I have never witnessed a performance so electric and yet so deeply intimate at the same time.
But that’s the entire point of Yungblud, isn’t it? His relationship with his fans isn’t a gimmick or a rehearsed speech, it’s the core of who he is.
He doesn’t just perform to the crowd. He performs with them. He is, genuinely, in love with the room.
Plenty of artists shower audiences with praise. With 28-year-old Dominic Harrison, it feels different. It feels mutual.
Watching him perform felt like rediscovering something I didn’t realise I was starved for — an artist who moves like his life depends on it, but who is clearly having the time of his life doing so.
The stamina. The sex. The sheer presence of a true rock god.
His joy was contagious. You could see it in his face, in his grin, in the way he threw himself into every second.
Yungblud’s joy was contagious. Photography by Stephen Archer
Yungblud opened the first of his two Brisbane shows on Saturday night exactly as he opened his latest album IDOLS — with Hello Heaven, Hello.
A bold, cinematic opener that immediately set the tone for the night: dramatic, theatrical, and utterly fearless.
The quartet set up on an elevated platform, paired with his band, leans hard into his rock-opera era — and it works.
The microphone swinging. The hips. The chaps. The wet hair. The cigarette.
God, help us all.
His new track My Only Angel landed with force, but my personal favourite energy of the night belonged to Lovesick Lullaby.
Then came the Ozzy Osbourne tribute. And suddenly, the night cracked open.
“This song is for a dear friend of mine in the sky tonight,” Yungblud said.
The crod couldn’t get enough.
“And I believe that he is the reason some of us know each other right?”
He spoke about love, about rock and roll, about connection. About how some of us know each other because of that music.
The Riverstage hillside was packed tight — bodies jumping, arms waving, fans obeying every Yungblud command in a shared attempt to match the love he was giving out.
Rain had been threatening all evening.
And when he began singing Changes, the heavens opened.
Phones went down. Everyone was soaked. And for a few perfect minutes, the entire crowd was completely present.
It was poetic. It was for Ozzy. And as the song ended, so did the rain.
Yungblud told Brisbane that Melbourne had been the loudest crowd of the Australian IDOLS tour so far. The challenge was set.
“I need you to spank Melbourne’s f***ing ass right now,” he laughed.
Cue chaos.
A fan named Yula was invited onstage to play guitar during Fleabag.
I just want to touch you, my sweet king.
Determined to stand beside the king in every possible way, he ripped his shirt off, strapped the guitar across his bare chest, and sent the crowd feral.
When Yungblud jumped into the audience mid-song and face dived into the sea of hands, I’ve never been more devastated not to be front row.
As the night tragically came to an end, Yungblud did what he always does: announced he’d be outside the gates of Riverstage 30 minutes after the show to see his fans.
And – shockingly to no one – he meant it.
He then closed with Zombie, and it was romantic as hell.
As the crowd screamed his lyrics back to him, you could see the emotion in Yungblud’s face – a raw display of how connected he felt at that moment with Australia.
His openness – about mental health, about identity, about belonging – isn’t performative. It’s a lived mantra of inclusion and unity that makes him so universally adored.
That’s why his audience is so diverse: kids on shoulders, teenagers, couples, mums in their 40s and 50s, queer kids, neurodivergent fans, people who just needed somewhere to feel safe and loud at the same time.
This isn’t just a concert. It’s a permission slip.
Permission to be strange, to take up space, to love loudly.
This may technically be a music review, but really, it’s a love letter.
So from Australia to Yungblud: we love you.
See you again, soon.