Rain hangs over Sydney all afternoon, turning the streets around the Hordern Pavilion slick and reflective, the kind of weather that makes the city feel slightly detached from itself. Inside, there is a hum of anticipation long before Thundercat appears. Backseat Mafia caught him earlier this year in Manchester and previously amid the strange cinematic haze of Dark Mofo in 2023, but tonight feels different again. Like the audience is stepping directly into the spiralling inner monologue of Distracted rather than simply watching a performance unfold from a distance.
Before that, Katayanagi Twins transform the venue with an opening set that feels like a recalibration of the room’s pulse. Rain and China move fluidly between genres with an instinctive looseness, threading club rhythms through their Māori, Samoan, Tongan and Niuean influences while the crowd steadily sheds the stiffness of the wet evening outside. By the time their set closes, pockets of the floor are already moving like the night has fully arrived.
The crowd is remarkably young, and long before Thundercat steps onstage the room is already echoing with shouted miaows, cat ears bouncing through the audience and a level of interaction that makes the wait feel part of the show itself. Then the lights drop and Thundercat emerges, bass hanging from him like an extension of his nervous system. Supporting him are Dennis Hamm – mostly obscured from view by his keyboards and Justin Brown on drums. What immediately strikes you is how little separation exists between the virtuoso musician and the awkwardly funny human being underneath it all. His music has always operated in that strange emotional space where technical brilliance collides with vulnerability.
At times the entire room seems suspended inside the low-end vibrations of his bass playing, every note wobbling through the Hordern with impossible clarity. Yet despite the complexity of the musicianship, nothing feels cold or clinical. Thundercat plays with the looseness of somebody constantly chasing feeling rather than perfection.
That humanity becomes the real centre of the night. In an era where so much live music feels over-rehearsed or flattened into social media-ready moments, Thundercat’s performance thrives on unpredictability. Songs dissolve into laughter. Emotional weight arrives sideways through humour. One moment the room is watching jaw-dropping instrumental interplay, the next it feels like everyone’s collectively surviving the absurdity of modern life together for a few hours.
Images Deb Pelser
