On Saturday night at Brisbane's The Tivoli was a sit-down gig loaded with generations of fans who've grown up on Kasey Chambers' heart-wrung choruses and razor-edged wit.
Seeing older folk, younger folk, bootcut jeans, dresses, iconic band tees – anything goes fashion tonight (14 June). Families, couples, mates on dates – hovering at the bar but mostly lining up for books, CDs, stubby coolers, and tour merch like Boxing Day sales if they sold feelings.Opening the night is Jenny Mitchell, a singer-songwriter from New Zealand now based in Melbourne, handpicked to support Chambers on this run.
She's not polished plastic – just grounded, gutsy, and vocals that bloody well hit. Opening with 'Where The Water's Cold', she reels in the room in with stories of fate – how a couple who made her a guitar strap just so happened to be mates with Kasey. Then, the kicker: a random Insta DM from Chambers herself; cracking up remembering playing with her back to Kasey at a past gig, too rattled to turn around.
Jenny Mitchell - image © Clea-marie Thorne
From song two, Mitchell brought out her twin sisters, Meaghan and Nicola, usually part of her full band back in NZ. Tonight, it's stripped-back and bloody intimate. Their harmonies in 'Sister' hit like a punch to the guts – the warm kind.
At one point, Mitchell apologies for singing over Nicola, telling us she knows she'll cop it later. The trio swing through 'Daughter Not The Son', 'One Day', and a growly, loose-limbed 'Snakes In The Grass' that unleashes Mitchell's full vocal authority. Applause rains down.
She gives Chambers a teary shout-out: "You changed our lives." Then the dedication – 'O Little Rabbit'. The crowd goes nuts at the line: "Oh little rabbit, thank you," like it's gospel.
Just when we're thinking that's a wrap, her dad Rod Mitchell joins for 'Daffodils'. He towers beside her like a redwood in RMs. Together, they close the set with quiet power. A huge applause follows them off the stage.
Jenny Mitchell - image © Clea-marie Thorne
At intermission, the foyer's buzzing – plenty of "she's bloody good" and "I cried twice" being tossed around while the merch line's turning back into a shopping mall scrum. Not really, but it's busy.
Then the lights drop, and Kasey Chambers walks out to a tidal wave of applause that just won't quit. No big entrance, no fanfare – just her, the band, and 25 years of blood, sweat, and boot stomps.
Dressed in earthy colours, a knitted kimono-style dress and a pair of Chelsea boots, she rips right into 'Ain't No Little Girl', voice raw and ragged in the best way. Chambers spits fire between the bluesy grit and those big, aching notes. At the end she promises us that's as angry as she gets. We're laughing.
'Backbone (The Desert Child)' rolls in next, and she's properly welcoming us to the Backbone tour – promising a little bit of new, but mostly the good old stuff. The crowd roars their approval. She's got them laughing, hooting, already hanging off every word.
Kasey Chambers - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Then she's taking us straight back to her roots with 'This Flower' off 'The Captain', the crowd cheering like it's 1999 all over again. 'Pony' from 'Wayward Angel' follows.
"That's my dad, Bill Chambers," who took 'em (the family) out bush to basically live off the land so he could fulfil his want to be a professional fox hunter. Nope, I didn't know that was a profession either! 'A Little Bit Lonesome' comes next, keeping the old-school run going strong – sweet and steady, her voice twanging, cracking, hitting that soft ache just right.
Next it's time for the crowd to pick: 'These Pines' or 'Nullarbor Song'? The Nullarbor wins, hands down, and Chambers rolls into it like a red dust memory on wheels. More audience voting kicks in for the next number: 'Last Hard Bible' or 'Runaway Train'.
Most go for the latter, but one lady's very vocal about needing her piece of 'Last Hard Bible', so Chambers gives us a bit of both to keep the peace. It's working. The lady's thrilled, the crowd's stoked, and the band's still cooking.
Kasey Chambers - image © Clea-marie Thorne
The music and dialogue vibes are like Chambers flicking through her memories like an old photo album – some funny, some knife-sharp, all colourful. The band's tight, the sound's crisp. It really is like she's telling us stories on her back porch or around a campfire to fans like we're a bunch of mates she's invited over.
Before 'The Divorce Song', she cracks: "We got two great albums out of the marriage. . . The albums? They make me money. . . The kids? They cost money!" The crowd is losing it. She adds: "We didn't succeed at marriage, but we nailed the divorce."
We're told Shane Nicholson co-wrote the song, and while he's not here tonight to perform, "we do have a future ex-husband onstage though – Dingo!" Again, she has us laughing-out loud.
She introduces the song 'Arlo' with love for her youngest son, just about to turn 18. She wrote the song for him and sung it to him for his 13th birthday. "He's in a grunge-hard rock band now – Motional Sickness. He's a bit quirky. I love that about him."
Kasey Chambers - image © Clea-marie Thorne
She reckons the song's more about her than him though, and the adjustment of seeing a child move closer to adulthood overnight. Apparently, "he said it was cool. That's a win." Kasey reckons her daughter Poet wanted one too – just not as creepy. Crowd is pissing themselves.
Then the banjo comes out. She swears it's more a fashion accessory than instrument. "I only know two chords." However, magic's following. Drummer Sid Green's 'promoted' to front-of-stage lagerphone duties. "This moment is his childhood dream," Kasey deadpans. To be playing lagerphone at The Tivoli.
They tear through 'We're All Gonna Die Someday' with joyful absurdity. The whole joint is bouncing from the waist up – legs glued, spirits not. Mitchell returns for one of her own, 'No Cash, No Meal'. Chambers is misty-eyed. "You had me bawling backstage. . . We love Jenny and the whole family being here with us."
Then comes the night's most fragile moment. Chambers shares a story of busking in Tamworth with a nine-year-old girl. Nine years on, that girl is now in her band, Felicity Kercher, playing fiddle. "I booked her before she got famous, so I got her cheap," she grins.
Kasey Chambers - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Poet's called up, Mitchell and her sisters too, and the whole crew's harmonising through 'Not Pretty Enough'. The room's dead quiet except for soft singing. People are crying. I'm crying. No one's wanting to clap too loud – it's one of those moments that just sits heavy in the chest; but we do applaud. So moving.
Then, bang! A wild left turn with 'Lose Yourself'. Yeah, that one. Eminem. Chambers belts out Eminem's 'Lose Yourself' like she's been sitting on it for years – raw and defiant. She's flipping it, stripping it, and turning it into a haunting outlaw ballad. Starting out by throwing down intense grief and hopelessness, chills running through our spines.
By the time she's belting the final bars, the hair on my head is prickling. It's ferocious. Gutting, devastating, she has made it into a bushfire of a ballad; and after her first song, she told us that was as angry as she'd get. Fibber. "Don't know where I went during that one, but I'm back now," she pants.
After making an earlier crack about her dad Bill getting too much applause, she tells us how her mum is exploiting her through merchandise! She closes the main set with 'The Captain', calling it her all-time favourite to play. "Feels like coming home." The whole room's lit with phones, Sid's filming from the riser, and the crowd's a candlelit choir. You can feel every word. Everyone's in it.
Kasey Chambers - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Of course, we're calling for our encore and she's not far from the stage, eager to return to us. Chambers is getting sentimental. "Tonight's been my favourite night of the tour," she says, and it sounds deadset honest.
Big love for her roadie Worm who's apparently been with her since '89. "He doesn't play, doesn't sing – just drinks beer. But one day he tells me, 'I've written a song, and you're gonna record it'." She tells us the only other song he ever wrote was called 'O How I'd Love To Be A Woman's Bicycle Seat'. The room is in stitches, but the one he came to with? That became 'Barricades & Brickwalls'. Seven-times platinum. She's crediting him with her whole career.
How will it end? Chambers is pulling some random bloke, Ben, out of the crowd, telling him "you're taking the crowd photo. Make it look natural." But first, she's handing him a tambourine. "You're in the band now."
Ben stands up the back, having a good crack at it as the band rips into 'Barricades & Brickwalls', the place stomping, Chambers grinning, and many people rising to their feet before the end. Ben snaps the band with the punters – and it's over red rover.
You don't walk out of this show – you float. Smiling through tears, humming to yourself, and bloody grateful you were here. Kasey Chambers doesn't just sing songs. She's bringing the whole room with her – through heartbreak, dust storms, backseat sing-alongs, and Eminem verses. All with a tonne of guts, grit, and an authentic heart as big as that Nullarbor sky she says she loves and misses sometimes.
More photos from the concert.
