Live at Homegrown, Claudelands Oval
14 March 2026
Live Review by Music Journalist: Paul Marshall
The Datsuns Ignite Homegrown: Hamilton Baptized in Raw Kiwi Rock Fury.
If there was ever a rock ’n’ roll moment that needed to be bottled, capped and passed around for posterity, The Datsuns’ early‑afternoon eruption at Homegrown, Claudelands Oval was it. From the first searing chord to the last feedback howl, this was a baptism by fire and Hamilton’s sun‑splashed crowd lapped it up like a draught of cold beer after a long dry spell.
The Cambridge bruisers, one of Aotearoa’s most formidable exports, comprising of frontman Dolf de Borst, flanked by string slingers Christian Livingstone and Phil Somervell, with new thunder behind the kit from Adam Lindmark, looked every bit the garage rock gladiators. Though the skinny silhouettes and gaunt energy suggested the archetypal “starving musician” look, half myth, half mythologised Kiwi rock trope, what took shape onstage was anything but fragile. It was visceral. It was loud. It was unapologetically alive. And yes, it was electrifying.
The crowd reacted accordingly. In the early afternoon heat, beer flowed freely, foam hands raised in celebration courtesy of simmering sponsor love, and a swathe of older, seasoned fans stood shoulder to shoulder with younger head‑bangers, all united in a spontaneous rite of rock. The familiarity of The Datsuns’ foundational riffage, the kind that first blasted out of their 2002 self‑titled debut, brought an almost tribal response, older pits forming and younger punters leaping with pure unfiltered joy.
What’s striking about The Datsuns is how seamlessly they straddle eras: here are musicians steeped in two decades of riff‑forged history, yet still carving out moments that feel scrappy and immediate. Tracks that once scored tours with The White Stripes and Metallica now feel perfectly at home under Hamilton’s open sky, tying past glories to a present that refuses to slow.
Their set was a spectrum, past hit rockets ballistically into newer material and every note pulled from that catalogue was met with shouts, fists in the air, and the kind of boisterous crowd engagement Hamilton likes to brag about come Monday morning. This wasn’t a polite festival slot; it was a statement: The Datsuns are back, and bloody hell, they still bite.
By the time the last chord rang out, it wasn’t just a crowd that had been entertained, it was a community re‑enchanted. In a festival that thrives on diversity, The Datsuns reminded everyone exactly why rock ’n’ roll still matters in the most primal sense.
Verdict: Four string‑bent thumbs up.
Reviewer: Paul Marshall
Photography by Paul Marshall
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