Words by: Annette Geneva
Photos by: Peter Mellows
Special thank you to the DARK MOFO team!
Dark Mofo spent two weeks celebrating art that exists on the edges of certainty. WU LYF (World Unite Lucifer Youth Foundation) have always been that kind of band. Elusive. Mysterious. Impossible to fully explain.
I’ll be honest, by the final night I was running on fumes. Two weeks of Dark Mofo, a full day of Winter Solstice festivities, countless kilometres walked and more live music than most people consume in a year. Standing in line outside the Odeon, I wasn’t nearly as excited as I thought I’d be. That changed the moment I ran into friends who had travelled from interstate specifically for this show. Suddenly, the anticipation became infectious. There are reunion shows, and then there are moments that feel like old lore unfolding in real time (cancellation of Laneway Festival 2012 spot back when the band broke up).
WU LYF’s appearance at Dark Mofo wasn’t just another festival booking. It was a one-off Australian performance from a band whose legacy has only grown during their absence. More than a decade after seemingly disappearing into the mist, the Manchester art-noise heavy pop favourites closed out Dark Mofo’s final night with a set that felt part rock show, part sermon, part emotional exorcism. Merging into the festival vibe perfectly.
The crowd reflected that legacy. Twenty-somethings discovering the band through streaming algorithms and music forums stood shoulder to shoulder with forty and fifty-somethings who’d been carrying ‘Go Tell Fire To The Mountain’ around like a treasured secret since 2011. It was one of the most varied audiences I saw across the entire festival, all gathered for the same reason. But it also felt a little bit like a secret show, it wasn’t a full house gig. Maybe due to exhausted punters or maybe because people didn’t realise what they are going to be missing. And when Ellery James Roberts walked on stage in a white singlet, combat boots and a simple chore jacket – looking every bit the reluctant preacher he’s always been, throwing himself into every lyric as though the last decade had never happened. His voice still carried that impossible combination of desperation, hope and gospel-fire that made ’Go Tell Fire To The Mountain’ feel so singular in the first place. Every song sounded enormous.
The setlist pulled heavily from the band’s long-awaited return material, Love Your Fate Wave with Spitting Blood, Dirt, Cave Song, Heavy Pop and the sprawling Tib St Tabernacle landing like instant classic. The drums sounded like thunder, exceptionally good! Newer songs carried the same emotional weight as anything off their debut album, proving this isn’t a nostalgia act. WU LYF have returned with purpose.
The atmosphere was intoxicating. Women screamed every lyric back at the stage. Jokes were made, the band interacted with the crowd like old friends meeting again after long absence. Arms reached skyward throughout the set. A mild circle pit appeared during the heavier moments before dissolving back into a crowd that seemed more interested in collective catharsis than chaos. It never felt aggressive. It felt euphoric. A particularly moving moment came when the band dedicated a song to Gordon White, founder of the South Tasmanian-based Rune Soup podcast. In a festival often built around community, ritual and shared experience, it felt like a beautiful acknowledgement of someone who helped foster those same conversations outside the venue walls.
Roberts spent much of the night leaning into the audience, pointing at fans during choruses, climbing down to the barrier and turning songs into conversations. At times it felt like half the venue was singing directly into the microphone with him. The visuals helped elevate everything further. Golden beams exploded through the haze, bathing the stage in cathedral-like light. One minute Roberts was crouched on the stage floor, almost swallowed by smoke, the next he stood with arms outstretched beneath a halo of amber spotlights. Dark Mofo loves artists who blur the line between performance and ritual, and WU LYF understood that assignment completely.
The guitar work deserves special mention too. The band’s sound has always occupied that strange place between post-punk, gospel, indie rock and something altogether harder to define. Live, those towering walls of guitar felt immense, filling every corner of the Odeon without ever drowning the emotion at the centre of the songs.
For ninety minutes on an exceptionally cold Hobart night, none of the logistics or reasoning or absence of the band from the lime light mattered. What mattered was the feeling in the room. For a band whose lore was built on mystery, the greatest surprise was how human it all felt. No gimmicks. No grand comeback speech. Just a room full of people singing themselves hoarse to songs they’d waited years to hear.
The festival ended not with fireworks, but with a collective exhale and some teary eyes in the front row. I bet this one is a memory fans will hold on to forever. WU LYF back and live…at the bottom of the world
GALLERY
