CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE SHOW HERE.

I take cover from the dreadful late-Autumn weather on my trek down Circular Quay, yet what pummels me is not rain. I face the Opera House, lights projecting the artwork of Brian Eno onto its tiled surface. Inside lies a different world from the usual affair of Shakespeare and symphonies. A world inhibited by laughing courses, living artworks and electronic musicians. Gone are the sport-jacket crowd who inhibit the sails like it’s The Melbourne Club. In their place is an eclectic bunch, including families with children in tow, teenagers, minor celebrities and at least one girl with ridiculously pink hair.

This unity makes the entire purpose of the Luminous Festival clear. As an admitted sceptic towards Events NSW decision-making skills, it was soon apparent that this was neither about parading Sydney’s excellence nor overcompensating for the loss of a major sporting star (no matter how much the tabloids will say otherwise). This is about bringing art, music, creativity, imagination and most importantly intellectual thought to the masses. At the very least, this is a step in the right direction for a state government who has made so many missteps in the past.

With that in mind, the crowd slipped into the pink Opera Hall seating to the sounds of Palace of Fire. The deserting two-thirds members of Wolfmother, now playing with vocalist-guitarist Matt Blackman of Charge Group, presented themselves on-stage, unaware that both sound and stage presence (their two faults) had to be altered for their more theatrical setting.

That said, their sound is emotion-fuelled and bombastic. The three-piece never cuts itself short as they go through their set of melody-heavy prog-rock movements. And much to Andrew Stockdale’s probable irk, this band’s set doesn’t sound like a variety of re-worded photocopies of better band’s material. With the line “hand picked by Brian Eno” now on their resume, it’s hard to fathom a future without them reappearing.

A short break in a crowded foyer is followed by the arrival of Dave Konopka onto the stage, looping basslines that slowly form Race:Out. And as Battles took their places around the Opera House stage, the faint sound of jaws dropping could be heard. With the tall Ian Williams behind his sole keyboard like a stick insect and Tyondai Braxton channelling the Roxy Music-era Brian Eno (except with a bit more swagger) the stage was filled to the brink with the type of power and awe only the most impressive acts can bring.

The one omission is, of course, John Stainer. Not for any causation of poor form, but because he possesses a life of his own. A man revered by many, he takes centre stage, sweating through his white button-up shirt as he pounds at his miniscule drum kit, destroying drumstick after drumstick like a golfer stuck in a deep sand bunker. The well-documented two-metre high cymbal stood above the band like a sunflower, yet was not spared in Stainer’s constant barrage of beats. The man is by every definition more drum kit than human.

With almost the entirety of debut Mirrored played (the obvious logistical issues of playing Ddiamondd notwithstanding), the band left the stage twice to standing ovations. And with reason, there are few bands that can tour Australia thrice on the back of the same album and prove themselves as absolutely mind-blowing every time. They are tight, punchy, driven and raw.

They’re a sonic volcano that erupts with every note they play. And with Tyondai’s auto-tuned voice declaring “the night is still young” during Bad Trails, their final song for the night, there’s no reason to believe otherwise. Braxton’s voice echoed through the chamber that is the Opera Hall, a subtle reminder to the 2000-odd people in attendance of the privilege it was to see such a band in such a setting.

In short: It was fucking incredible.