There’s a particular weight to a “last show,” even when nobody quite wants to say the word out loud. At the Marrickville Bowling Club, that weight hung low and steady as Bad//Dreems stepped onto the stage for the last time.
This was the final Sydney stop before the band’s indefinite hiatus, arriving in tandem with the release of Ultra Dundee, their fifth record and a parting statement that sharpened everything they’ve built since those early warehouse days in Adelaide. No grand theatrics, no inflated farewell. Just songs, sweat, and the sense that something important was slipping temporarily out of reach.
Support came in layers, each adding its own texture to the night. Jack Griffith opened with a set that leaned into sincerity, his delivery unguarded, lyrics landing with quiet precision. There was no need to force the room. It came to him.
Then Don’t Thank Me Spank Me flipped the atmosphere sideways. All movement and mischief, they played it loose and loud, striking poses, trading glances, dragging the crowd into their orbit. There was a playful thread running through it that nodded toward the oddball energy of The B-52’s, but it never felt like imitation. Just a band having a very good time and making sure everyone else did too.
The Pretty Littles followed with something heavier in the bones. Their set hit with a muscular kind of clarity, guitars cutting clean, rhythm section locked tight. It felt grounded, deliberate, like they were clearing the runway for what was coming next.
And then Bad//Dreems arrived.
No reinvention, no farewell script. Just the band as they’ve always been: literate, direct, built on stories that feel pulled from the same streets the crowd walked in on. Tracks from Ultra Dundee threaded seamlessly alongside older material, the set reading like a condensed version of their entire arc. There was something sharper in it too, a sense of finality without melodrama.
The room told its own story. Familiar faces scattered through the crowd, a quiet constellation of musicians, industry types, long-time followers. Not a spectacle, just a recognition that this mattered. That this band, built without gloss or compromise, had carved out something lasting.
By the time it edged toward the end, nobody was reaching for closure. The songs kept coming, the crowd stayed locked in, and the idea of a hiatus felt less like an ending and more like a pause mid-sentence. So, there was no grand goodbye, no overworked sentiment. Just the understanding that this was a moment people would carry with them for a long time, and a quiet hope that whatever comes next for the band doesn’t take too long to arrive.
Outside, Marrickville carried on as usual. Inside, it felt like time had briefly stalled.
Images Deb Pelser
