I finally got around to quitting Spotify at the end of last year, but not before their silly-ass “Wrapped” feature told me that my musical age was about 77 years old. A bit rude, I thought.
I admit my musical tastes run old-school – I did just review concerts by 78-year-old Iggy Pop and 73-year-old David Byrne after all – but like a lot of middle-aged dudes, I’m trying to be hip and keep up, and this year’s Laneway Festival featured a great line-up of acts with a median age of under 30 – Geese, Wet Leg, Wolf Alice, Pink Pantheress, Benee, and the hottest act of the moment Chappell Roan. Auckland felt like a cultural capital again for a minute – Geese just played Saturday Night Live and Chappell Roan was very much in the news this week for her wardrobe choices at the Grammys.
It was a fantastic, life-affirming if exhausting day in the hot February sun at Western Springs, with somewhere around 40,000 people, most in their 20s, having the time of their lives. As an old dude in his mid-50s (I can’t even say EARLY 50s now) and the first proper festival I’ve been to in eight years, I was worried I couldn’t hack it. I’m sore as heck and blast furnace tanned and had a weird cramp in my leg at 4am, but I had an absolute groove.
I caught up with old mate writer Chris Schulz (who has his own great thoughts on the day) and then I kicked off with the poppy indie rock of Alex G, who put on a fine short set – their bouncy “Runner” is one of my favourite singles of the decade – although they might’ve been suited to a more chill indoor venue rather than the 25C afternoon sun. I was disappointed to only catch half of the set by Geese, whose crunchy, woozy rock is the acquired taste of the moment. Their songs always sound like they’re about to fall apart and serve up some serious Pixies/Modest Mouse vibes, and what I heard was very cool – but thanks to festival scheduling I had to zip over to see one of my absolute faves and missed the last half.
And that fave was Wet Leg, who put out quite possibly my favourite album of 2025, moisturizer, and their fist-pumpingly cool rock is full of earworms I can’t shake. Rhian Teasdale has turned into one of the sexiest, most confident frontwomen in rock, dancing around the stage with sweaty glee, and they put on a hell of a great show. I was also blown away by Wolf Alice, a band I was only partially familiar with (their single “Bloom Baby Bloom” is dynamite), but their frontwoman Ellie Rowsell may well have been the best singer of the day – powerfully versatile and able to wail and croon through a great set – it’s always awesome to really discover a band at a festival and Wolf Alice are high on my list to hear more from.
But honestly, I’d say a huge chunk of the 40,000 or so people jamming the field and stands were there to see the bombastic, hugely entertaining set by Chappell Roan, her first ever concert in New Zealand. I really don’t tend to see the truly big pop star concerts and it’s a whole different level to be surrounded by 20-something women loudly singing every word. Roan is an absolute star power, taking the stage on a bloody impressive huge fairy tale castle set and emerging with one of her trademark elaborate costumes looking like a Heavy Metal magazine cover come to life. But Roan’s got the chops to deliver on her showmanship – I’ve been listening to songs like “Good Luck Babe,” “Pink Pony Club” and “HOT TO GO!” and getting hooked on her yearning, empowering songwriting. Proudly queer, like many of the acts at Laneway, Roan cheered on NZ Pride Month and reminded us that even a small town girl from Missouri like her can become an inspiring global superstar no matter how screwed up America is at the moment.
Sure, my back hurt a bit and I was very aware I was older than most of the Laneway crowd, but it was a festival of optimism and the power of music in a kind of dark time in history for a lot of good people. Maybe I was lucky, but I didn’t see any ugly drunken “bro” behaviour or angry moshing, just a whole heap of young New Zealand folks out to dance the world away and as Chappell Roan sings, “Not overdramatic, I know what I want.”
I thought of a lyric by another band from the old days who t-t-t-talked about their generation once, and I left with a crowd of thousands of people of all genders, dress codes and amazing futures, and even to a mildly ancient dude like me it felt like the kids are all right.
Nik Dirga 