Live Review: Olivia Rodrigo @ Rod Laver Arena

“I wanna meet his Mom, just to tell her her son sucks” – in the history of revenge songs that is yet to be written, this line will be remembered as an all-time classic. And you know what? I didn’t think Olivia Rodrigo had it in her.

She arrived as so many do, desperately trying to shed the Disney-kid skin she had outgrown. She really wanted us to know that she was an adult now. Singing about heartbreak mostly. And whilst you could roll your eyes at the predictability of it all, the quality of the songs was undeniable. Her debut album SOUR featured the record-breaking, lovelorn anthem drivers licence, and she backed it up with the excellent Paramore homage good 4 u and the Billy Joel name-dropping album standout déjà vu.

But as fun as it was watching her aping the riot grrrl era or dwelling in the hyper drama of teenage love, it was all kinda mining the same quarry – replete with the last track olive branch, hope ur ok – because nothing says teenage heartbreak more accurately than eviscerating your ex for ten songs only to hope they’re doing well at the end.

SOUR was fun and naïve in equal measure. But the fact that she had to retroactively credit Taylor Swift, St Vincent, Jack Antonoff, Hayley Williams and Josh Farro on several songs told a story of an artist who, despite her obvious talent, was still grappling with finding a unique identity for her songwriting. The blatant lift of the piano lick from New Year’s Day on 1 step forward, 3 steps back bordered on comical. She should have fired a producer for letting that be mastered.

Which is to say I didn’t think she could do it all again and better on GUTS. Last year, Olivia dialled up the drama, doubled down on the attitude and crafted some of the year’s defining melodies. She also seemed more confident in her public image. She was a firebrand. A bit brash. Very smart. A bit femme fatale. And now more willing to harness these traits to define her brand.

At the start of the tour, she handed out the morning-after pill at her gigs in response to the US Supreme Court overturning Roe vs Wade, and she set up her Fund 4 Good initiative to build “an equitable and just future for all women, girls and people seeking reproductive health freedom.” Once again, I didn’t think she had it in her.

So, there’s a touch of cognitive dissonance with the celebration of her arrival on Australian shores. Because, my lord, aren’t we a conservative bunch? If we had an Australian pop starlet show anywhere near the political chutzpah Rodrigo has shown, the Murdoch media would burn them at the stake. Hopefully metaphorically.

For those of you old enough to remember, Australia spent the summer of 1999 talking about Rodrigo-progenitor Courtney Love showing her breasts on stage at the Big Day Out. We are just not very good with our entertainers having opinions or showing agency about anything other than the C, F, G, F chord progression. Especially if they are young women, but yay, let’s for a moment pretend we are a progressive country, still filled with liberal ideals and go enjoy the GUTS tour.

That isn’t to say there aren’t a few Australians who prescribe to her certain outlook on life or enjoy screaming acidic words about a nameless ex-boyfriend at the top of their lungs because Rod Laver Arena is heaving. And opening with bad idea, right? is a good idea.

It’s more proof that Olivia revives old ideas so well. If drivers licence showed there was still room for another classic break-up song in the pop music canon, bad idea, right? takes the trope as old as Sex and the City of lying to your friends about sleeping with your ex and makes it sound new again. It’s witty. It’s cheeky. And it’s very fun. There were a few Dads with daughters in the crowd who looked all too perplexed at what was unfolding in front of their eyes and by the last “fuck it, it’s fine” they too had a little hip-swaying shimmy happening. Chin-stroking be damned.

There are never too many setlist surprises for an artist touring two albums, but the night is a stark reminder of the number of hits Rodrigo has chalked up in three short years. This allows her to forego typical cliches like saving your “biggest” songs for the encore, as she drops the lead single from GUTS, vampire, and drivers licence, two songs that collectively have close to 3.5 billion Spotify streams within the first 20 minutes. What a power move. Slay queen, etc., etc.

What that Disney upbringing has afforded Rodrigo is a confidence on stage that belies her years. She did a victory lap after her second song, all high kicks and excitable star jumps. And the crowd was fawning over her. She may be singing about social suicide, but she has around 15,000 people in front of her that are willing to take down those fame fuckers she has her sights on.

But she’s too self-aware and tongue-in-cheek to be a proper diva. The way she plays on the motifs associated with her stardom, both semiotic and reputational, is masterful. She spends the evening oscillating between the posing pop star with synchronised dance moves and the naturalistic frontwoman of a rock band with an electric guitar slung over her shoulder.

One part Siouxsie, one part Sabrina. She harnesses the girl-power energy with her all-female band and dance troupe but uses them throughout the night to play on the GUTS themes of adulation, insecurity and the sexualisation of the male gaze. Some of this is indirect, such as the video montage during all-american bitch, but before teenage dream she confesses to the crowd her fears about growing up before singing, “when am I gonna stop being a pretty young thing to guys?”

It is noble to be speaking about these things to a crowd, of whom many are young women at their first concert. And throughout the night, Livvy Rods ensures the theatricality of it all makes it a night to remember.

She makes the crowd scream whilst imagining the person who makes them the most angry. She flashes the camera to different people in the crowd with GUTS Cam (my name) as if at a baseball game, egging on best friends and mothers and daughters to hug and tell each other how much they mean to each other. She climbs into a goddamn moon-shaped structure and is hoisted around Rod Laver Arena as she sings enough for you so those kids in the nosebleeds can get a closer look at her. At 21, Olivia Rodrigo seems to be the complete package. I didn’t think she had it in her.

Her encore and our night concludes with the one-two punch of good 4 u and the peoples’ champ, the fan favourite, get him back! One last singalong for the night, one last evisceration, the scorned lovers in the crowd are still baying for blood. As all great musicians do, she leaves them wanting more.

An Olivia Rodrigo concert is not a cerebral experience; it’s an emotionally turbulent dance party. This concert shows that she is better than most of her peers, not only because her writing is sharper but also because she doesn’t take the job of being a pop star too seriously. She understands irony better than most, and she has found a way to channel her rage into some of the decade’s best pop songs. Billy Joel would be proud; she’s nobody’s fool.