I’m sloshing through Centennial Park under a sky that looks like it has personal beef with Sydney, rain slicking the grass, shoes already ruined, and somehow it all feels exactly right. Laneway Festival is 21 this year and instead of calming down, it’s behaving like a beautifully curated nervous breakdown. Sold out. Soaked. Alive. Proof again that when you get the lineup right, people will come, even if the weather is actively trying to drown the vibe.
This is Laneway 2026, less a festival than a roaming manifesto. The tastemaker badge still fits. There’s 35 percent more artists, a new East Coast stage, debuts stacked on debuts, and tonight Sydney feels like the centre of a very loud, very specific universe.
Wet and caffeinated I immediately run headfirst into Blusher, who kick things off like they’ve been waiting for this crowd their whole lives. Big smiles, tight choreography, all hooks and confidence. Think Bananarama if they grew up on TikTok and didn’t ask permission. The crowd doesn’t just watch, it joins in. That’s the theme of the day.
The Belair Lip Bombs have developed hugely since I saw them supporting Private Function at the Crow bar. The Frankston band are doing their thing at the Hope Springs stage, it’s all power-pop jangly guitars mixed with a bit of earnestness. Jack White is a fan, it’s easy to see why.
I’ve heard whispers about Cavetown. When Robin Skinner takes the stage, the whispers stop. He owns the runway like it’s a catwalk, guitar slung low, songs landing with emotional precision and zero irony. It’s talent you don’t need to explain. You either feel it or you don’t, and most people here clearly do.
Rain drives me into the Everything’s Ecstatic tent where Shady Nasty are detonating post-punk mayhem. Loud, abrasive, thrilling. Everybody’s favourite band’s favourite band energy. It’s dry, it’s feral, it’s exactly what this tent is for.
Outside again, Gigi Perez makes her Australian debut feel like a collective exhale. Dreamy soundscapes, voice cutting clean through the damp air, a crowd leaning in. Later, to the crowd’s delight, she pops up with Mt. Joy
Back under cover, Wisp turns my initial curiosity into conversion. I’m a fan after this set. Modern shoegaze, star quality, guitar slung like she knows exactly where this is going. The rain doesn’t matter anymore.
Mt. Joy arrive just as the skies begin to clear, and it feels symbolic without trying to be. Originally from Philadelphia and now based in Los Angeles, the five-piece deliver a set that is expansive and energised, built for open air and wide horizons. Their sound fills Centennial Park with ease, warm and propulsive energy.
On the Hope Springs stage, Jensen McRae stops me dead. What a voice. Lyrics that hit you square in the chest. A girl in the front row is crying openly and no one pretends not to see it. This is one of those sets people will talk about later.
Over at Never Let It Rest, Alex G justifies every bit of his cult status. The singalongs are loud, devotional. I’m late to the party, but I’m staying. It’s not surprising that he has scored two films and worked with Frank Ocean. Is there anything this guy can’t do?
Then Oklou turns the Ecstatic tent into a glowing, pulsing dream. Gear issues? Sure. Doesn’t matter. Her guitarist’s instrument shoots actual lasers. I repeat: lasers. C’est Magnifique.
Lucy Dacus is, predictably, magnetic. Folk-rock with gravity. She looks luminescent, untouchable, and the crowd hangs on every word. Forever Is a Feeling lands like a truth you didn’t know you needed.
Then chaos arrives in the form of The Dare. Drum kit. Synth. Wall of Marshall amps. Absolute possession of the stage. He stalks, whips his mic lead like a weapon, photographers pile into the pit trying to catch lightning. It’s even more mesmerising than two years ago at the Metro. Star is not a strong enough word.
Role Model flips the mood entirely. Dreamy, sweet, disarmingly sincere. The Wiggles join him at the end because why wouldn’t they. It works. Of course it does.
Somehow Geese are on a smaller stage, which immediately fills with celebrities and industry types who know what’s coming. Cameron Winter’s voice washes over the crowd. The new album is top notch and seeing it being performed live here, brings tears to my eyes. Somewhat incongruously, people are wearing hats with geese on them. Nick Cave is a fan, Lucy Dacus and Wisp are side stage watching. The math checks out, Geese is the word.
I remember seeing Wet Leg at tiny venues – the Lansdowne and Oxford Art Factory. Now they’re commanding the stage here. The Isle of Wight is a distant memory. Rhian Teasdale struts, poses, commands. Hester Chambers shreds. They are huge. Capital letters huge.
Wolf Alice follow, touring The Clearing, Ellie Rowsell poised beneath a massive disco ball and a glittering star façade. One of the greatest bands of their generation, still proving it live. They’ll be back in Australia in December 2026. I. Can’t. Wait.
And then the coronation. Chappell Roan turns Centennial Park into Pink Pony Club. Props everywhere. Voice ringing across the city. It’s hard to believe she once played Liberty Hall just across the road. Her rise isn’t hype, it’s physics.
Festivals in Australia have struggled, collapsed, vanished. Laneway stands here in the rain and dares anyone to say it’s done. Get the lineup right and the crowd will come. Even soaked. Especially soaked. Laneway 2026 isn’t just alive. It’s necessary.
Images Deb Pelser
Do not Laneway Festival as its run continues, go HERE for tickets.
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