Review: Tania Graham-Brown. Photos: Kate Kelly-Wilson (Scarlett Visuals)
As the house lights dim, Harry Nilsson’s Jump Into the Fire spills through the speakers, Royel Otis’ signature intro track and the Hordern Pavilion comes alive. The floor is packed shoulder to shoulder from the barrier to the mixing desk, a sea of movement and anticipation. It’s another sold-out stop on their Meet Me in the Car tour, and Sydney’s ready to claim them back.
The duo stride onstage without fuss (albeit a bit behind schedule). No fanfare, no words. Just a quick nod between them before they tear into I hate this tune, all chiming guitars and effortless harmonies. The crowd’s already deafening, shouting back every “ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh” like a homecoming chant. Behind them, the massive horizontal screen flashes Welcome to the Show, then cuts to hazy visuals of neon streets and stolen kisses.
When moody begins, the Hordern’s seated tiers rise instantly, nobody’s sitting this one out. Then more to lose drops the tempo, dreamy and tender, Pavlovic’s vocals slicing through the reverb: “If there’s a world where I’m living without you…” The line lingers like static in the air.
Without warning, the pair slip off the main stage and wade through the crowd to a smaller B-stage near the sound desk. It’s chaos in the best way , fans parting, hands outstretched, the whole venue craning for a glimpse. There, under a single spotlight, they strip things back completely: jazz burger, then their now-beloved Cranberries cover, Linger, bringing Lily Aron from Florence Road along with them to sing her part. The crowd sand along, and thousands of voices rise together in near-perfect unison. It’s pure goosebumps.
As they weave back toward the main stage, drummer Tim Commandeur and keyboardist Tim Ayre kick into I Wanna Dance With You. Words flash across the back screen – Dance with the person next to you – and the Hordern obliges instantly, bodies moving, arms raised. The momentum never dips.
At the top of Sofa King, the screen beams: Sydney, you’re so fucking gorgeous. The crowd loses it. Moments later, the text cycles through random first names – Bec, Emma, Laura, each one drawing a scream of recognition. Then comes Murder on the Dancefloor, their viral Like A Version cover, all slick guitars and joyful chaos. It’s a perfect mid-set, highly-familiar, but completely re-wired through the Royel Otis filter.
They barely speak between songs, but they don’t need to. The energy never dips, the transitions smooth, the music doing all the talking. Otis, moves with that unmistakable swagger, hands behind his back, pacing the edge of the stage, a quiet confidence that channels a young Gallagher brother without the arrogance. Royel’s guitar work, meanwhile, was the night’s secret weapon, riffs that shimmered and sliced through the mix, whilst the audience strained to capture a sighting of his face at all, with all the hair that he hides behind.
When Pavlovic finally leans into the mic to say, “This will be our last one,” the crowd protests instantly. They close the main set with say something and vanish backstage but everyone knows what’s coming. Chants for “One more song!” swell, and sure enough, they return for Oysters in My Pocket, that shimmering early hit that now sounds like a victory lap.
By the time the last chord rings out, the Hordern is drenched in light and sweat. No speeches, no encore bows. Just a brief wave, a grin, and they’re gone.
Shimmering riffs. Boppy beats. Songs about homesickness, heartbreak, and the chaos in between. Royel Otis make it look almost too easy, understated but electric, the kind of performance that reminds you why live music still matters.
