Some shows stay in your bones. Not just because of the noise, or the sweat dripping from the ceiling, or the way your ears rang for two days after—but because the music hit you somewhere deeper. Australia has always had a knack for producing bands that thrive on stage, and some of the best have been crews of both men and women, hammering it out together without fuss or fanfare about gender. Just great players doing what they do best.
Spiderbait at The Forum – Chaos and Precision
When Spiderbait hit Melbourne’s Forum Theatre for their anniversary tour, you could feel the floorboards strain under the stomp of a thousand boots. Janet English, slinging her bass like an extra limb, traded grins with Kram between verses of Buy Me a Pony—and the crowd roared every time she stepped to the mic. Spiderbait’s power is in their chemistry: no one dominates, no one disappears. It’s a perfectly messy democracy on stage, and it’s electric.
Magic Dirt at Spring Loaded – Grit in the Sunshine
There’s something about watching Adalita stalk the stage in full daylight that feels almost dangerous. At Spring Loaded, Magic Dirt didn’t so much play as detonate—crunching riffs from Daniel Herring, Adam Robertson pounding the kit, and Adalita’s voice tearing through the mix like sandpaper. It wasn’t about making a statement. It was just four people, locked in, dragging every ounce of sweat and sound out of the day.
Baby Animals – Loud, Loose, and Unstoppable
Back in the early ’90s, Baby Animals were the kind of band that could support Robert Plant one night and tear through a pub gig the next without losing a beat. Suze DeMarchi’s voice is one of those you recognise before the first chorus, rich and unshakable, sliding over Dave Leslie’s guitar lines. When they reformed and hit the stage again years later, it was like nothing had changed—except maybe the songs had aged into something even sharper.
The Mix Matters
There’s a certain magic that happens in mixed-gender bands. It’s not about “representation” or ticking boxes—it’s the way different voices, perspectives, and energies collide to make something that’s more than the sum of its parts. It’s Kram and Janet bouncing vocals back and forth, Adalita holding a note just long enough to make Dean Turner smirk, or Suze DeMarchi locking eyes with the drummer as the tempo threatens to blow apart.
Other Nights Worth Mentioning
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The Clouds at the Annandale, harmonies so perfect they made the room feel suspended in air.
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Something for Kate with Stephanie Ashworth locking down the low end like it was carved in stone.
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The Go-Betweens, late in their career, weaving songs like Streets of Your Town into something intimate even in big venues.
Why We Remember
The gigs that stick with you aren’t always the ones with the most pyrotechnics or the biggest crowds. They’re the ones where the band’s connection—between each other, with the crowd—feels unbreakable. Where it’s not about who’s playing what, but about the fact that, for that hour or two, nothing else in the world matters.
And in Australia, we’ve been lucky. Our stages have seen it all: the swagger, the tenderness, the noise, the quiet moments that cut through the chaos. Men, women—doesn’t matter. What matters is the music, and the way it makes you feel like you were part of something bigger than yourself.
