapping sun came all the way out. /DG

Wet Leg

Rhian Teasdale, lead singer of Wet Leg, is all power and joy. She worked the stage like a punk mermaid, with hot pants, a musical notes singlet, lime green perspex guitar, and slutty little lilac seeing-eye glasses.  I’ve never wanted to be the lead singer of a band more. 

Still high from being ID’d at the entrance gates hours earlier, I danced like a toddler to Wet Leg’s setlist of bangers including ‘Oh no’, ‘pillow talk’, ‘Angelica’, and to end, ‘Chaise Longue’ and ‘mangetout’. My favourite moment was Teasdale asking, in her nervous English voice, where her glasses had gone: “I’m actually quite shortsighted!”

The crowd, as far as I could tell, wasn’t as large for Wet Leg as it was for Wolf Alice (the penultimate act before Chappell; magnificent) but I suspect Wet Leg have picked up a legion of new fans. “She’s so hot, too! Who is that!” a girl screeched behind me, pointing at bass player Hester Chambers (who is hot). At one point (I can’t remember which song it was), someone in a voluptuous black and white wig came out and had a hoon on the tambourine. At the time we speculated it was a guest musician (Chappell?!) from another band, but apparently this is a regular part of a Wet Leg set: to bring out a hairy tambourine maestro. /Claire Mabey

Lucy Dacus 

Lucy Dacus’s mic awkwardly cut out intermittently for a bit at the start – “If I keep going in and out, y’all just pick up the slack” – but it honestly didn’t matter because everyone was sobbing in each other’s arms the entire time. I have truly never experienced such palpable emotion in a crowd before, and whoever was operating the crowd camera had a real knack for finding whoever was about to burst into tears and/or make out for their big screen debut. 

Performing in front of a changing gallery wall depicting everything from Renaissance art to lava caves, Dacus performed old faves like ‘Partner in Crime’ and ‘Hot & Heavy’ as well as a couple from the new album and a boygenius song for good measure. 

“This is a bucket list thing for me, I heard about you all,” she told the weeping crowd. “Are y’all staying hydrated? Good, that’s all I care about.” 

An emotional as hell set that did feel slightly out of step with the baking sun and hot dogs etc, but had frequent moments of transcendent beauty. As a lone pigeon soared over the stage during ‘Forever is a Feeling’, I’ll admit I found myself weeping too. /AC

Role Model

Coming off the back of Lucy Dacus’ raw set, this was a jumpscare. “You motherfuckers having fun here or what,” bellowed Tucker Pillsbury aka Role Model from behind dark glasses. And honestly, we motherfuckers were actually loving it as he ripped through his country-inspired pub singalong tracks like ‘Writings on the Wall’ and 1975 cover ‘Somebody Else’. But there was one song, and one Sally, that everyone was waiting for, soon confirmed to be our own homegrown popstar Benee, who boogied across the stage and twerked cheerily in a ruffle skirt. /AC

Womb

Womb played on the Harikoa stage, a natural cul-de-sac. Truthfully the bulk of the 40,000+ crowd – approaching the biggest Day Outs – were largely here for Chappell. So delicate, ethereal music like Womb’s was often cursed with crowds that meant their music got lost in the scale of the venue. Still, songs like ‘One is Always Heading Somewhere’, the title track from their shimmering album of last year, have gorgeous, rippling melodies, and this was another band which felt like it is one song away from something enormous. /DG

Alex G

Alex G drew a big crowd, and initially songs mostly drawn from his excellent major label debut Headlights were a little muddy and slow. He really picked up with ‘Runner’ and ‘Afterlife’ in quick succession, which lean on his immense talents as a writer and producer. 

By all accounts the conclusion really brought it home – but by then I was over the hill, watching Oklou play these beautiful, fragile acoustic songs in that droning, hypnotic sound world – withholding the beat to make it pop so much harder when it finally arrives. /DG