I recently attended my very first concert, and it was supposed to be a big deal. As a busy mum of three living in Gold Coast, I don’t often get the chance to do something purely for myself, let alone travel interstate for it. But when I heard that Diljit Dosanjh was performing live in Melbourne, I knew this was the moment. I left the kids at home with their dad, packed my bag, and set off to meet my friends for what I hoped would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. After all, who better to set the tone for my concert journey than Diljit – the undisputed G.O.A.T of the global Punjabi music scene, especially beloved by Indians living abroad like me! Diljit Dosanjh’s Melbourne show
To say I had high expectations would be an understatement. I was ready to be swept up in a night of electrifying beats, nonstop performance, and heart-pounding crowd energy. The venue, AAMI Park was sold out, packed to the brim with 65,000 people. The vibe was electric as we took our seats. I thought I was about to witness the gold standard of live shows. But for all the anticipation and build-up, what followed was a slow descent from excitement to confusion, and ultimately, disappointment.
The first red flag came early. The concert was scheduled to begin at 7:00 PM, didn’t start until 8:31 PM. Sure, we’ve all heard of “Desi Standard Time”, but when you’re at a packed stadium full of people who’ve paid good money, planned their lives, and in my case, flown across the country then 90 minutes of unexplained delay isn’t cool. The crowd, though initially patient, was getting restless.
Finally, the lights dimmed, and Diljit appeared on stage. The energy was back. For the first few songs, I could feel the beat in my chest. The crowd was singing along. I thought, “Okay, this is it, it’s happening.” But right when things were picking up… everything came to an abrupt halt. Diljit walked offstage. No explanation. Not even a background track or an emcee to fill the silence.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Still nothing. Just a confused sea of people staring at an empty stage. When he finally reappeared, the show felt like it was starting again, but just when the atmosphere began to rebuild – POOF! Another break, same thing. And this repeated again, with a 30-minute break in the middle of the concert that left people visibly annoyed and restless.
A concert, especially at this scale, should have flown. Continuity. A rhythm that takes the audience on a journey. But this felt disjointed, unplanned, and dare I say, careless. And the effect was cumulative. By the time he came back for the second half, I’d already mentally checked out. Even though that hour was slightly better with no more abrupt breaks, better momentum but the damage was done. The spell had broken. Diljit Dosanjh’s Melbourne show
What’s even more ironic is that the actual stadium theatrics were far superior to the performance itself. The light effects, smoke and fire bursts, and even the synchronized wristbands that lit up in perfect time with the stage lighting were truly next-level. Every time the stadium lit up in a new colour, we were in awe – more so of the tech and production teams than the man on stage. It’s a strange feeling when the production value outshines the main act by design.
Then there was something else that was off-putting: the repeated appearance of random kids on stage throughout the night. Sure, it sounds cute in theory and Diljit is known for his charm and childlike humour but the frequency and randomness of it quickly started to feel gimmicky, almost transactional. It looked like parents who’d paid extra were sending their kids up to be seen with him, and the whole thing disrupted whatever little rhythm the concert had left. Diljit Dosanjh’s Melbourne show
At a sold-out show in a 65,000-seat stadium, you expect the production to match the scale. If the main artist needs breaks – no problem, it’s human! But fill the gaps. Bring in dancers, local musicians, a DJ, anything. Instead, there were no fillers, no support acts, no effort to retain the audience’s engagement. It felt like the audience was taken for granted.
As I stood there somewhere between annoyance and disbelief, I kept thinking that this could have been avoided with just a bit of planning and respect for the people who showed up. For many like me, this wasn’t just a concert. It was an experience we carved time out for, travelled for, spent money we don’t usually spend on ourselves. And in return, we got chaos, inconsistency, and a lack of basic audience engagement.
Honestly, if I hadn’t gone with friends, I probably would have left before it ended. The only joy I took home was from spending quality time with people I care about and sadly, not from the performance itself. And that’s a shame. I went in believing my first concert would set the benchmark so high that every one after this would pale in comparison. Instead, it has put me off concerts altogether. What a waste of $300!
I never imagined my first concert experience would end not in awe and excitement, but in disillusionment. And it wasn’t because Diljit isn’t talented, he absolutely is. But talent needs to be backed by professionalism, planning, and respect for the audience’s time. Without those, not even the G.O.A.T can save the show.
READ MORE: Diljit Dosanjh’s Sydney show was “sauda khara khara”
