AMPLIFIED: the Exquisite Rock and Rage of Chrissy Amphlett

By Diana Simmonds

February 1 2026

AMPLIFIED: The Exquisite Rock and Rage of Chrissy Amphlett, UpstairsTheatre, Belvoir St Theatre, 29 January - 8 February 2026. Photography by Jade Ellis

The set (Michael Hankin) and lighting (Paul Jackson) tell us immediately that we’re in a seedy and heaving live music pub. You could swear the stink of rock-god sweat, beer, Jack, and weed is thick in the air. It’s enough to start the heart thumping, and up a notch it goes as the black-clad band assembles in the shadows, through swirling dust motes in needle shafts of pale gold light.

It’s a thrilling and unmistakable sensation of being released to the nether world of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. Then Sheridan Harbridge channels the subversive wicked wit of Chrissy Amphlett and does what the diva did best: administers a little prick to the great big prick of Rock. It’s cruel, hilarious and sets the tone for the next 70+ minutes.

Amplified is a paean to the late, great and still-lamented Amphlett. The show, written by Harbridge with co-creators, director Sarah Goodes, and musical director/lead guitar Glenn Moorhouse, negotiates a taut high wire of joy in Amphlett’s life and musical genius, and sorrow at her too-early death, and the hardships and misfortune she endured along the way.

Harbridge, with unnecessary self-deprecation, states at the outset that she’s not trying to be Amphlett. Yet, because she’s a consummate actor (think her originating Prima Facie, or her heart-shredding A Streetcar Named Desire), the woman on stage is a fever dream of authenticity. Hankin’s costuming echoes but never copies Chrissy’s fallen angel-prim school tunic. Between the gear and the performer, it’s easy to see what drove neanderthal headbangers wild with lust and resentment.

That dangerous, provocative element of Amphlett’s stage schtick is woven throughout, and something equally significant emerges: it wasn’t an act, but a distillation of her personality. She was her actual self on stage more than most performers. And it was fierce. It made her a beacon of possibility for young women and probably for a new generation if they see this show.

When they do, they’ll be blown away by the immediacy of songs such as 1988’s Back To The Wall. Beginning: “We are living in desperate times…” through to “Like a time bomb ticking away / I might blow up some day. Don't push, don't shove / You better watch what you do. When my back's to the wall / I might do anything at all.” Name a girl who hasn’t wanted to yell that to a cute but cocky arsehole.

In between prowling the floor and pouncing on unwary audients (H&S warning: if you’re a member of the NSW police force, do not volunteer your handbag for examination), Harbridge is as integrated with her band as Chrissy ever was with the Divinyls. Led by Glenn Moorhouse on guitars (a screaming solo is a shiver-deliverer), the quartet is Ben Cripps on loping, lovely bass, Dave Hatch, tuneful behind the drums and clear perspex baffles, with Clarabell Limonta painting harmonies on Kawai keyboards. While chipping in as backup singers from time to time, they play as tightly as if they’ve lived life on cramped stages and in hidden basements and never seen sunlight at all 

Amplified is not a mere run-through of greatest hits, however, and as well as a probable account of Amphlett’s life, there are teasing semi-starts on fabled hits, and reminders of or introductions to lesser-known songs. Stories from those who knew her best, or once stood next to her at a bar, are woven into a seamless, riveting narrative. Central to it all is Harbridge: brilliantly equipped to deliver the pathos, wit, and chin-out belligerence that made Amphlett such a dynamic and unique musical presence.

Enjoy Amplified as simply the most panty-wetting rock experience you’ve had since whenever, or dive into the darker riches on offer beneath its tunefully fun surface. Amphlett was instinctively unable to go with the misogynist flow of the music biz; at the same time, she turned her rebellion into performance. The combination is sharply portrayed here, and is as politically electrifying as it was 40 years ago. As conjured up by Sheridan Harbridge and Sarah Goodes, it’s a gloriously fine line between pleasure and pain. Wicked.