Review: Ellie Robinson (Flemington Racecourse 05.12.2025)
Photos: Britt Andrews (Sydney Olympic Park 06.12.2025)
From 2007 to 2015, Soundwave was Australia’s biggest and best alternative music festival – and then it catastrophically crashed and burned. There are many reasons why, but a key factor was its helmers’ insistence on continual expansion, ballooning every year until its size and scope had grown far too unwieldy for the market it served. That market has only grown more volatile in the decade since – in recent years swallowing other national mainstays like Groovin’ the Moo and Splendour in the Grass – but since its inception in 2018, the Good Things festival has remained a stable and consistent follow-up.
Entering its sixth iteration at Flemington Racecourse, it’s clear to see how Destroy All Lines have pulled it off: unrivalled is this demographic’s unyielding dedication. It’s just past midday and the festival grounds are booming with activity; every merch stall and bar has a long line of coloured-hair fanatics eager to splash their cash, while others soak up the idyllic summer sun at one of two massive double-stage setups (or the standalone fifth stage). Lined between them is undoubtedly the best assortment of food trucks ever seen at a festival not devoted specifically to them – everything from freshly cut watermelon to Filipino barbecue, Pad Thai and woodfired pizza. We’re eating good, and we’re moshing hard.
Our first pits of the day come courtesy of New York’s bimbocore trailblazer Scene Queen. Fiercely feminist and ruthlessly fun, her genre-bending bangers (which oscillate wildly from clubby pop beats to djenty breakdowns) ensure we start the day in a good mood. She is so perfectly suited for this stage: beyond her inimitable skills on full display, she boldly takes aim at the very scene she inhabits – one still regrettably dominated by regressive cishet men – with barbed quips at shitty dudes whose egos far outweigh their talent, assume her fame must hinge on the back of a man, or take advantage of their own underage fans. See: anthemic set-closer ‘18+’, which very unsubtly digs at a certain band poised to take this very stage later today (rhymes with Wall Thyme Blow).
Meanwhile on stage five, Maple’s Pet Dinosaur show us that alt-metal is in great hands with the youth of today. Fronted by Maple Johns (niece of Daniel, by the way), the adolescent troupe rock big, belting guitars, walloping drums, and vocal hooks that soar majestically across the field. They’re tragics for ‘90s grunge and bands like Faith No More and L7, but there’s an impressive range to their musicality, never feeling derivative or overly nostalgic. It does feel like watching a band of 16-year-olds in the midst of cutting their teeth – but goddamn, are they doing a great job of it.
While 2026 will be a huge year for Maple’s Pet Dinosaur, it’ll be a quiet one for Refused, as they’re finally packing things up (for a second time) after 30-odd years at the frontlines of leftist punk. Though we certainly need bands like them now more than ever, it’s evident that now is the right time to say goodbye; their performance is tight and the songs all sound as sharp as they ever have, frontman Dennis Lyxzén pouring his all into every syllable he spits – but so too is their weariness palpable. Their collective energy is restrained and there are moments (however brief) where the marks they hit so flawlessly in the ‘90s are just barely tapped.
Up next on the docket is another band in their post-reunion days – Tonight Alive – although we’re hopeful that they stick around for years to come. The pop-punk darlings are in peak form today: frontwoman Jenna McDougall makes a sprightly effort to connect with the crowd that is so utterly entranced by her, singling out particularly passionate crowd members and singing directly to them. The highlight of their set is an energised cover of Mumford & Sons’ 2009 hit ‘Little Lion Man’ (their contribution to 2011’s Pop Goes Punk 4) which feels a little like a tongue-in-cheek jab at how old we all are and how cringe we all used to be – but, like, lovingly so.
Snapping us back to the present day, Wargasm’s biting electronicore is fresh and inspired, ardently holding off a 3pm slump. They occupy such a fascinating space: there’s an Iggy Pop-esque arrogance to the way leading duo Milkie Way and Sam Matlock compose themselves, but equally so do they nail the frantic buoyancy of hyperpop and snarling bite of riot grrrl. We only plan to catch the first few of their songs but wind up fully locked in for the whole 40-minute set, just desperate to see where every next beat will take them.
That youthful curiosity carries us well into GWAR’s set, which is every bit as gloriously gory and unhinged as you’d expect. It’s the first time Australia’s seeing Blöthar the Berserker (aka Michael Bishop) in the frontman role, taking over for the late, great Oderus Urungus (aka Dave Brockie) with vigorous aplomb that does expert justice to the larger-than-life showmanship that Oderus was renowned for. Across a wonderfully theatrical 45 minutes, GWAR douse their crowd in gallons of fake blood from several slain effigies (including one of notorious felon and sex pest Donald Trump, to rapturous applause) all the while shredding out some genuinely fantastic ‘80s-style thrash metal.
Less reliant on showiness is local firebrand Mudrat, whose politically charged rap-metal stabs and sears with every note. Flanked by his ripping band The Mischief, Sean Thompson lays absolute waste to the stage, bounding forcefully as he fires out razor-sharp bars tackling class inequality, racial oppression and the ongoing genocide in Palestine. Tracks from his recent debut album Social Cohesion go hard as all get-out, but the standout here is a spruced-up take on the freestyle he dropped for triple j’s BARS series earlier this year – one that directly holds the ABC to account over its pissweak coverage of the Gaza war. Later on he notes that he too caught Refused’s set, highlighting the importance of artists speaking fearlessly about political issues. As the former band prepares for retirement, there’s no one better suited to carry their torch than Mudrat.
The set leaves us fired up and primed to hit the streets with picket signs in tow – but there’s still a few hours of this little ol’ rock festival to go, so in effort to liven up the mood once more, Goldfinger break out their grooviest, most radical bites of sunkissed ska-punk. Their set was loose and good-natured, making this million-dollar setup feel like a DIY jaunt at a skatepark. It’s like tonal whiplash when we ditch the back half of their set for Machine Head, with the latter’s whiskey-soaked thrash metal belting at full throttle. Despite the absence of riff-lord Reece Scruggs, the band sound judiciously full and gnarly; frontman Robb Flynn always has such a gripping presence onstage, and here he keeps the crowd firmly in his palm with career-defining fury on cuts like ‘Locust’ and ‘Davidian’.
As keen as we are to catch Kublai Khan on stage four, it’s at this point that we realise we’re pushing 30 and our shitty knees start to give us grief – so we sideline ourselves for (the most incredible) pulled beef tacos and fresh watermelon juice, then stumble back to stage one for a glimpse of Garbage. Their performance is anything but: Shirley Manson boldly commands our attention with her rich and impassioned tenor, tearing through classics like ‘Stupid Girl’ and ‘#1 Crush’ – plus a wickedly captivating cover of Depeche Mode’s ‘Personal Jesus’ – with her wholly unique brand of grit and dynamism. The mood takes a jarring turn, though, when Manson spots a beach ball in the crowd and crashes right the fuck out, delivering a batty rant that toes the line between hilarious and terrifying. “I would love to send my crew over to fucking mess you up,” she snarls viciously at [checks notes] some random dude holding a beach ball.
There are many more smiles being shared over at stage three, where Cobra Starship take us back to the playful days of the mid-2000s with colourful dance-rock gems. They properly cracked the mainstream with 2009’s Hot Mess album, but it’s the glittery ketamine flair of 2007’s ¡Viva la Cobra! that has kept them a rose-tinted favourite, and cuts from that album land here with glorious wallops of genuine excitement. You’d be a fool to take anything about Cobra Starship seriously – but the band themselves certainly do, hitting every note flawlessly and making an otherwise goofy show feel truly magical.
The same cannot be said for Weezer, who seem to be on autopilot for the full duration of their hourlong set. Granted, they’ve never been the most theatrical or energised band onstage – but there’s at least some feeling in the average Weezer show; a little vivre that bolsters the buoyancy of their ‘90s and ‘00s slacker-pop hits. But here the band just can’t be arsed to meet the crowd’s blithe spirit, lazily breezing through their setlist. That being said, it’s a notably interesting setlist, featuring the first performance of ‘Jamie’ in more than a decade, a slamming cover of Hole’s ‘Celebrity Skin’, and a guest spot from Cobra Starship’s Vicky T on ‘I Just Threw Out The Love Of My Dreams’. And for what they lacked in stage presence, Weezer admittedly made up for with raw talent.
As far as it goes with musical proficiency, none of the bands we’ve seen thus far hold a candle to prog-metal superstars Tool. Normally quite self-indulgent, tonight their set is tailored to their biggest fans, launching with a rousing rendition of ‘Stinkfist’ that primes the crowd to lose their minds for 10,000 Days classic ‘Rosetta Stoned’ (while frontman Maynard James Keenan opts for a more artistic frog-like squat). Peaking in the back end with the powerful and punchy ‘Crawl Away’ – which recently made it back into the setlist after 25 years – the band’s performance is, as a whole, utterly singular. They master the balance of epic and cerebral, treating this summer festival set like it’s the most important show they’ll ever play.
Sweatily waddling out of the showgrounds, we’re fully convinced Good Things is the best festival in Australia right now. This year’s lineup was stellar and the execution matched to a T – bring on the 2026 edition!
