Review by Ali Williams
The Bluesfest collapse may have left Easter weekend looking like a half-deflated lilo floating in a puddle of bad planning, but The Living End made sure Saturday night at Hotel Brunswick felt anything but a distraction. What could have easily passed as a last-minute rescue mission turned into a full-bodied, sweat-slicked reminder that rock and roll does its best work when it is crammed a small venue, high spirits and absolutely no interest in behaving itself.
The venue was sold out and the night already developed that particular kind of charge before The Living End even hit the stage. Not just excitement, but that twitchy, slightly feral buzz that happens when a venue knows it is about to be fed exactly what it came for. Every inch of the place felt loaded. No wasted movement, no passive crowd energy, no one politely nursing a schooner while pretending they were there for the atmosphere. This was one of those nights where the atmosphere had already necked three beers and was looking for trouble.
The Living End have never needed much to make a room combust and this gig was no different. They barely needed to lift a finger before the place was already halfway gone. But lift a finger they did, then an arm, and if the beer garden had a roof it would’ve been next.
Chris Cheney came out with that familiar mix of cool control and tightly wound menace, never overplaying the moment, never needing to. He has long since mastered the art of making chaos look effortless, which is irritatingly unfair on lesser frontmen but fantastic for the rest of us. His voice still carries that perfect edge of wear and bite, and his guitar work was all sting, swagger and zero wasted indulgence.
Beside him, Scott Owen worked that double bass like it had personally insulted him. Owen remains one of the great joys of seeing this band live. There is something deeply satisfying about a man attacking an upright bass like it owes him money. The movement, the thump, the sheer physicality of it all, it gives The Living End that unmistakable pulse that never sits politely in the background. It struts. It shoves. It grins at you with a chipped tooth. Owen’s stage presence doesn’t so much decorate the set as kick the whole thing into motion, and Saturday night he was in glorious form, launching himself around with the kind of commitment that suggests common sense had been politely asked to leave before doors opened.
Drummer Andy Strachan does that beautiful and often underappreciated thing where a drummer makes violence feel organised. He has this poetic command that keeps everything driving forward with the kind of force that doesn’t beg for attention because it already owns it.
The Living End still know exactly who they are. Tracks from I Only Trust Rock n Roll landed with real muscle, full of grit, and that no-bullshit attack the trio have always done better than most. There was no dip in momentum, no dutiful “here’s one from the new record” energy that usually sends crowds to the bar. The newer songs earned their place and then some. And the crowd chewed on them with as much lust as they did with their all time favourites. The Living End’s catalogue has always had that rare quality of being both razor-sharp and ridiculously fun, which is why a pub crowd can lose its collective mind to them.
Which is exactly what occurred when Jimmy Barnes rocked up and took to the stage with the band. You could feel the room lose its mind in real time. Not gradually. Not in a measured, reasonable way. One second there was a cracking Living End set underway, the next there was a full-scale outbreak of disbelief, joy and the sort of noise that comes from people suddenly realising they’re getting far more than they bargained for.
Barnesy doesn’t arrive anywhere quietly. He arrives like Jimmy Barnes, which is really the only setting anyone should accept from him. The voice still has that glorious sandpaper-and-thunder scrape to it, and the second he launched in, the place was gone. Those three songs turned the room inside out. There was no sense of a novelty cameo, It felt loose, electric and completely right. Barnesy and Cheney played off each other with the confidence of musicians who know exactly how to work a room.
Not one person in there was preserving their dignity, which was fortunate because dignity had no place in the building by that point. It had been left somewhere near the front bar and was happy to stay there. That was the real magic of it.
There was a sense all night that this gig existed because nobody was willing to let the weekend go quietly and these artists were in agreement . They could have shrugged, posted a sad little statement, and moved on. Instead, they rolled into Brunswick Heads and delivered the sort of show that reminded everyone why live music still matters when everything around it feels increasingly flimsy, overpriced or one financial wobble away from disappearing.
On behalf of all music lovers we salute you ! You successfully restored faith in many doubting the future of live music and delivered one bloody good show. Kudos fam. Stay large stay loud. 🤘
