16 Lovers Lane

There is a particular alchemy that happens when music steeped in memory is reanimated on stage: it becomes not only a performance but a living archive of emotion, culture, and place. 16 Lovers Lane at QPAC was exactly that; a warm, unpretentious, and deeply moving celebration of The Go-Betweens’ enduring legacy.

For one night only, the 1988 album was performed in full by original members Amanda Brown, Lindy Morrison, and John Willsteed, joined by a host of Queensland’s finest musicians. The first half traced the album track by track, while the second offered what Morrison herself called the “Greatest Hits” -- a phrase delivered with characteristic candour and humility, reminding us that The Go-Betweens were always outsiders: fringe artists, not chart-toppers. Yet, as this concert made abundantly clear, their work has become something far more valuable than commercial success. It has grown into the soundtrack of a city, a lineage cherished by musicians who continue to draw strength from the paths they paved.

The staging was elegant in its restraint. Blue velvet curtains softened the cavernous Concert Hall, shrinking the scale of the room into something more intimate, like a gathering of friends with shared history. The lighting design worked in seamless counterpoint with the music, shifting moods and punctuating the lyrical poignancy with washes of colour and dramatic emphasis. Nothing felt overblown, as the production carried the same quiet understatement that characterises The Go-Betweens themselves.

Musically, the night was a kaleidoscope of interpretations. Amanda Brown was dazzling in her versatility, moving between violin, oboe, guitar, and vocals with effortless command. Lindy Morrison’s drumming retained its signature propulsion: determined, sharp, and still infused with the punk energy that first distinguished the band. John Willsteed’s guitar artistry was particularly striking on Cattle and Cane, his intricate phrasing revealing the harmonic subtleties of the song in a way that recordings cannot capture.

Among the guest artists, there was a satisfying balance between fidelity and reinvention. Dan Kelly delivered Love is a Sign with a tender vocal timbre and phrasing that honoured the original while adding his own emotional texture. Danny Widdicombe’s guitar work on Rock ’n’ Roll Friend stood out for its clarity and drive, while Luke Daniel Peacock offered a contained, idiosyncratic take on Twin Layers of Lightning.

Meg Washington’s Quiet Heart was intimate and finely shaded, her vocal interpretation delicate yet assured. Patience Hodgson was the definition of infectious effervescence, pouring raw emotion into Clouds and closing the night with an exuberant Spring Rain that had the audience visibly itching to dance. Seja Vogel’s humility and collaborative spirit shone through her performances, especially in her duet with Darren Hanlon on Cattle and Cane.

Ben Ely brought joy and playfulness to Love Goes On and Bye Bye Pride, marrying punk exuberance with genuine reverence for the material. Jem Cassar-Daley charmed with her luminous tone and charisma on Streets of Your Town and Apology Accepted. David McCormack, ever the magnetic frontman, injected wit and buoyancy into I’m Alright and Rock ’n’ Roll Friend, his rapport with the ensemble radiating across the hall.

Eamon Sandwith’s punk-inflected approach to Was There Anything I Could Do? and The House That Jack Kerouac Built was loose, raw, and deliberately unpolished; a choice that, while furthest from the original recordings, underscored the band’s DIY roots. Darren Hanlon, meanwhile, emerged as one of the evening’s most affecting interpreters. His rendition of Dive for Your Memory was tonally exquisite, and his phrasing carried the kind of lived-in emotional intelligence that gives lyrics new weight. His harmonica interludes further deepened the sonic palette, adding warmth and texture.

What bound the evening together was not virtuosity alone, but the sense of community. This was Brisbane’s music scene in conversation with its own heritage, a dialogue between generations of artists who know they stand on the shoulders of The Go-Betweens. Morrison’s acknowledgment of their struggles as poor, fringe artists carried a bittersweet irony, for here they were, decades later, held aloft by the love of a city and a lineage of musicians who recognise their debt.

For me, the show carried an undeniable personal resonance. My parents’ punk sensibilities meant The Go-Betweens were a constant presence on the family stereo. Hearing these songs live again — songs that tether themselves to place as much as to memory — was profoundly moving. Spring Rain is not just about weather; for me, it’s the start of every Brisbane spring. Cattle and Cane is forever bound in my memories to the landscape of Stapylton. Bye Bye Pride echoes across the mangroves out at the bay. These are not just songs; they are cultural landmarks.

16 Lovers Lane at QPAC reminded us why this band matters. They may not have sold out stadiums or topped charts in the 1980ss, but their work captured the literary, emotional, and geographical fabric of Brisbane in a way no other band has done. Their influence lingers in the chords of local acts, in the lyrics of Australian songwriters, and in the hearts of audiences who recognise themselves in the music. The concert was, above all, a love letter: to Brisbane, to music, and to the enduring beauty of the understated, punk rock ethos.

Kitty Goodall

Photography by Lazlo Evenhuis