LIVE REVIEW: DEAD OF WINTER FESTIVAL @ MANSFIELD TAVERN 27/06/26
Words Steph Ure - Photos Charlyn Cameron and Steph Ure
If you've never been to Dead of Winter, imagine the biggest family reunion you've ever attended... except everyone's dressed in black leather, corpse paint and band shirts, there's a bloke who looks suspiciously like death metal Jesus, an impeccably dressed demon, and somehow, it's one of the most wholesome crowds you'll ever meet. After a six-year hiatus, the festival returned to Mansfield Tavern with more than 30 bands spread across three stages, plus markets, pub food, sideshows and enough organised chaos to keep punters entertained for twelve straight hours.
Dead of Winter celebrates alternative culture in all its weird and wonderful forms. Between sets, the grounds had a couple of stalls selling everything from jewellery, shirts and handmade bags to horror-inspired art. There was even a mobile barber set up purely for fresh mullets because, honestly, where else would that make perfect sense?
The music delivered exactly what you'd expect: crushing guitar riffs, relentless energy and vocals that demanded to be screamed back. DZ Deathrays closed out the night with the same explosive mix of punk attitude and rock swagger that has made them one of Australia's most dependable live acts, proving why they were the perfect choice to headline the festival's long-awaited return.
Dead of Winter isn't just about the bands. The sideshows are part of the ritual. Cult the Show blurred the line between burlesque and performance art with fire, leather-clad cuties and, yes, stapled-on pasties that had equal parts fascination and horrified curiosity from the crowd. The Space Cowboy somehow made hooks through his eyelids, sword swallowing and hanging heavy weights from his body seem almost casual. It was impossible to look away.
The day was filled with moments that could only happen at a festival like this. Boofheads settled things with an actual boxing match. Flangipanis somehow turned golf into part of a punk set. Polly Cooke from Mitch, Please tore around the stage in an unforgettable pizza bodysuit, bringing infectious energy that perfectly matched the band's delightfully chaotic nerd-punk sound.
What stood out most, though, wasn't the spectacle. It was the community. Dead of Winter runs on one simple rule: have fun and look after each other. Whether you were in the pit, browsing the markets or watching somebody voluntarily attach hooks to their face, there was an overwhelming sense that everyone belonged.
It was loud. It was bizarre. It was brilliantly organised. And after six years away, Dead of Winter proved that Brisbane's heavy music community hadn't missed a beat. It had simply been waiting for the resurrection.
