The Lumineers - The Automatic World Tour

A warm Sydney evening funneled thousands into Qudos Bank Arena with that pre-show hum that feels like a party and a pilgrimage at once. The arena was full, and the crowd was possibly younger than expected, summery dresses and flowers braided into hair, cowboy boots scuffing concrete, people taking photos of the stage, checking seat numbers, laughing with strangers about where they were when they first heard these songs. There was an easy warmth in the air. The kind of night where everyone arrives a little open, ready to feel something if the music will let them.

The Head and The Heart began by quietly building a world of their own. The stage glowed like a clearing in the woods at dusk, five chairs set around a campfire beneath tall pines, a lantern flickering softly, their name sitting above it all in a circle like a gentle stamp of belonging. It was simple, deliberate, and instantly disarming. From the floor it felt less like a support slot and more like an invitation to sit down, lower your shoulders, and listen properly.

They filled that vast room with a sound that felt far bigger than the sum of its parts. Harmonies stacked patiently, never rushed, never shouted. Tyler Williams played like someone who understands rhythm as texture rather than volume, moving between sticks, tambourine, maracas and beaters, colouring the songs rather than driving them. At one point Matt Gervais paused, visibly struck by the silence in the arena, and remarked that it was such a big room but you could hear a pin drop. You could feel the audience lean in. Someone near me whispered, “This is beautiful,” as if worried they might break the spell.

Jonathan Russell introduced Lost in My Mind with a story that cut straight through the noise of everyday life. It began as a letter to his brother, written at that moment when the person you have always had beside you steps into a different world. His brother was joining the military. Jonathan was starting his musical journey. For the first real time, they did not have each other. He spoke about wanting to pick up the phone and say everything he felt, the love, the fear, the missing, and not having the words. So he wrote them down instead. When Matt stepped down the catwalk dressed in white, blond hair catching the light, he carried the microphone into the crowd and traded lines with Jonathan, call and response turning into something quietly profound. Not a performance trick, but a public expression of brotherly love. Pride and distance and worry held together by harmony, softened by the knowledge that thousands of strangers were listening with care.

They kept finding those gentle turns. After the Setting Sun arrived with that late-night-drive feeling, when thoughts wander and memories press closer. Honeybee drew a huge cheer as Charity Rose Thielen stepped forward to share the lead, her voice lifting the song into a duet that felt tender rather than showy. There was an ease about them, the confidence of a band who have been together long enough to trust the space between notes. No rushing. No proving. Just presence.

Rivers and Roads closed the set to a roar before a note was played. It swelled into something anthemic, stripped back to a lone female a cappella line, then rebuilt itself piece by piece until the harmonies were everywhere. Near the end, three vocalists stood unaccompanied on the catwalk, voices weaving together with beautiful, complex precision. The song folded in on itself, just like the paths it describes, and when the band lined up and bowed, the applause carried that unmistakable tone of gratitude rather than demand. They had given the room something to hold.

If The Head and The Heart invited the crowd inward, The Lumineers arrived determined to turn that intimacy into motion. The stage was expansive and theatrical without ever feeling cold. Drums perched high on a huge riser like a lookout post, an organ waited patiently to one side, keyboards to the other, and behind it all angled white frames caught and reflected the shifting visuals. The backdrop played with the image of a cassette tape unspooling, the tape itself forming the band’s name, a quiet nod to memory, repetition, and the way songs loop through our lives.

From the opening moments there was joy everywhere you looked. Wesley Schultz moved with restless energy, white jacket glowing under the lights, long hair plaited beneath a trucker cap, grinning like someone still amazed this is his job. Jeremiah Fraites anchored everything with understated authority, braces and fedora framing a presence that felt calm and deeply assured. The band constantly migrated around the stage, instruments travelling with them, handed off mid-song, rearranged on the fly. It looked chaotic, but sounded anything but. Credit here is due to the sound engineers, who somehow kept every voice, every drum, every accordion, every tambourine perfectly balanced as the band moved through multiple locations like a small travelling village. It is no small feat, and it never drew attention to itself, which is the highest compliment.

When they pushed onto the catwalk early, the arena visibly changed shape. Flowers in Your Hair bloomed right in amongst the crowd with accordion, kick drum, tambourine and that satisfying thump of a floor tom being worked hard. People grinned at strangers like they had just shared a private joke. A bloke a few rows back turned to his mate and said, “This might be the best gig I’ve ever been to,” and his mate nodded, completely unsurprised.

Between songs, Wesley proved himself a natural storyteller, the kind who can speak to twenty thousand people and still sound like he is talking to a friend. Introducing You’re All I Got, he reflected on playing music with Jeremiah for over twenty years, then widened the lens to thank the rest of the band for making that shared history possible. It was funny, sincere, and gently grounding. These songs come from long friendships, from the slow work of growing up together.

They returned to the main stage for Donna, and the shift in geography brought a different weight. The visuals expanded, the light softened, the song landing with a cinematic hush. A woman near the aisle exhaled and said, “This one gets me every time,” like she was bracing herself, and judging by the stillness around her, she was not alone.

The night unfolded in waves. Big moments that lifted the roof, quieter ones that made you forget how many people were in the room. AM Radio landed like an old friend, the audience singing back heartily, unprompted, confident. Someone behind me laughed and said, “How are they this good live?” and no one bothered to answer.

One of the night’s most joyful moments came when The Lumineers invited The Head and The Heart back out for Gale. It felt less like a guest appearance and more like a reunion, old friends sharing the stage with obvious affection. Loose, warm, electric. A reminder of early days playing smaller rooms, of shared vans and shared dreams, now scaled up without losing the heart of it.

When Ho Hey arrived, they took it straight back onto the catwalk and into the thick of the crowd. The first half was handed entirely to the audience, voices booming back in unison. Someone near the aisle shouted, “This one never gets old,” with absolute conviction, and the band let the crowd carry it, smiling as they listened. It was communal, messy, and perfect.

From there, the show moved with that familiar Lumineers rhythm, less about ticking off songs and more about taking people somewhere. Stories threaded through the set. Gratitude surfaced again and again. The band constantly closing the distance, stepping forward, stepping down, reminding everyone that this music was made to be shared.

When the end finally came, it did not feel abrupt. It felt like being gently set back down. As people streamed out, the atmosphere was bright and slightly dazed. Boots scuffed on concrete. Voices hoarse but happy. Phones held up to show each other shaky proof. “I needed that,” a young woman said plainly as she walked past, and her friend replied, “Yeah. Me too.” Outside, the warm Sydney air felt almost unreal, as if the city had politely waited while something important happened inside.

Some nights you come for the songs and leave with something harder to name, and this one delivered both in spades, as the tour rolls on to Adelaide and then Perth, carrying this shared warmth with it.

A reminder that the best gigs do not just entertain you, they sit with you long after you leave.

Thank you to The Lumineers, The Head And The Heart, Frontier Touring and the Qudos Bank Arena for having us along.

Review & Photos by Andy Kershaw for Music Kingdom Australia