2023 Concert Diaries
Featuring Paul McCartney, Billy Bragg, dodie, Arctic Monkeys, and more.
Better late than never, eh?
At the end of 2022, I posted a round up of all the gigs I’d been to throughout the year. It was a means of documenting my concert experiences as a fresh-faced uni student who, in possession of little money and even less financial sensibilities, started attending shows solo and seeing gigs of my own accord. I thought I’d do the same for 2023, since it’s a nice way of remembering the artists I was lucky enough to see over the past year. Welcome back, dear reader, to Mia’s concert diaries!
Arctic Monkeys - 14/1/23, The Domain
My first gig of the year was none other than Sheffield’s finest, Arctic Monkeys. I went with Gloria, my mate from high school whose self-curated Monkeys playlist enabled me to get into them beyond ‘Mardy Bum’ and ‘Do I Wanna Know?’. Neither of us were very well acquainted with their latest release The Car, but that didn’t stop us from going to the Sydney pop-up store where I purchased the album on cassette. This was mostly because it was the only thing there I was remotely interested in or could afford.
Gloria and I had spoken at length about how we were going to queue at a ridiculous hour to get a great spot, but we ended up queuing for maybe an hour at most before doors opened. We’d already paid extra to be put in the front area of the Domain, and despite everything - notably the venue’s godawful organisation - we snagged a relatively nice spot. The pushing and shoving and claustrophobia I felt in between the support acts and AM I could do without, though.
When Arctic Monkeys came on stage they immediately tore into ‘The View From the Afternoon’ which seemed to have made the past four or so hours of waiting and standing around worth it. Straight after that, they jumped into ‘Brianstorm’, and it felt exhilarating. My personal favourites that evening were ‘Crying Lightning’, ‘Cornerstone’, ‘Don’t Sit Down ‘Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair’, and as basic as it sounds, their performance of ‘Do I Wanna Know’ was absolutely spellbinding too. My concert notes also mention that “I went so ham during ‘I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor’ that I gave myself a stitch”.
There was something of a juxtaposition between the band playing their earlier, grittier numbers and their more suave, polished image they’d adopted since 2018’s Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino - here was Alex Turner singing about a night out in Sheffield whilst dressed impeccably in a ‘70s cream white suit jacket. The retro aesthetics didn’t stop there, however - the footage of the band that had been blasted up on screen looked like something straight out of The Old Grey Whistle Test in its colour grading and quality. There was also, of course, a mirrorball, a reference to The Car’s debut single ‘There’d Better Be A Mirrorball’. As the sky darkened over the course of the concert, its glittering reflection shone on elegantly draped curtains that billowed in the evening wind.
My only real qualm was that Alex Turner wasn’t a particularly chatty frontman. My concert notes say it best, really: “He doesn’t need to be the king of banter, but some introductions for songs would have been nice. I think people let him get away with it because [they think] he’s sexy and it adds to this ‘hot and mysterious vibe’ he’s got going on, but I wish he’d said a few more words rather than just ‘Thank you, Sydney’.”
The Chills - 16/2/23, City Recital Hall
This may have been my favourite gig of the year, yet I would not have had the faintest clue that was going to be the case when I took my seat at City Recital Hall one fateful February evening.
I’ve written at length about my love for the Dunedin/Flying Nun scene, both here on substack and through zines I made during high school. The Chills have always been my favourite of the bunch, to the point where I watched the documentary The Chills: The Triumph & Tragedy of Martin Phillipps five times over the course of one week in Year 11. I’ll sing their praises to anyone who gives me a minute of their time, and they’re my favourite band to recommend as a jumping off point when it comes to the Dunedin sound.
The gig was going well - they’d opened with one of my favourites, ‘Night of Chill Blue’, and continued to play an assortment of my favourite old songs and tracks from their latest record, Scatterbrain. However, around halfway through the show, frontman Martin Phillipps stopped to talk to the audience.
“We’ve got a bit of a giveaway going on here,” he said, holding up two Chills records. “I’ll give these two records to the two most interesting questions posed by the audience tonight.”
As people started shouting out questions, I felt anxiety gnawing at the bottom of my stomach. There had actually been one question I’d always wanted to ask Martin Phillipps, and I’d always joked that if I ever became a proper music journalist and got the opportunity to interview him, I would ask it.
“Go on,” my friend Jono egged me. “Shout it out!”
I looked around. None of the questions had been particularly out of the park, and I had a gut feeling that my question could be pretty good. So, straining my voice to be heard over the pack, I called out my question to Martin:
“What Ray Bradbury story was ‘Dan Destiny and the Silver Dawn’ inspired by?”
Some context, dear reader: ‘Dan Destiny and the Silver Dawn’ is one of my favourite Chills songs. It’s on their debut album, Brave Words, but I’d grown to love the slightly shoddier demo version on the deluxe edition of Kaleidoscope World. I’d read somewhere that Martin had said it was inspired by a Ray Bradbury short story, but I’d always wanted to know which one it was so I could go read it.
Miracles of miracles, Martin heard me - but not quite. He asked me to repeat the question.
“Hmm,” he said. “It’s not inspired by any particular Ray Bradbury story. It’s more so the vibe of his writing style.”
He nodded, and looked as if he were about to move onto the next question. My heart started to sink, but then he did a double take.
“D’you know what, that’s a pretty good question, actually. Do you want to come up and get one of these?”
And that is how I found myself in possession of a copy of The Chills 12” single ‘When the Poor Can Reach the Moon’. It was something out of a dream - people applauded me as I went up to the front of the stage to collect it, and when I sat back down again my hands were shaking. I had just met and spoken with THE Martin Phillipps. Also known as the guy whose documentary I had watched five times in one Chills-obsessed week in high school.
The rest of the concert passed in a blur. I was particularly happy to have heard ‘Double Summer’ and ‘Submarine Bells’, two of my favourite songs, but the rest was yet to come. After the show, Martin announced he would be doing some signing downstairs.
Jono and I waited anxiously in the foyer. I’d bought the Scatterbrain Storms: Outtakes seven inch that Martin had also offered up during the Q&A session and a copy of The BBC Sessions on CD, since some bastard at Red Eye Records was always snatching up the vinyl edition I had my eye on. A few people came up to me, talking about the question I’d posed or asking to see the record Martin had given me. It was very heartwarming in a way - I’d never really been able to talk to anyone about the Chills up until that moment, and all of a sudden here I was in a room full of Chills fans.
Finally, Martin came down to the foyer and I waited in line. When he got to me, he said, “I was watching you throughout the concert. You knew all the words!” and my heart swelled with pride. He signed my record, kindly posed for a photo with me, and most likely listened to some incoherent rambling about how much his music meant to me in high school. They say you should never meet your heroes, but Martin Phillipps is certainly an exception to that rule.
Dodie - 24/2/34, The Metro
I have probably wanted to see dodie (as her name is styled in lowercase) live since I was roughly 13 years old. Nearly 7 years later, I got the chance when she announced she was playing an intimate show at the Metro. I almost didn’t go because I was trying to be fiscally responsible (for once) and I didn’t really have anyone to go with as the show sold out not long after I bought my ticket. But dodie’s music has been such an integral part of my teenage years that I bit the bullet and went alone.
Even just arriving at the Metro, it was clear that I was not the only dodie fan who had finally come crawling out of the woodwork. The queue for the doors stretched around block upon block upon block, with everyone wearing some sort of variation of one of the same five different queer outfits. I thought it was deeply amusing, but standing there in my Doc Martens I really wasn’t one to talk.
As it was billed as an ‘intimate experience’, dodie was accompanied solely by keys (played by Fizz bandmate Martin Luke Brown) and a couple of string players. That being said, the word “intimate” was thrown immediately out the door when the audience started singing. We were so incredibly loud that dodie commented on our gusto several times. To me, it felt like I and so many others had been biding our time for this moment for many, many years, and our eardrum-shattering response was a product of that.
For a lot of dodie fans - myself included - she represents a safe, comforting place on the internet and in the music industry. Her music, which tackles themes of sexuality and mental illness among other things, has made so many people feel seen. As a teenager struggling with undiagnosed depression, songs like ‘Secret for the Mad’ and ‘Before the Line’ meant the world to me. Even though I’m no longer in the deepest depths of my fanaticism for dodie the way I once was, I have a lot of incredibly emotional memories tied to her work.
It makes sense then that, not being much of a crier at concerts, I burst into tears at her show. When dodie introduced ‘She’ and the story behind it, I started tearing up despite already knowing the song’s background. And, as she began the first verse of the song, I became a huge bawling mess. In that moment, reduced to nothing but a huge puddle, a part of me was glad that I’d gone alone. “Definitely put my waterproof mascara to the test,” I wrote in my concert notes.
The dodie show undoubtedly healed some sort of gaping open wound I’d had inside me since the age of 13 or 14. The way she articulates herself, both in song and when talking to the audience is very clever, very intelligent, yet very likeable. If and when she comes back to Australia, I’ll be going again, and this time I’ll be queuing up a lot earlier.
Billy Bragg - 20/3/23, Enmore Theatre
For somebody who just proclaimed that they don’t cry much at concerts, I started crying the moment Billy Bragg walked out onstage at the Enmore. What’s more, I didn’t stop crying until the end of his opener, ‘A Lover Sings’. It is one of my favourite songs, to be fair.
I’m not sure if I can properly articulate what or how much Billy Bragg means to me. What dodie meant to me at 13 is what Billy meant to me at 18. Sure, he helped shape my political sensibilities, but it was his singer-songwriter stuff that I latched onto during a dark period in my life. Don’t Try This At Home is one of my favourite albums of all time and I even made a zine talking about how it helped me through a rough patch (and many rough patches after that). I’ve always adored the honest, tender way he writes about love and relationships, maybe even more so than his political songs. To see him onstage, speaking to the audience in his Essex twang, was quite surreal for me.
Naturally, I was one of the youngest in the crowd. It was a very distinct demographic - lots of ‘old geezers’ in button downs and polo shirts. There were a few guys with Paul Kelly shirts, which makes sense when you think about how both men are outstanding in their unofficial musical field of Bloke With A Guitar. I was also insanely jealous of one man who had a Players’ Worktime tour shirt from 1989.
Admittedly, I felt a bit out of place aesthetically, coming from uni with my dungarees and knitted cardigan that had cutesy little sheep stitched on the sleeves. But I was also happy to be going alone, since I was so beside myself when he walked out onstage. Before I went in, I knew I was going to cry. I just didn’t expect it to be so bloody instantaneous.
I think what a lot of people don’t understand about Billy Bragg (and perhaps by extension find it quite odd when I speak about why I admire him so much) is that he can be really funny when he wants to be. They have understandably created an image of a serious socialist bloke singing about how much he hates Tories, and while he is that sometimes, Billy is also just as comfortable telling stories and cracking jokes like it’s a standup gig. I loved hearing about his (mis)adventures in Australia, and sometimes it’d be quite jarring because he’d tell you a hilarious anecdote and then proceed to launch into the tearjerker that is ‘Tank Park Salute’.
In true Billy Bragg fashion, the arrangements were sparse; songs were performed either by himself or with accompaniment from a keyboardist. They sounded beautiful - whether it was the embellished, gentle melodies of his later work or the angular, biting protest songs he’d written early in his career. It made me wish I’d bought a ticket to see him on the third night, where he was playing all of his singer-songwriter tracks (I practically kicked myself when I looked at that evening’s setlist and saw he’d played ‘Brickbat’, one of my absolute favourite BB songs). In particular, I loved how united the audience was in singing songs like ‘The Milkman of Human Kindness’ and ‘Richard’, and in the latter how Billy would stop the song and make us sing the lyrics again if we’d done them incorrectly.
A huge theme of the show was change. He confessed to us that now he believes music can’t change the world as he once did, but it can make you believe that the world can be changed. This attitude was very much reflected in his alterations to song lyrics, such as in ‘Sexuality’ which he had rewritten to express his ongoing support for trans rights.
“A fan came up to me after a show some years ago,” he said. “And told me that daring to have a pint with a gay bloke wasn’t so brave anymore…the trans debate and trans rights is where the fight is now.”
I must admit, changing the lyric from “don’t threaten me with misery” to “don’t threaten me with Morrissey” is a stroke of genius. And as much as I think Billy has mellowed out over the years, he still has that fire and that passion for social change. When he did get up on his soapbox, he spoke of trans rights, women’s rights, and workers rights. And it felt nice to know someone older was on our side, so to speak. There’s that old belief that you get more conservative with age, and being twenty I don’t know how true that is, but seeing Billy Bragg has filled me with hope that it might not necessarily be the case.
The 1975 - 14/4/23 & 16/4/23, ICC & Qudos Bank Arena
For all my sins (and theirs), The 1975 meant the world to me in high school. I’d seen them once in 2019, when I was 16, and I’d been waiting to see them live again ever since. When they announced Australian tour dates, I genuinely was almost late to uni because I wanted to make sure I got tickets. Ever since their Tiktokification last year and the notoriety of their Still At Their Very Best live show, I knew it wouldn’t be as easy to secure a spot. But luck was on my side, and I secured tickets for both nights as I am fiscally quite irresponsible at the end of the day.
Both nights were enjoyable as I knew they would be, yet the show seemed scaled down for its Australian audiences. Gone was the elaborate living room set of previous legs, although they’d retained an armchair, lamps and some plants. None of Matty Healy’s onstage antics were really there either, but I think that’s probably a good thing.
As this was my second and third time seeing them live, it was inevitable that I would compare these shows to the first time I saw them in 2019. Did they put on an incredible live show? Definitely - there are some very embarrassing clips of me singing ‘Love It If We Made It’ in a way that could only be described as feral, and I loved hearing ‘Oh Caroline’ and ‘If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)’ live.
At the same time, I felt like this performance was more subdued. One of my most striking memories from the 2019 show was that Matty made you feel personally addressed, even if you were stuck up in the nosebleeds like I was back then. Now, standing in general admission, it seemed like he was holding back in some way. Gone were the jokes and the stories, the charismatic banter between songs. I understand why - everything Matty Healy had said and done in the past year had been scrutinised and overanalysed to bits online, so he was probably tired of the media circus.
I’m sure that those who hadn’t seen the ‘75 live before wouldn’t have picked up on this fact. But if you had, you would be aware of how enjoyable Matty could be as a frontman. And you might feel something was lacking this time around. I thought it was me, but a chance encounter with an old friend from high school on the bus led to us discussing the show, and they spoke of how disappointed they were with it. I don’t know if I was disappointed, necessarily - I still had a good time - but I certainly felt like I’d gotten more out of The 1975 in 2019 when I was placed up dizzyingly high in the stalls, rather than four years later when I was close enough to see the band properly.
Phum Viphurit - 1/5/23, The Metro
I’m not exactly sure how I got into Phum Viphurit, or P’Phum, as I refer to him around my mum. All I know is that one day I had been randomly looking at indie pop musicians, and was astonished to find one with Thai heritage. Thai musicians in the Western world are few and far between - most of them are too small to be found, or incredibly big in Thailand without possessing the means necessary to make it to an English speaking audience. Raised in New Zealand to Thai parents, Phum Viphurit was able to bridge that gap.
Phum’s Sydney show was part of his debut Australian tour. Like dodie, I sensed that myself and many others in the audience had been awaiting his visit for a long time. I didn’t know anyone else who was going, though, so I went alone. Thinking ahead, I’d also decided to queue an hour early as it was a small artist at a small venue. By the time I made it inside, only a row separated myself from the stage.
It was quite cathartic to hear a lot of the songs I’d listened to in high school - ‘Lover Boy’, ‘Hello, Anxiety’ and ‘Adore’. But a lot of Phum’s set focused on new songs from his latest album The Greng Jai Piece (which I reviewed here). It was really beautiful to see some of these songs translated to the stage, but I particularly enjoyed ‘Lady Papaya’, a funky jam that saw Phum step down from behind his mic and guitar to take a seat behind his first love, the drumkit.
What was most exciting, though, was the closer, ‘Long Gone’. This number saw Phum jump into the space between stage and barricade, reaching his arms out to sing to his fans. It was a beautiful, intimate moment that I’m not sure could’ve been replicated had he been playing to a bigger audience. Quintessentially indie in all the right ways.
Tim Finn - 17/9/23, Sydney Opera House
While we’re on the subject of artists I adored in high school, Split Enz (and to a slightly lesser extent, Crowded House) was one that occupied the top spot in my heart for a long time. I have a distinct memory of one particular sick day off school where I spent hours watching Split Enz videos to pass the time. The brothers Finn were my idols, and 13 year old me was the humble worshipper. I’d meant to see Crowded House in 2016, but wasn’t able to get tickets (imagine how doubly salty I was when Neil brought Tim out on stage for some numbers). Then, I was supposed to see Tim Finn at the Rocks a few years ago, but that never materialised either.
At last, the stars aligned when Tim announced he would be playing a retrospective show of his catalogue at the Sydney Opera House. It was supposed to encompass his time in Split Enz, Crowded House, and his solo career, although I didn’t know where he would be drawing the line between past and present. My dad and I immediately snapped up tickets either way.
What struck both of us that evening was how energetic Tim, now 71, was on stage. Each song was injected with incredible vigour and soul. And what songs he’d chosen! They made my little Enz-loving heart soar: ‘Poor Boy’, ‘Ghost Girl’, ‘Hard Act To Follow’. I almost fell out of my seat when he played ‘Charlie’ during the encore. He only played a handful of songs from his solo career, mostly from Escapade, and treated us to a small snippet of ‘In A Minor Key’ when a fan called out for it from the audience. Nothing from Big Canoe, sadly.
But overall, I was very satisfied with the songs. For the most part, they were recreated faithfully, and if they were reimagined in any way, it felt like new life and enthusiasm had been breathed into them. I also saw Neil Finn live in 2018 at the Sydney Opera House, so hopefully the stars will align a little further into place and I’ll be able to see both brothers on stage at the same time!
Paul McCartney - 27/10/23, Allianz Stadium
My last gig of the year wasn’t on my bingo card, but my boyfriend’s grandparents gifted us Macca tickets as a surprise. Not one to pass up the great Paul McCartney, we headed off to see him one October night (and almost missed him because we got the venues mixed up, but that’s another story).
Similarly to Tim Finn, Paul was raring with unexpected energy for someone of his age. But what was even more of a delight was the setlist. A surprise in itself, the songs ranged from the big hits to more recent numbers and obscure gems. I was particularly thrilled (and shocked) to hear ‘I’ve Just Seen A Face’, which was my favourite Beatles song when I was eight. Paul also conducted a gorgeous version of the early Quarrymen song ‘In Spite Of All The Danger’, with the crowd supplying the “ahh ahh ahh ahhhs”.
Nevertheless, it was still just as beautiful to see the crowd light up for ‘Let It Be’ and ‘Hey Jude’, or the stage theatrics for ‘Live And Let Die’. Even though John is my favourite Beatle (I know, I know. Don’t look at me like that.) I must confess that Paul has had my favourite solo work out of the Fab Four. Band On The Run is a childhood favourite for me - I remember watching the documentary on how it was made over and over again as a kid - so to hear some songs from that record was also very special.
It’s a strange sort of flex to say that I’ve seen half the Beatles live. Ringo Starr and his All-Starr Band was my first ever gig at the ripe old age of eight, and now, 12 years later, I’m just as enthusiastic to have seen his bandmate. For all the musical discoveries and obsessions I’ve had over the years, the Beatles were more than likely the first. It’s nice to go back to your roots every now and then.