Live Review: Japanese Breakfast @ Concert Hall, Sydney Opera House

It begins with a candle. A single flicker in the dark lit by a figure barely visible before the spotlight rises to reveal Michelle Zauner (the singular force behind Japanese Breakfast) perched centre stage with an acoustic guitar.

The hush of the Concert Hall is broken by Here Is Someone, the opening track of her upcoming album, the much-anticipated For Melancholy Brunettes (& Sad Women). The air trembles with exuberant flashes of brass and light. Welcome to dream pop at its most theatrical.

Zauner, born in Seoul and raised in Oregon, has built an intimate and idiosyncratic world across five albums—beginning with the lo-fi EP June and moving towards a pop-coded zenith in the glittering, Grammy-nominated Jubilee. Tonight’s show marks her first Australian appearance in nearly a decade.

Back then, as she quips midway through the set, she only managed to stand outside the Opera House. “We never thought we’d be playing here one day,” she says, with wide-eyed sincerity. It’s the kind of moment that recharges the cliché of ‘full circle’ with genuine magic.

And magic is the pulse of this entire show. In Orlando In Love, one of the standout tracks from the new album, Zauner takes on the faery energy of a wandering folk minstrel from an alternate dimension. Blue and white lights flicker outward like scattered spells, climbing the Concert Hall’s ceiling. There’s something enchantingly off-kilter about it all—like a lucid dream where you’re just awake enough to be spellbound.

Then the spell cracks slightly. A pesky lantern, blinking like an errant will-o'-the-wisp, heralds the heavier Honey Water. Her voice is briefly lost in the mix, but she powers through with raw, gothic intensity, thrashing the fretboard as flashing reds and blues bombard the space. It’s ragdoll ferocity channelling shoegaze ache.

The visuals settle into something hypnotic for Road Head, a cascade of green slicing through an ocean of red. Zauner dances, limbs gallivanting with the reckless joy of someone who’s slept four hours in two days and just met her first echidna. “Amazing creature. Ten out of ten,” she laughs.

That balance of unfiltered emotion and surreal charm is the essence of Japanese Breakfast. Whether in the dreamy ache of Boyish—a nod to her emo roots in Little Big League—or the blood red glow of The Body Is A Blade, she swings between moods with ease. And then there’s Mega Circuit: a childlike, rainbow-drenched anthem that conjures pure pop ecstasy, even as the lantern once again blinks its chaotic Morse code into the mist.

By the time we reach Little Girl, the energy dims into soft blues and open acoustics, and the track disassembles itself in front of us like memory in slow motion. It’s followed by Heft, then a moment of unintended comedy as the PA points out what everyone’s starting to suspect: “The lights are actually broken.”

What started as a theatrical motif becomes a technical failure. The house lights snap on, casting a strangely homely glow across the room. That mischievous lantern still flashes defiantly: proof that even during VIVID, the Opera House can be just a little too vivid.

Still, Zauner rolls with it. She dedicates The Woman That Loves You to the lifelong lesbian love she witnessed earlier that day at Taronga Zoo. “They only have one love their whole lives… this one’s for them.” It’s tender and funny, a perfect summary of her offbeat warmth.

She closes the first act with Picture Window, then vanishes briefly for a “light reset” intermission. The break is strange but necessary; the second half arrives all the stronger for it.

Back on stage, Japanese Breakfast hit their stride. Men In Bars, Winter In LA, and Kokomo, IN move like scenes from a road movie, stretching out the emotional range of the set. Magic Mountain brings a slightly psychedelic bent, while Posing In Bondage melts into yearning.

And then comes the encore.

It starts quietly, almost unsure of itself: Posing For Cars, that slow burn from Jubilee, unfolding like a secret. But it doesn’t stay that way. The momentum builds with Paprika, a percussive celebration of sensory joy, before peaking with Be Sweet, a track so gleefully infectious it practically lifts the room off its feet. By the time Diving Woman crashes into its final, thundering chords, we’re no longer inside a venue. We’re in Zauner’s universe: romantic, weird, luminous, alive.

To call Japanese Breakfast an indie-pop act undersells the emotional theatre of their live show. Yes, the music is dreamy, confessional, full of shimmering synths and guitar textures. But what defines the night is Zauner herself: her humour, her heart, and her unmatched ability to conjure beauty from both chaos and calm.

Eight years after her last visit, she’s not just returned to Australia; she’s taken us somewhere entirely new.