The Brisbane Entertainment Centre is already thrumming with anticipation well before doors.
It’s not frenetic. People are arriving in a steady flow (16 February) as I’m approaching around 7pm. I’d say among the diehards there are committed fans and inquisitive first-timers, but I reckon regardless of which group, everyone entering the gates for The Ultrasound world tour is here to feel something tonight, courtesy of Lorde.
First up is Kevin Abstract, hitting the stage a bit before his scheduled start, the set kicking straight into ‘Sugar’ (a Brockhampton cut), the beat punching in immediate. I’m not very familiar with this artist, but from the reaction there are a truckload of fans in the crowd.
There’s a split screen behind him and we’re distracted by plastic-wrapped water bottles on a paved area. Occasionally, a bottle is extracted from the pack.
He’s not waiting either. ‘H-Town’ comes next with grit, leading into ‘Empty’, where the crowd is starting to edge forward, warming up. When I see all the phone lights held up, I see the real picture of just how many fans Abstract really has in Brisbane.
‘American Boyfriend’ rolls through with a smooth mix of melody and attitude, then ‘Baby Boy’ drops into a richer emotional space. Behind him, a cameraman is constantly following his shadow, broadcasting angular close-ups and wide crowd shots onto the screens. At times it adds a kinetic edge, at others it pulls attention away from the performance.
The water bottle scene is progressing, with labels removed and replaced with red words in felt pen that I can’t read clearly. They’re being packed in and out of a backpack as we’re shown what must be clips of Abstract walking through Brisbane’s streets earlier, sun on footpaths and everyday moments. It feels like the most honest connection in his set, grounding the spectacle in actual place.
By the time ‘Georgia’ lands, the crowd’s response is obvious. Hips are starting to move, feet are shifting, and there’s a growing curiosity in the air. ‘Mississippi’ follows with a slower, deeper groove until ‘Peach’ lifts the vibe back up again.
‘Voyager’ and ‘The Greys’ flow next, touching the pop edge of his catalogue, before ‘Bleach’ (another Brockhampton track) drops with rawer energy.
He closes with ‘Post Break Up Beauty’ and the new-feeling ‘The Feeling’, landing like a final emotional breath before he steps back. I think the fact the cameraman has either disappeared or is less visible has allowed this to occur.
Abstract has nailed a genuinely strong opening set, grounded, expressive and clearly resonating with a crowd that knows every word. By the time he steps offstage, the room feels open and ready, and that’s no small thing in an arena.
Then the lights are dimming to a dark, deep blue for real. ‘Crazy’ is playing over the PA. It’s not ironic, not a novelty. It’s the perfect emotional primer. The expectation in the room is tightening into focus on the stage.
An intro woven with elements of ‘Hammer’ follows, blackness only being pierced by mobile phones held up, waiting to film the first glimpse of the headliner and a strobing spotlight.
The spotlight finally stops strobing. Lorde isn’t sprinting onstage. She’s arriving, rising from the stage, the flicker ceases and the light rests clearly on her. It’s that signature quiet authority rather than theatrical flash (except the light, lol) that shares this is going to be all atmosphere and emotion.
‘Hammer’ hits heavy and deliberate, a bass-first admission into the night with calm precision. When ‘Royals’ starts, it isn’t chaos. It’s united voices, steady and collective recognition. No shrieking. Just shared voice and memory.
The early set, ‘Broken Glass’ and ‘Buzzcut Season’, keeps the mood introspective and taut. A huge industrial fan adds to the atmosphere, exquisitely lit. Musicians are set into the stage on platforms below the main deck, only seen from above the waist, or thereabouts depending on height.
Lighting edges around Lorde, letting the emotional weight be the visual dynamic. I’m getting excited for ‘Perfect Places’ as it expands the space. More bodies are swaying now and choruses from the cast of thousands around me are lifting softly upward.
‘Shapeshifter’ and ‘Current Affairs’ move in with quiet tension, clear crowd favourites with the groovers on the floor. Jeans are now abandoned, lying on her side on the stage.
‘Supercut’ lands like a personal recall, then builds as Lorde crawls and kneels before finally standing and throwing herself into energetic shenanigans, including treadmill workouts and sprinting across the stage.
Still in her reg grundies (IYKYK), ‘GRWM’ pares down to pulse and presence. Lorde is telling us how she started writing this one in the shower and that to sing it she has to be wet.
The crowd is whooping at that confession and at the sight of her pouring water down her front. The screens above display close-ups of Lorde’s short nails and glittered fingers moving around her stomach and glittered belly button above her Calvin Klein undies (do you get it now?). The room is breathing in sync.
‘400 Lux’ feels intimate despite the arena scale as Lorde and her entourage pass the camera between them. We must be about mid-set and Lorde pauses, telling us she’s never had a bad show in Brisbane, getting a rowdy cheer.
‘The Louvre’ shimmers slow and Lorde gets her jeans back on after cavorting freely in her jocks to deliver ‘Oceanic Feeling’ (not the Hine-i-te-Awatea version), washing wide like a king tide and drowning us with all the feels.
‘Solar Power’ glows warm, then ‘Liability’, another favourite oldie from her ‘Melodrama’ album (2017), stills the whole venue. I’m clearly hearing the vocals of a younger Lorde singing these lyrics. Time travel is happening before my eyes. Thousands are standing inside this song. I swear the silence between lines is almost louder than the vocals.
The pace rebuilds with ‘Clearblue’ cutting sharp, ‘Man Of The Year’ rolling with bruised confidence; I now understand why I’ve been seeing fans with duct tape across bare chests masking nipples and breasts. Yep, that’s me late to the party (again).
‘If She Could See Me Now’ lands like a soft but firm reckoning. ‘Team’ brings the room in close, pulsing with more voices and more weight. Lorde tells us loudly: “I need you with me for this,” and the vocal vibrations of fans raise the roof as they sing-along to ‘What Was That’.
It’s almost as raucous for ‘Green Light’ as fans crack open the release valve on the excitement pressure cooker that keeps building. People are lifting, singing, letting loose. People in seats are continuing to stand.
It’s like she’s vanishes into darkness during ‘David’. At least I can’t track her whereabouts anymore. Elvis has not left the building and we don’t need to beg for an encore, it seems.
Lorde reappeares pretty much in my direct line of sight on a B-stage at front of house. ‘A World Alone’ becomes a shared procession as she’s on the encore home stretch.
Her voice cutts clean through the human tide like the laser light above her head. She lets her fingers dance in its beam, separating it, fans vocalising their dedication right along with her; and then ‘Ribs’.
A couple of ladies are climbing the stairs from the mosh pit to get a head start on the exiting crowd, but turn on a dime as they realise the last song is ‘Ribs’. They squeal and disappear back into the crowd below us. Nothing like catching an unrepeatable moment.
I feel like this isn’t just singing or just a performance, as I watch the crowd heave before me. Sound cycles up and down like inhalation and exhalation, rising and falling together.
Fans are told to get their feet off the floor and as we’re instructed to jump, the whole venue resembles the lungs of a mammoth-sized mammal breathing life into itself. There’s euphoria tangled with wistfulness, nostalgia with release, thousands lifting something fragile into the air and pouring energy into it until it feels enormous.
When it finally fades, it doesn’t crash. The energy is still felt as it settles. Some scramble for the exit, passing diehards who stand still for just a beat longer, reluctant to leave that shared emotional reservoir.
Tonight wasn’t about spectacle. It was about precision, trust, connection, knowing when to pull back, when to let go, and how to make a room this vast feel personal.
As I rush back to my car, a lot of the crowd is quieter than it came in, looking softened, spent after witnessing one hell of a show. Their faces form a sea of glowing smiles that unmistakably show they didn’t just watch it, they felt it.
What’s landing hardest is how raw and unfiltered this whole show design is feeling. Nothing is over-explained or spoon-fed. The lighting, the movement, the moments of restraint are trusting the room to meet her halfway.
Lorde’s vocals sit front and centre, strong, controlled, vulnerable when they need to be, as she carries an arena with presence rather than theatrics. Although it is theatrical visually.
Being present in concert with Lorde at this point in her career is watching an artist who knows exactly who she is and isn’t afraid to let the rough edges show.
If you’ve followed her evolution from the early days, you’re seeing it deepen, sharpen and expand in real time. Lorde even says as much herself during the show tonight. Hand on heart, this tour shows she’s still growing, and the artistry keeps opening out in unexpected ways.
