As we rolled into Bella Vista Farm on Sunday (Feb 15, 2026), the ease of parking was great. There were no muddy bogs or chaotic volunteers, just a seamless entry into what felt like a polite garden party. The crowd was unmistakably us. The under-30s were a visible minority, looking slightly confused by the abundance of folding chairs and sensible footwear. We settled our chairs on the natural grassy incline that offers a perfect view of the stage. The weather threatened to dampen the mood with grey skies and a brief pre-show drizzle, but it held off and behaved itself for the rest of the day.
The line-up was a journey through the Australian songbook, kicking off with Jess Hitchcock. If you missed her (which we did), you likely missed the only rain of the day. She apparently set a high bar.
The day for us got started with Kasey Chambers. Born in 1976, Chambers is a Gen X original: raw, talented, and self-deprecating. She apologised for her "screechy voice" and suggested we weren't really there to see her—a classic defence mechanism everyone recognised. She was wrong, of course. The standing area was only half full, but she commanded it. When she launched into a cover of Eminem’s "Lose Yourself" with such intensity, the entire hill nodded in approval.
Then The Cat Empire came and brought it, and their presence demanded participation. The frontman ordered us forward, and we obeyed. There is a criminal shortage of trumpets and trombones in modern music, and seeing them blasted outdoors was a reminder of how cool this is. When the opening notes of their massive hit "Hello" started, those who were still seated but ready to party ran for the standing area to dance. They finished with "The Chariot," and as if on cue, the sun finally broke through the clouds. It felt like they could have played for another hour, and we would have let them.
The Cruel Sea followed and dialled the mood back. Frontman Tex Perkins (born 1964) stalked the stage like a man who has lived several lifetimes, appearing slightly "wasted"—though perhaps that’s just the result of decades in Aussie rock. It was a low-key set; Tex tried to rally a singalong, but the crowd wasn't quite ready to work that hard yet. "The Honeymoon Is Over" drew some bodies to the front, but the energy didn't match that of the previous act.
As the afternoon sun began to dip, Missy Higgins took the stage, and the atmosphere shifted as people really appreciated this talent. Dressed in a jacket and dress that caught the late-afternoon light, she looked hot, instantly commanding attention. Born in 1983, her songwriting is deeply introspective and speaks directly to most. The crowd sensed something special was happening, and people leaned forward in anticipation. By her second song, the standing area was packed tight, a rock crowd entirely in the palm of her hand.
Her set was a masterclass in connection. She curated an experience. Higgins stubbornly refused to be hurried. "I love lyrics and I love stories," she told us, warning the organizers with a grin that if telling the story behind a song meant going over time, then so be it. We loved her for it. She walked us through her classics, turning the outdoor venue into an intimate gathering, her awesome voice making the emotional hits land. By the time she closed with "Steer," the energy was obvious and left the audience buzzing. It was the kind of set that makes you forget who the headliner is for a moment.
At 7:30 PM, Paul Kelly (born 1955) walked out. No fanfare, just a suit and a seat at the piano. The temperature had dropped. Kelly has aged into a ghostly, revered figure. He opened quietly, forcing the stragglers to rush to their spots. But it was a specific lyric in Happy Birthday Ada Mae, "Guess I'll be gone before you're 20"—that induced a collective, audible groan from the audience. We were there to celebrate rock, not confront our own mortality on a Sunday night! As the set went on the crowd enjoyed every song, but it lifted most when he performed a thundering cover of "The Dead Heart," a tribute to drummer Rob Hirst. By the time he hit "Dumb Things," the crowd was ready to rock on, but he wound everyone down with "From Little Things Big Things Grow," a song that feels less like a track and more like a national anthem.
As everyone left (with efficiency), everybody seemed happy; the sound was great, the food selection was good, and the music was world-class. But driving home, a nagging thought persisted. This line-up was the bedrock of Australian culture, yet it felt like a closing chapter. Where are the new bands with this kind of staying power? We are holding tight onto these, perhaps because we aren't sure who, if anyone, is coming to take their place. For now, though, Paul Kelly is still the boss, and we are happy we got to be part of this day.