Fridayz Live 2025
Brisbane Showgrounds, Brisbane
Friday, October 17th
The first Fridayz Live event for 2025 kicked off at Brisbane Showgrounds at 4pm, with a clash of suits, school kids, partygoers, and many, many Pitbull lookalikes flooding the Fortitude Valley and Bowen Hills border (the latter two groups swarmed to the Showgrounds propelled by the buzz of a couple day drinks).
Opening just as rush-hour gridlock clogged Bowen Hills, Jordin Sparks deserved a larger audience than the one trickling through security. Still, those who made it in time were rewarded with pure vocal precision. In a lace jersey and custom racer jeans, Sparks launched into “One Step at a Time” before delivering a flawless rendition of “No Air,” her voice soaring effortlessly over the crowd’s collective karaoke. Even with the sun yet to set, her performance felt luminous – a reminder that the American Idol winner’s talent never dulled, only paused for air amid the chaos of early arrivals.
Jordin Sparks. Image: Jordan Munns
By the time Tinie Tempah hit the stage, the crowd had swelled and the energy lifted. Shirtless beneath Queensland’s unseasonable spring humidity, the London rapper bounced across the platform with the stamina of his “Pass Out” peak. His blend of UK grime and radio-friendly hooks brought a kinetic charge, proving that even a decade removed from his chart run, Tempah’s charisma remains magnetic. The Brisbane audience – now warmed by beer queues and early evening sun – met his swagger with renewed vigour, echoing choruses that once ruled the club floor. His set was brief, but undeniably effective.
Tini Tempah. Image: Darcy Goss
EVE’s chrome logo spun onto the screens before the rapper herself emerged – a vision of unbothered cool with a sharp platinum bob and attitude. Backed by a fierce troupe of dancers and the impeccable DJ Way Too Smooth, she tore through “Who’s That Girl” and “Let Me Blow Ya Mind,” her voice still razor-sharp. It’s been seven years since Brisbane last saw her, but EVE’s command hasn’t faded; she remains every bit the trailblazer she was in the Ruff Ryders era. The crowd roared through “Rich Girl,” with EVE covering Gwen Stefani’s parts like they were her own, sealing a tight, nostalgic set.
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EVE. Image: Darcy Goss
Then came the chaos. Lil Jon stormed the stage dressed in white, his trademark dreadlocks and gravelly voice instantly igniting the amphitheatre. From the opening ad-libs, the crowd was his to command. “How many of y’all miss the 2000s?” he barked, before cueing “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” — and like clockwork, thousands of arms swung in sync, “supermanning” across the grounds. Every beat felt like a time warp: “Get Low” shook the bleachers, “Shots” turned the field into a fraternity basement, and remixes of Mo Bamba and Lean Back bridged eras with reckless joy.
Behind the sweaty haze and cartoonish visuals – pixelated twerkers, burning sports cars, anime lightning – lay something more profound: a pure celebration of the lost art of fun. Lil Jon’s set was a masterclass in how nostalgia can still move bodies, even two decades later.
As the night settled and a familiar haze drifted across the air, Wiz Khalifa emerged under emerald-green lights. “If y’all wanna smoke with Wiz Khalifa, make some fuckin’ noise!” he shouted, greeted by a roar (and the unmistakable scent of his signature vice). Dressed in a logo-heavy hoodie with Fridayz Live sponsor McDonald’s cheekily glinting from his sleeve, Khalifa cruised through “Roll Up,” “Young, Wild & Free,” and “Black and Yellow.” His flow was mellow, his stage presence relaxed, the aura of a man entirely at peace with his legacy.
Wiz Khalifa. Image: Darcy Goss
Between songs, Khalifa paused to reflect. “The number one thing is take care of your motherfuckin’ self,” he told the crowd. Then, with “See You Again,” he paid tribute to fallen artists — from Mac Miller to Takeoff, his tone shifting from playful to reverent. When he left the stage, exhaling gratitude, it felt less like goodbye and more like a benediction.
After a short intermission, when the clock struck 8pm, the Pitbull lookalikes sprinted to their posts. Brisbane hadn’t hosted Mr. Worldwide since the mid-2010s, and anticipation buzzed like static. A countdown flashed across the jumbotron, and moments later, the man himself erupted onto the stage to the bass-thumping “Don’t Stop the Party.” In his trademark shades and leather jacket, flanked by dancers in black sequins, Pitbull radiated polish and confidence.
“Brisbane, it’s an honour to be back in the land down under,” he shouted, commanding the call-and-response with his trademark “Dale!” chant. His set was relentless: “Hotel Room Service,” “International Love,” and “Give Me Everything” rolled out with machine precision, each hit punctuated by smoke cannons and neon Miami graphics.
Pitbull. Image: Jordan Munns
Midway through, Pitbull shed his jacket for a white blazer and steered the show into a Latin-dance medley — congas, brass, and all. He flirted in Spanish, teased the crowd with snippets of “Gasolina,” and slipped into Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” before launching into “Feel This Moment.” His stamina was staggering, his charisma undimmed.
Lil Jon returned for a surprise cameo, the pair trading verses like it was 2011 all over again. “To all the baldies out there,” Pitbull grinned, slapping his head, “you already know. If you got those bald caps on, you’re gonna have the time of your life. Dale!” He then closed with “Fireball” and a triumphant “Timber,” complete with line-dancing cowgirls and golden pyrotechnics.
In a festival landscape where extravagance often outweighs execution, Pitbull reminded Brisbane what a consummate showman looks like — equal parts Casanova and motivational speaker. He even spoke of SLAM, the school he founded in Miami for underprivileged youth, before bowing out with gratitude.
“Thank you for the love, thank you for the opportunity, and you for the support.”
The lights dimmed once more. Another countdown began — this one perfectly timed — and Mariah Carey’s legacy flashed across the screens: album covers, accolades, and a montage spanning three decades of pop dominance. Then she appeared, glittering in a black sequined gown, her silhouette met with an ear-splitting ovation.
From the first crystalline whistle note of “Emotions,” Carey proved she’s still in a league of her own. Her band delivered the perfect balance of polish and warmth, with backup singers in champagne tones giving Motown flair. “Touch My Body” followed, playful and effortless, before Carey dipped briefly backstage — emerging moments later, refreshed, to glide through ballads like “Hero” and “Always Be My Baby.”
Not every moment was perfect: her mic occasionally dipped, and she allowed her rapper to carry part of “Fantasy.” But when Carey found her stride, the arena stood still. Her humour, too, was on display — especially when she theatrically recoiled after tasting Vegemite on stage. “No,” she deadpanned, to riotous laughter.
She teased material from her new album, Here For It All, including a duet originally recorded with Anderson .Paak, and reminded the audience that even at this stage of her career, she’s still expanding her sound. The set closed with “We Belong Together,” Carey’s voice swelling into that timeless final note. As animated embers fell on the screen behind her, the crowd swayed, phones aglow like candles.
It was an imperfect but dazzling finale — proof that even when she’s not chasing perfection, Mariah remains untouchable.
As the final lights faded, the crowd rendition of “Hey Baby” inevitably started on the way out, prompted by a man in a Pitbull bald cap of all people. Some made a beeline to Eclipse nightclub in the Valley to catch the afterparty hosted by Lil Jon, whilst others clammered onto packed trains. A lot of “remember when?”s were overheard, and maybe a lot more will be generated from tonight.
