LIVE REVIEW: Laneway Festival 2026 @ Southport Sharks

Photo: @raganhenderson

It was a quintessential Gold Coast summer's day on Saturday the 7th of February as 35,000 festival-goers descended on Southport Sharks for St. Jerome’s Laneway Festival’s first-ever Gold Coast edition on Yugambeh Country. Completely sold out, the coastal debut brought together a stacked lineup of beloved national and international acts such as Blusher, Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers, Benee, Lucy Dacus and Wolf Alice all building toward a headline performance from pop’s theatrical powerhouse, Chappell Roan. The anticipation was palpable long before the first bassline hit.

From early afternoon, Southport transformed into a sea of glitter, mesh, cowboy boots and hyper-pop brights. After the sacred pre-festival ritual (group glam, outfit debates, and one near-disaster involving a forgotten phone with the ticket still on it), we rolled in around 3pm just in time to catch the tail end of Mt Joy. The American indie-rock five-piece delivered sun-drenched warmth, with keyboardist Jackie Miclau stealing more than a few hearts thanks to her electric, shimmering runs. ‘Silver Lining’ proved the emotional anchor of their set, drawing the crowd into a unified singalong that drew the crowd together.

Laneway’s enduring strength is its eclecticism, and this Gold Coast edition was no exception. From Blusher’s hyper-pop sparkle to Alex G’s moody, introspective darkness that stirred up everyone’s dormant teenage angst, the programming offered something for every emotional register.

With four stages set out across the venue space, connected by mostly gravel pathways, accessibility left something to be desired for patrons with mobility aids as well as access to adequate shade and seating. Peak set transitions exposed bottlenecks where foot traffic converged, particularly near the most in-demand acts. For a festival that draws such a diverse audience, thoughtful infrastructure is not peripheral to the experience. It is the experience.

Laneway has long positioned itself as progressive and community-minded. This new coastal chapter offers an opportunity to expand that ethos beyond the lineup and into the physical design of the event: clearer accessible pathways, designated viewing areas that genuinely guarantee sightlines, increased shaded rest zones, improved crowd marshalling, and transparent communication around access provisions. A sold-out crowd deserves not only spectacle, but care. 

Now let’s get back to the music!

Photo: @ChontalleMusson

The Jockey Stage might have been the festival’s most picturesque setting with gum trees standing like watchful sentinels behind acts such as Benee, Geese and Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers. It was true visual Australiana. I was a fortunate witness of Benee’s set, with the bass hitting like a pulse under the ribs, her exaggerated shoulder pads cutting a silhouette that felt both futuristic and playful.

Other musical highlights included Lucy Dacus, who plucked our heart strings with her gorgeous vocal, the audience moving their arms in unison to her music and existing together as she effortlessly strummed guitar. 

Role Model, led by the disarmingly charismatic Tucker Pillsbury, shifted the energy again. His set felt conversational and elastic. When he bent the lyrics of ‘The Longest Goodbye’ to nod toward Brisbane, the crowd surged toward him emotionally, that small act of localisation transforming the performance into something shared rather than delivered. My personal favourite was ‘Slipfast’ which was carried by both the musicians and enthralled crowd.

Then PinkPantheress detonated the afternoon.

Bodies lifted onto shoulders. Basslines ricocheted. Limbs bent at improbable angles in collective abandon. Her set was kinetic, urgent and almost too popular for its own good. The demand to see her was so overwhelming that many struggled to access the stage area. A testament to her meteoric popularity, but also a reminder that crowd flow will need refining in future editions.

Photo: @charliehardy

As dusk settled, Wet Leg sliced through the gathering dark. Rhian Teasdale moved down the catwalk with feline precision, dip-dyed pink hair catching the stage lights. ‘Chaise Longue’ sent ripples of chaotic joy outward, the crowd shouting every word. The guitars were sharp, deliciously unpolished with rock abandon.

Wolf Alice followed with a set that felt almost spiritual. Opening with ‘Bloom’, they built a cathedral of sound. During ‘Bros’, friends clutched hands, eyes bright in the low light. ‘Don’t Delete The Kisses’ became a communal confession with thousands shouting, “What if it’s not meant for me?” into the night. It was ferocious and tender in equal measure. For me personally, this was my peak of the festival.

By the time Chappell Roan emerged, the anticipation had crystallised. Her gothic-inspired set design rose behind her like a theatrical altar. Opening with ‘Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl’, she transformed the field into something operatic and glitter-drenched. ‘HOT TO GO!’ became choreography on a mass scale, lyrics blazing behind her as thousands moved in ecstatic unison. ‘The Subway’ soared vocally, a reminder that beneath the camp and spectacle lies extraordinary vocal command.

What lingered most, though, was the atmosphere she cultivated: visibly queer, defiantly joyful and protective. People made space for one another. Strangers steadied strangers. It felt intentional and loving.

Photo: @charliehardy

Laneway’s Gold Coast debut was, undeniably, a triumph of programming particularly in its celebration of female-fronted and female-led acts who delivered some of the festival’s most commanding performances. It was euphoric. It was overwhelming. It was sunburnt and sequinned and unforgettable. As with any event hosted at a new location, there were growing pains, and it is my hope that Laneway prioritises accessibility needs in its future installments on the Gold Coast so that every patron attending can have the most amazing and euphoric festival experience.

And the next morning, nursing sun-warmed limbs and a voice sandpapered by singalongs, there was at least the mercy of Tallebudgera Creek with its cool water, salt still in our hair, glitter refusing to leave our skin. Proof that some festivals don’t end when the stages go dark.