REVIEW: A Love Letter To Laneway

REVIEWS

20 Feb

By Darcy Goss

There’s something about Laneway that feels like the first page of a dog-eared summer novel. You walk in hopeful, sweaty and ready to yearn for your favourite artist.

Arriving on the Gold Coast for the first time this year, Laneway settled into Southport Sharks with a few issues but nonetheless an epic lineup.

Early in the day, **Oklou** felt like stepping into a secret. Her set was soft and cinematic, you felt as if you were floating above the crowd.
It was the kind of performance that makes you pause, even if just for a moment, and remember why you came.

**Benee** brought a burst of colour into the already blinding afternoon.
Playful but precise, her vocals floated effortlessly over punchy pop production while the crowd bounced along like it was instinct.
There’s something so effortlessly cool about her, a kind of main-character whimsy that doesn’t try too hard but still completely commands attention.
It felt carefree in the way only the best pop sets do.
She is so cool.

**The Dare** shifted the energy entirely. Suddenly the tent felt like a sweaty underground club dropped in the middle of the Gold Coast.
Gritty, pulsing and very chaotic, his set leaned into sharp beats, shouted hooks, bodies moving whether they meant to or not.
It was messy in the coolest way, like stumbling into a warehouse party you weren’t supposed to find.

**Role Model** turned the afternoon into one big group confession.
The singalongs were loud in that unpolished, wholehearted way, arms slung over friends shoulders, lyrics shouted instead of sung.
It felt easy. Effortless. Joyful.

**Geese** felt like controlled chaos. Guitars slightly unhinged, vocals stretching and yelping in ways that shouldn’t work but absolutely do.
**Cameron Winter** has this kind of unpredictable magnetism that keeps you leaning forward and wanting more.
It wasn’t polished festival rock; it was raw and twitchy and thrilling, the kind of set that makes you feel like you’ve discovered something a little dangerous.

Then came the chaotic-cool brilliance of **Wet Leg**.
Angular guitars slicing through the humidity and nothing but cool-girl vibes.
Quite literally, Rhian is EVERYTHING.
There’s something so effortlessly commanding about her presence. Deadpan one second, feral the next.

Next up was one of our favourites, **Wolf Alice**, who somehow made a packed festival field feel both intimate and cathedral-sized. T
heir set swelled and crashed like a tide; tender one second, feral the next. You could feel it in your ribs.
Ellie Rowsell has this quiet magnetism about her. She doesn’t demand attention, she just holds it.
One moment her vocals were soft enough to feel like a secret, the next they were soaring above us, huge and unrelenting.

Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

And then, like the sky itself decided to turn pink, Chappell Roan.

If Laneway had a heartbeat, it was thumping during that headline set. Camp, theatrical, glittering and loud in the best possible way. It felt less like watching a performer and more like witnessing a coronation. The crowd screamed every word like it was gospel. Strangers grabbed each other during the big notes. It was sweaty and euphoric and slightly unhinged. Perfect.

Of course, it wasn’t all glitter. The crowds were thick in places. Exiting felt like a test of patience. Accessibility was a talked about issue. The heat was relentless, and more than a few of us left a shade closer to lobster than luminous. But even the chaos felt woven into the story, the kind of imperfection that makes a festival feel real.

Because here’s the thing about Laneway: it’s never just about the lineup. It’s about the girl next to you reapplying lip gloss with shaking hands before her favourite song. It’s about the couple slow-dancing in a field of plastic cups. It’s about the way a chorus can make thousands of people breathe in at the same time. It’s a dog-eared summer novel waiting to be re-read over and over again.

Laneway Gold Coast 2026 was sunburnt and sparkling. A little messy. Overwhelming in waves. But deeply, undeniably alive.

I walked in with my camera bag and unrealistic expectations of surviving the heat. I walked out sparkling with happiness, exhaustion and already nostalgic. And maybe that’s the magic of it - somewhere between the sweat and the strobe lights, music turned a field in Southport into something sacred.