A few days before Camp Cope’s last ever show at the Sydney Opera House, the band posted an Instagram story: a phone note reading simply, “The Opener (10 minute version)”. It’s funny because it’s not even out of the question that the beloved Melbourne punk trio might do something like that (Taylor Swift’s 10-minute anthem All Too Well played them on during their 2022 tour run). It’s depressing because there’d be more than enough content to boost the band’s signature song, a searing indictment of sexism in the music industry, to 10 minutes or much further beyond.
It’s all very Camp Cope. Since 2015, the band – made up of singer and guitarist Georgia Maq, bassist Kelly-Dawn Hellmrich and drummer Sarah “Thomo” Thompson – has challenged and changed the Australian music landscape. From spearheading the #ItTakesOne campaign to end sexual harassment at gigs to calling out festivals for gender inequality in lineups, the band’s activism has been passionate and fearless. It’s encapsulated in a three-word chant from The Opener – “Show ’em, Kelly!” – Maq’s affirmation of her bandmate that became a rallying cry at Camp Cope’s gigs.
In September, Maq – who now lives in Los Angeles – delivered a no-holds-barred speech at the Bigsound conference that captured so much of what the band has been about over the last decade: rage, a thirst to create change and a fiery love for one another. Through it all, the constant voices of their opposition never took the wind out of their sails – it just made them want to fight harder.
And they were a hell of a band. Over three records – 2016’s raw self-titled album, 2018’s How to Socialise & Make Friends and 2022’s Americana-inspired Running with the Hurricane – the trio moved, chameleonic, through sonic worlds. Maq’s wise, vivid lyricism and commanding voice, Hellmrich’s distinctive, creative basslines and Thompson’s steady beat-keeping were the anchors of it all, but took on different shapes as they moved through albums, and life, together.
That camaraderie has always been evident – “Thomo’s like my mum and Kelly’s like my sister,” Maq says in a short documentary directed by Natalie van den Dungen. In a world that loves pitting women against each other, that solidarity between band members was both a soothing balm and a steadfast armour. It wasn’t them against the world – it was them and whoever wanted to join them against the things that keep us all down.
All of that is to say that Camp Cope might be hanging up their hats, but they’re leaving behind a legacy. After two last shows in Adelaide and Melbourne in March, the trio took to the Sydney Opera House for their final hurrah – a joyous, affirming celebration of their music and the message they’re leaving behind.
Rounded out by touring guitarist and backing vocalist Jennifer Aslett, as well as an Auslan interpreter, the band’s last performance was as Camp Cope shows have always been: no frills, no tricks, no encores, just music and laughter. The Concert Hall is a long way from the Tote, but Maq still cracked constant jokes and ran around the perimeter of the stage, making the large venue feel as intimate as a friend’s living room.
The temptation to stuff as many songs as possible into a show like this must be strong, but at a lean 15 tracks, the set list was carefully curated as a thoughtful career retrospective. While it did mean that some notable tracks were inevitably omitted, it was a pleasure to hear early tracks like Done and Jet Fuel Can’t Melt Steel Beams, a reminder of how astute and socially conscious Maq’s songwriting has been from the very start; and the arrangements on later songs such as The Mountain and Jealous, showing the band’s fascinating trajectory over the years.
Julia Jacklin joined on harmonies for a gorgeous rendition of The Screaming Planet, and friends and family flooded on to the stage to sing the moving refrain of Sing Your Heart Out, with Maq on piano: “You can change and so can I.”
As for the 10-minute version of The Opener – turns out it wasn’t a bit at all. Maq took to piano to begin the song with new verses contextualising the relationship that inspired it, giving additional insights into the troubling, insidious signs (“my 18-year-old friend slept with your 28-year-old friend back when no one would question men like you”) and a glimpse into the heartbroken, hurt young woman she was.
Then the band – and additionally, Melbourne singer-songwriter Rin McArdle on guitar – crept back on to the stage, bridging into the main song for the last time. From frail hurt to rage, fury and self-affirmation, Maq transformed to take the power back. It was a beautiful and symbolic way for the song, and the band, to farewell the world – something that started as one woman’s way to heal and became a collective cry for something better. The crowd by this point was on its collective feet, delivering the loudest “Show ‘em, Kelly” yet, thousands of voices all joining together to remember what it feels like.
You showed ’em, Kelly. You showed ’em, Georgia. You showed ’em, Thomo.
Thanks for everything.
