Highlights from a wild week of concerts and festivals in Melbourne – most of which bypassed Aotearoa completely.
It was a stunning day for dads, bogans and the three people cosplaying as historically accurate medieval knights. By 6pm on a stinking hot Friday at Flemington Racecourse, the Melbourne leg of the Good Things festival was well underway. Fans were sweaty and stinky, the music was fast and loud, Tool and Weezer were still to come, and in a circus tent reminiscent of Big Day Out’s Boiler Room, a live band offered karaoke for budding rock stars.
Then Shirley Manson spotted someone holding a beach ball, and things unravelled. “What a fucking douchebag,” the Garbage frontwoman yelled from the main stage. Earlier, Manson had spotted that ball bouncing around the front rows. She wanted it gone. Now, a fan was waving at her. Manson saw this as a declaration of war, and went nuclear. “You’re a middle-aged man in a fucking ridiculous hat and you’re a fucking fuck face.”
Maybe it was the heat. Possibly it’s because this is Garbage’s final tour and Manson has regularly raged about the struggle of being a musician in the Spotify era. Perhaps it’s because no one says “fuck” or “motherfucker” or “fucking douche bag” quite like a Scot. Either way, she’d had enough. “You’re a small man with a small dick,” she ranted. “I literally want to ask people to punch you in the fucking face.”
That man with the beach ball was later revealed to be Ben O’Brien, a longtime Garbage fan who didn’t use Spotify and owned all the band’s CDs. He’d biked to the festival, found the ball while sitting in the grass, then put it under his arm so he could feel the vibrations of Garbage’s music through it. Then, after ‘Vow,’ he briefly waved it around to show his approval. That’s when Manson sprayed him for several minutes. “It … absolutely went dark,” O’Brien told Blunt magazine.
The irony? Up until that point, Garbage had been awesome. Good Things was a great day out. So were many of the shows and festivals I’ve seen over the past week in Melbourne – an insane, knee-crushing, wallet-busting seven days that includes two incendiary Kendrick Lamar concerts, a stunning TV on the Radio show, and a Lady Gaga spectacle that made me suffer gothic zombie nightmares afterwards.
But the past week isn’t the exception. In 2025, it’s become the norm. Everyone from AC/DC to Billie Eilish, Kylie Minogue, Katy Perry, Addison Rae, Green Day and Oasis excluded Aotearoa on their down under tours. Travelling to Australia to see the world’s biggest artists has become commonplace for New Zealanders who want to see those shows. And like O’Brien, “dark” aptly describes how I and many others feel about that.
So, flights were booked, harrowing ticketing queues were endured, and a mate’s spare room was available. I touched down in Melbourne last Wednesday, and within hours the state of things became very clear. “Why are you here?” asked a woman in Lululemon leading a cavoodle around South Melbourne’s Albert Park. When I told her I was there to see some shows, she nodded slowly and smiled. “Oh yes, she replied. “Melbourne gets all the concerts … you should stay until March.”
That line, or some version of it, was parroted at me everywhere. An Uber driver enjoying all those extra rides mentioned it. A fan in the Lady Gaga merch queue told me the same thing. So did a barista while I waited for coffee. Everyone in Melbourne knows they’re living the good life, and they’re not wrong. While Tāmaki Makaurau continues to dine out on Metallica’s fumes, and as the government attempts to course correct with a raft of measures designed to entice major artists back, Australia is feasting on a seemingly limitless buffet of live music.
How good does Australia have it? While I was walking to the first of two Kendrick Lamar shows, a friend sent me footage from Franz Ferdinand’s Sydney show that he’d travelled from New Zealand to see. I met a mate at a rooftop bar who told me they would be buying as much merch as they could carry at two Lady Gaga shows. Another was seeing Good Things, then sticking around to see TV on the Radio. Spilt Milk and Meredith Music Festival were both happening on the same day as one of those Lady Gaga shows. It is a choose-your-own-adventure cornucopia of delights.
With four stadium shows and three music festivals, Melbourne experienced more events in one week than Auckland had in all of 2025. What was happening in Auckland over the same time period? Nadia Reid’s first headline appearance at The Powerstation, a Taylor Swift tribute act at the Bruce Mason Centre, and two shows by the South Korean indie act Wave to Earth. Yes, we had a nice run of 90s nostalgia across November. But, in December, it’s not even close.
So, when a press release landed in my inbox from tourism minister Louise Upston’s office on my first day in Melbourne, I couldn’t help but laugh. It confirmed the first beneficiaries of Upston’s $40 million major events boost, an attempt to course correct this huge imbalance. It was a good start: a Linkin Park arena show scheduled for May, the Wellington debut of Ultra Music Fest, and Six60 and Synthony joining forces to open Ōtautahi’s new stadium, Te Kaha.
But Upston’s timing was ridiculously bad. I read her release while putting on my shoes. Kendrick Lamar was playing across town at Melbourne’s AAMI Stadium in a few hours, and I didn’t want to miss the opening act, Schoolboy Q. Like everyone else, he wasn’t bothering to come to New Zealand either.
It was in the moshpit at Kendrick Lamar’s second stadium show that I realised I should probably pace myself if I was going to last the distance. His first show was impressively muscular, a sizzling victory lap that dances on Drake’s grave. But the second night was a scorcher. Doechii replaced Schoolboy Q, and her R-rated opening slot was full-on, over-the-top and as impressive as everything else she’s done all year. Afterwards, she watched Lamar from a vantage point just a few metres behind me, while I bounced around to all those GNX bangers.
Despite Manson’s sour rant, I loved Good Things, which hits that nostalgic Big Day Out sweet spot in every possible way: gross smells, heavy music, heaving crowds, and some impressively homemade outfits. Sure, some of the acts were showing their age – Goldfinger’s frontman admitted he started his band when he was 24, and he’s 58 now. But when GWAR showered the crowd in fake blood, then executed a Donald Trump puppet, sticking it out felt worth it.
Then there was Lady Gaga, a show I hoped might give me a bit of a break but turned out to be the week’s main event. I saw fans dressed in bridal veils and ball gowns, or copying their favourite Gaga era. Somehow, despite being restricted to the back of the arena, I managed to stumble up front for the final hour. There were New Zealanders here, there and everywhere. During the pre-show entertainment, fans can text Gaga backstage, and their words end up on the big screen. A mate estimates there were at least 20 messages from New Zealanders who’d made the trip over.
That’s one anecdote that sums up the state of things. But here’s another. When Kendrick Lamar told Melbourne to “make some noise” I found it hard to join in. When Doechii led a chant of “Aussie Aussie Aussie, oi oi oi,” I couldn’t add my voice into the mix. It’s weird to cheer when all those acts specifically snubbed us. I’m still sour about that. But, at last night’s TV on the Radio show, my final hurrah before heading home, when they asked Melbourne to make some noise, I finally joined in. I guess we’re all getting used to it now.
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