Formed in Alabama in the late 1960s and signed to Motown soon after, The Commodores earned their place alongside the greats with a mix of funk anthems and timeless ballads.
Five decades later, that chemistry remains. They might joke about aching knees and shrinking trousers, but the groove is undiminished.
The Commodores strode out in black and grey sparkles, sequins catching the beams like shards of history. They opened with 'Sexy Lady', followed by 'Wild Thing'; a cheeky start for a band whose catalogue has always balanced funk and romance.
From the first horn blast, it was clear this was no nostalgia act but a working soul machine. The heart of the show belonged to William 'Wak' King, the trumpeter and founding member who grew up in a small town, formed a band "to play music and meet girls", and ended up shaping the Motown sound of the '70s.
His storytelling between songs bridged decades. One tale about Kenny Rogers showing up and asking the band to play "a little country and western" drew laughs before they eased into 'Sail On'; their secretary almost turned Kenny away.
The energy built through 'Oh No' and a medley of early Motown hits; their first recordings, the ones that put them on the map. Here the crowd got a taste of old-school showmanship: synchronised dance moves and punchline banter.
When they launched into 'Just To Be Close To You' and 'Zoom', the harmonies landed like silk. The band’s message was: "Spread love, not hate." They asked the audience to stand, to dance, to fist-bump the stranger beside them, and maybe offer to buy them a drink.
By 'Too Hot Ta Trot', they were all in. King laughed that he "doesn't backflip anymore," but doesn't need to because the next generation has arrived. That generation stood right beside him: Colin Orange on guitar, whom King has known "since he was knee-high," and Cody Orange, the young frontman with the swagger and honeyed tone of a modern-day Lionel Richie.
Cody turned 'Lady (You Bring Me Up)' into a party, calling everyone to the front to dance. Then came the inevitable moment of collective memory. "Where were you, what were you doing, and who were you doing it with when you first heard this song?" they asked before sliding into 'Three Times A Lady'.
It's been 32 years since The Commodores last played Australia, and they said they'd felt the love since they landed. King was thanked for keeping the band together for 57 years and saved his most tender thanks for his wife, sitting in the fourth row: "The one who helps get him to the airport at 2am!"
The closing stretch was pure Motown fire. Nightshift, their elegy for Gaye and Jackie Wilson, performed with reverence and just enough grit.
For the encore, 'Brick House' tore the roof off; still irresistible, still funky. Behind them, The Mean Machine, their veteran backing band, was indeed mean: tight, muscular, and joyful.
Before the legends of Motown took the stage, Brisbane-born singer-songwriter Jack Bratt set the tone with a set that blended guitar virtuosity and easy charisma. Two years on from pressing his 'Slow Release' vinyl and now based in Sydney, Bratt joked about racking up toll-road fines like frequent-flyer points.
His cover of Jimi Hendrix earned a roar from the baby-boomer crowd; a clear signal he had their hearts and their requests coming his way.
On a night as sparkling as their jackets, The Commodores reminded everyone why their name still carries weight; there were more Commodores fans at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre than in the whole of Elizabeth.
