There’s something deeply surreal about watching MJ Lenderman play inside the hallowed sails of the Sydney Opera House. This is a venue built for grand statements — sweeping orchestras, highbrow drama, architectural awe. And here comes Asheville’s reigning postmodern poet, lobbing gravelly guitar solos and bone-dry punchlines into the void, like Neil Young if he’d grown up doomscrolling.
Fresh off the back of Manning Fireworks — one of 2024’s most critically acclaimed albums — Lenderman walks onstage looking less like indie rock’s next big thing and more like the guy you’d find shooting pool in a Newtown pub. But don’t be fooled. Beneath the drawl and distortion lies some of the sharpest songwriting of the last few years.
Live, Lenderman’s songs unfurl like half-remembered stories told at last call — hilarious, heartbroken, and haunted by the ache of something just out of reach.
The band (tight but not too tight) brings the ragged charm of Boat Songs to life, while the Manning Fireworks material hits heavier — more clarity, more bite, more existential dread disguised as dad jokes. The crowd, a mix of 20-somethings and ageing alt-country devotees, hangs on every word like he’s preaching from the Book of Sad Bangers.
Lenderman’s stage presence is undeniable. He knows he’s funny. He knows that when he sings “Hangover Game” with the dead-eyed sincerity of someone who’s felt every second of it, we’ll laugh and wince at the same time.
Lenderman might have spent years quietly shredding in the background of Wednesday’s noise-country chaos, or casually collaborating with Waxahatchee on Tiger’s Blood, but tonight, the spotlight’s firmly his — and he wears it like an old flannel shirt: a little wrinkled, but exactly right.
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