It's a good crowd already at Brisbane's The Fortitude Music Hall.
With only the downstairs section open tonight (13 October), punters are still arriving behind me. There's a bit of space around the back of the main floor, because fans are choosing to position themselves close to the stage.
They're already standing shoulder to shoulder, boots to Blundstones on the floor made sticky from their sloshing drinks. I get the Friday-night energy hanging in the air even though it's a Monday. Yep, a Monday.
Age and dress codes are a mix, with jeans and denim skirts dominating the lower half of bodies, the top halves sportin' trad cowboy and cowgirl apparel – a few cowboy hats, tasselled shirts amongst plenty of band tees, heaps of CMC Rocks ones floating around. No surprise really.
Aside from his debut run in 2023 and his slot supporting Lainey Wilson last year, CMC Rocks 2024 is where most of us here tonight probably caught Jackson Dean live for the first time; and I'm one of 'em.
The merch stand and bars are pumping, there's a din of chatter rolling thick across the floor. Before us, the stage lights burn low and blue. Austin Mackay's band comes forth and then the Newcastle lad steps out, flashing an easy grin.
Austin Mackay - image © Clea-marie Thorne
His voice has got that honey-over-grit tone that slides straight through the room, every word of his folk-rock tracks soaked in heart. None as much as his "first country song", 'Real Life', written by the beachside baby who's never ridden a horse.
It's about his hard-working but insightful dad and it hits deep, the crowd leaning in, couples swaying, chatter fading to a low hum. I reckon Austin's got a natural knack for country and should take a deeper dive into its ocean. Maybe all those support slots with country acts are rubbing off.
He introduces the band, but I miss some of it as some random punter asks me, "Where's the smoking area in here, luv?" "Maybe outside, dude!" I mutter, while catching the tail-end of Mackay hyping up Sunny Coast's Jason Daniels on guitar and his hometown mate James Edge on drums.
His soon-to-be-released song 'Pretty Little Thing Called Jane' gets screams and claps, the ghost of Elvis all over it. There's movement in the crowd that's boot-scootin' half-rock, half-country shuffle that always breaks loose when something hits just right.
Austin Mackay - image © Clea-marie Thorne
He tells us he's got merch and will be out after the set to sign whatever we want, earning cheers of gratitude from his fans. 'Breathe Again' follows, that outro solo divine, clean and sweet. Then the rock's back for 'Worth The Wait', the crowd locked in, not just listening but feeling it. Mackay leaves the stage to rowdy, well-deserved cheers.
Now it's changeover time. Roadies are moving quick, guitars gleaming under the lights. The murmur builds into a low rumble as Jackson Dean's gear gets checked. I swear I hear the ghost of Chris Cornell floating through the PA, but the chatter's so loud I can't be sure.
Dean's band strolls out like they own the joint. No fuss, no flash. Just that confident, road-worn energy. Then Dean himself appears. A smile a mile wide, flashing his pearlies, one hand raised, toasting us with his plastic cup beneath a wash of red light.
He kicks straight into 'Still Ragin'', that gritty outlaw energy cutting through. The slide guitar's growling, the rhythm section's stomping hard, and his voice has got that dust-and-diesel ache that sinks deep.
The crowd's already fired up, boots slamming and sneakers squeaking in time. Beers and pre-mixers, of course, are raised high. Rolling into 'Duct Tape Heart', the groove's pure roadhouse swagger – bluesy and thick, Dean leaning back into it with a half-smirk.
Jackson Dean - image © Clea-marie Thorne
His voice rasps and growls like he's chewing gravel, the harmonies from the band tight as hell. You can feel that southern humidity creeping through every note. 'Don't Take Much' slows it down a touch. It has a weary wisdom. His phrasing, the kind of song that feels like a truck-stop bathroom confession. Couples hold each other close, lips moving to the words.
Then comes 'Trailer Park' and the crowd's hollering every chorus. The foot-stomping bassline shakes the floor and my ribs. It's rowdy and soulful all at once, pure Jackson Dean dirty boots, faded jeans and a heart full of grit.
'Fearless' hits next, driving hard and fast with electric guitars sparking wild, drums thundering. Dean's pushing it, voice raw, lights flickering between amber and white, and it has the whole room caught in the charge.
He slides into '1971', all smoky nostalgia and dusty sunset tones. The crowd's vibing, arms swaying slow, every word landing with a wistful ache. 'Real Real' follows revealing deep southern rock roots supported by crunchy riffs and a vocal delivery that drips with soul.
Jackson Dean - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Next the big banger the Aussies are in love with. It turns the mood turns dark and bluesy. I'm talking 'bout 'Make A Liar'. The room is a collective swampy drawl in full swing. The guitar solo burns long and dirty, and Dean's eyes are closed. He's also lost in it.
Then for a bit of dialogue (which he's not that big on); he introduces us to one of his latest. It's 'Hey Mississippi' and it has the crowd roaring at the first note, fans picking it up easy. A sultry southern pulse is rolling heavy through the room. The harmonica wails and the venue feels like it's shaking with a mirage of pure southern heat.
When another crowd favourite hits, 'Train', the drums start pounding steady and the guitars howl like steel wheels on track. The whole place feels like it's moving on a freighter; people clapping along, heads bobbing.
Jackson Dean - image © Clea-marie Thorne
He slows it right down for 'Jane', that aching croon washing over us like a late-night whisper. Phone lights rise, or maybe it's just fans taking videos? It is invoking the quiet kind of sing-along that latches soft on your soul. 'Heavens To Betsy' brings the punch back, a true barn burner. That outlaw stomp and honky-tonk snarl gets the feet stomping and whistles flying.
The crowd's still wired when 'Wings' takes flight. A soaring, heart-swelling anthem that makes the whole joint feel lighter. It's pure freedom, every word sung like a vow to the road. The mood thickens again for 'Moonlight', all smoky blues and tension. The lighting dips into hazy beams, Dean's voice cracking just enough to make it human.
Then that slow, grinding riff of '49 Tons' (Fred Eaglesmith cover) rolls out. I dig the gritty, almost industrial feels. Like a slow-burning wall of sound, it's got the blokes at the back nodding along, respecting that working-man's grit.
Jackson Dean - image © Clea-marie Thorne
He follows with 'Sweet Appalachia', his voice pure and strong. A love letter to the land that made him and it has the crowd swaying slowly to its warm feels that wash over you in waves. Then 'Don't Come Lookin'', his breakout hit, crashes in. The room shakes, every voice belting out every word. The band's locked in tight, guitars snarling, Dean's grin wide, soaking it all up.
Finally, he seals the encore dealio with 'Another Century'. He starts it solo, acoustic, under streaky lights. The song is like a falling sigh. His voice's low and raw, drawing every eye. Then the band creeps in, delicate but sure, building it into something bigger.
Hopeful, not flashy, and as it picks up, there's a couple keen to be showing off their line-dancing chops one last time putting on a fine show of fancy footwork right in front of me, right to the last note.
Dean's performance doesn't end with fireworks; it ends in feeling. No overblown speeches, just quiet permission for the room to hold tight and bask in what just happened.
More photos from the concert.
