ZED50 was a sweaty, punk-fuelled love letter to Brisbane's beating heart.
Brisbane turned the humidity up to 11 for Triple Z's 50th birthday bash (24 October), as if the weather itself knew the city's favourite misfit radio station deserved a full sensory overload.
The jacarandas were out, painting the town in that fleeting purple haze before a monster storm turns it all to slippery brown sludge. The air was thick, the beers were warmer than anyone wanted, and the Roma Street Parklands had transformed into a humid shrine to half a century of alternative chaos.
The crowd? Picture greying mullets, faded Pig City (that infamous 2007 gig at UQ) tees, and band shirts that haven't seen a washing machine, or a bin, for decades. The old guard mingled with bright-eyed newcomers and everyone in between, all drawn to the same altar: the mighty Zed.
The day kicked off with the shimmering psych of Nice Biscuit, Brisbane's very own celestial rock coven. Billie Star and Grace Cuell led the charge, their dual harmonies bouncing around the amphitheatre like a cosmic echo.
There's something hypnotic about the way they use their voices, not just as melody but as an instrument in itself, weaving through the fuzzed-out guitars like a dream that smells faintly of incense and hot concrete.
Nice Biscuit - image © Clea-marie Thorne
'Passing Over' and 'Fem Chem' hit early, thick with that woozy, early Tame Impala meets King Gizz vibe, but with more glamour, more groove, and fewer dudes. Their sexy, spacey swagger set the tone for the afternoon: trippy, sticky and beautifully loud.
Then came Velociraptor, possibly playing their last-ever show (though with that crew, who can say?). They blitzed through a few off their early albums and 'Future Computer' (2024), their signature garage-pop chaos as charmingly disorganised as ever.
The stage looked like a reunion of old mates and stray band members who'd all wandered back from different planets. If this was their final bow, it was a sweaty, joyous, slightly chaotic farewell. Exactly how it should be.
Velociraptor - image © Clea-marie Thorne
When Butterfingers hit the stage, the sun was at its most merciless – and so were they. 'I Love Work' turned the pit into a boiling mosh stew, and by the time 'FIGJAM' dropped, the entire crowd was jumping, yelling and melting.
There's something timeless about their bratty energy, like the soundtrack to every dodgy sharehouse party ever thrown in this city. Their blend of punk, hip hop and pure, shameless fun cut through the heat like a cold XXXX Gold (the kind that comes in a can covered in dust and regret). "F..., they're good," someone yelled next to me. I couldn't argue.
Butterfingers - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Next, dreamy and defiant Platonic Sex brought the tempo down and the feels up with 'Hanging Out The Window', a quieter, acoustic-led number that floated over the Parklands like a hazy daydream.
Their sound is drenched in ethereal harmonies and just enough distortion to keep it from drifting off completely. 'Shark Teeth' followed, all grit beneath the shimmer. Proof this band can switch from tender to tense in a heartbeat. Next to me a guy in a 'F... Murdoch' tee bobbed his head approvingly.
Then came Melbourne's Big Noter, a gothic rap-rock group with their fangs bared. Their heavy drums and sludgy guitars screamed Queens Of The Stone Age, while frontman Briggs' snarl channelled a bit of Rage Against The Machine.
The result was a full-body assault that rattled Roma Street and beyond. No moshing allowed in the nanny state (cheers, Queensland), but heads were banging, fists were pumping, and the band's braggadocio filled the park.
Midway through, sweat-soaked and swaggering, Briggs quipped: "Both the upside and downside of playing here is no one knows our songs!" Didn't matter. With that raw power, they could've been singing anything and the crowd would still be jumping.
Big Noter - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Around 3:40pm, as the sun began to dip behind the amphitheatre, the second stage came alive with Flangipanis, Brisbane's beloved loud-and-proud punk troublemakers. "This song's about not being a c...," singer Jodie Flange announced cheerfully, and the punters roared in approval.
Their brand of shout-along anarchy is everything punk in Brisbane should be – fast, funny, and dripping in sarcasm. Someone in front of me was wearing a full 'Game Of Thrones' fur coat. Then across the crowd came hurling inflatable bananas and a blow-up doll. Classic Brisbane chaos.
Their ode to dodgy cops ("This is about a sh.tty cop") drew a massive sing-along, and between songs they urged everyone to "have an excellent day and stay hydrated!" That's community service for ya.
Flangipanis - image © Clea-marie Thorne
By the time Full Moon Flower Band took the main stage, I'd found a precious patch of shade on the grass and a beer that wasn't too warm. Borrowing the drummer with Platonic Sex (Ryan Hammermeister), the five piece launched into their grungy, slacker-rock bliss with 'Roadie', its crunchy riffs and heavy grooves electrifying the sweat-soaked crowd.
Their 'Devil's Advocate' had the hill swaying and knee-slapping like some hellish hoedown, and 'Man Hands', apparently a hit on their latest European tour in Spain, also got a huge response from the home crowd.
Then came a quip about playing gigs in the 4ZZZ carpark, a cheeky nod to the grassroots ethos that fuels this whole scene. A new one about a female mechanic was pure Tarantino soundtrack material with fuzz, twang and dangerously cool.
Full Flower Moon Band - image © Clea-marie Thorne
As the sun dipped lower, an ibis brigade flew overhead in perfect flying V formation. Brisbane's unofficial mascot paying homage to 50 years of alternative radio. The acid-infused punk four-piece Tropical F... Storm came out swinging with their infectious riffs, screaming feedback and howling vocals.
The crowd was worked into a frenzy with their frenetic energy of 'Irukandji Syndrome' and the thumping basslines in their version of 'Stayin Alive'. Thanks guys for joining the big 50th bash before touring the new album 'Fairyland Codex' around Oz.
Tropical F... Storm - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Next up, Party Dozen stormed the second stage and immediately ripped through 'Auto Loser', a sax-fuelled apocalypse of sound that hit like a caffeine overdose. The duo's energy is supernatural: one half hammering relentless drums, the other wrangling a detuned sax and enough pedals to power a small city.
'Coup De Gronk' followed with its electric bagpipe-synth sound infectiously weird in the best way. Heads were banging, and by the end of the set, the crowd looked both exhilarated and very sweaty.
Party Dozen - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Then came Regurgitator, Brisbane's perennial weird uncles and the ultimate Zed alumni success story. They hit the stage with the kind of self-assured chaos only they can pull off, tearing through 'Track 1', 'Fat Cop', and '! (The Song Formerly Known As) (Retrotech Adjustment)' like it was still 1998 and everyone had Nokia ringtones.
'Black Bugs' received the biggest sing-along of the night, a reminder that these guys still write earworms that burrow into your brain and never leave. The crowd was a beautiful blur of kids, lifers and a few parents explaining to their teenagers that, yes, they were cool once too.
Regurgitator - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Finally, Brisbane punk pioneers The Saints '73-'78 (their current incarnation following The Aints period) closed out the night with a wall of fuzz and fury that could've raised the dead. Ed Kuepper remains an absolute powerhouse. Watching him tear into his Gibson SG with that trademark snarl and precision was a masterclass in raw, unfakeable rock & roll.
The rhythm section of Ivor Hay drove the set with thunderous intensity, gluing it all together while Ed's guitar sliced straight through the muggy night air of 'Brisbane (Security City)'. They powered through classics like 'I'm Stranded' and 'Know Your Product' echoing the set from their recent sold-out Princess Theatre show.
By the end, it felt like the circle had closed, everyone grinning and ears buzzing. 4ZZZ's legacy, from the rebellious Saints era to the modern-day chaos of Party Dozen was all right there. As the chords of 'Nights In Venice' rang out and the feedback faded into the night, you could feel the history humming through the parklands.
The Saints '73-'78 - image © Clea-marie Thorne
A half-century of underground sound, DIY spirit and beautiful noise. Still alive, still loud and still defiantly Brisbane. By the end of the night, I had suffered mild heatstroke but was sticky and grinning like a loon. A fly had drowned in my beer, my shirt was glued to my back and my phone was full of blurry videos I'll never watch again.
But that's what a real Brisbane festival should feel like – sweaty, loud, slightly feral and absolutely full of heart. Zed 50 wasn't just a gig. It was a time capsule cracked open, a celebration of everything weird and wonderful that's pulsed through the city's veins since 1975.
From the psych to the punk, the grunge to the goth, every band carried that same spark. Happy 50th Triple Z. Here's to another half-century of noise, nonsense and not giving a single F.
More photos from the concert.
- written by Alex Leggett
