“Thank you for coming, we’re Chanel Beads.” 

It was always unclear to me who Chanel Beads actually were. A band? A solo project? A music collective? The internet will tell you it’s the stage name of Shawn Lavers, a New York-based musician who, on his first tour of Australia, played and sold out The Oxford Art Factory as a part of Vivid Sydney on Friday 5th of June, 2026. 

On a warm, busy Friday, with the Harbour skyline lit beautifully for Vivid, the city felt particularly lively. Somewhere between the spectacle and the Friday night rush, my visiting Melburnian friend and I found ourselves heading into the Oxford Art Factory. I’ve only been living in Sydney for less than 6 months, so I’m still largely unfamiliar with the music scene here. The venue was dimly lit and mostly empty when we arrived just as the opener, Riki Twinkle Wells, stepped onto the stage. The intimacy of the room immediately felt refreshing, in comparison to the outside street and the minor interrogation from the bouncer. Wells' set eased the audience into the evening with an easy, unhurried grace. By the time Chanel Beads came to stage, the venue had filled considerably, but not claustrophobically even though it was sold out. 

In all honesty, I’ve never properly listened to Chanel Beads. I have friends and family who are super into them, but personally, despite genuinely trying a couple of times, I’ve never really understood the hype. So when the opportunity came to experience them in person, I was keen to attend. 

As they took the stage, the venue lights dimmed, and the haze was turned on, the musicians dissolved into silhouettes. The instrumental opening shook the whole room. Shawn Lavers stood centrestage playing a piercing electric clarinet, with Maya McGrory on his right, expertly shifting between playing electric guitar and singing vocals. Zachary Paul was on electric violin, playing anything but classical. Also onstage was a drummer who seemed to emerge from the music itself. 

Unable to make out the artists' details, except for their silhouettes, I found myself less focused on their performance, which was clearly very technically impressive, but rather found myself letting the music itself speak to me. It seemed like so was the rest of the room. One of the first things we noticed during the Chanel Beads set, other than a person at the front with a camcorder, was that there was practically nobody recording—there wasn’t much to see, but definitely a lot to hear! I can't even remember the last concert where I could see the stage without a phone in my field of vision. It felt as though we were being submerged into the music itself. 

The atmosphere and the audience interactions brought to mind bands like The Hellp, where performance often feels secondary to the mood and music. Yet Chanel Beads never came across as detached or disinterested. Instead, they encouraged a different kind of engagement. The crowd responded by swaying, singing along and occasionally a group trying to start moshing. McGrory's occasional lead vocals provided some of the night's strongest moments. Her voice introduced a grungier, more melodic feeling to the set. It revealed another side to the Chanel Beads sound. 

Curiously, the very thing that had previously prevented me from connecting with Chanel Beads became the thing I enjoyed most live. On recordings, the songs’ similarities can feel difficult to navigate. In a venue, those similarities became immersive—like a soundtrack. With a backing track, ambient samples and the infrequent audience interaction apart from a “We love Australia” here and a “Thank you so much” there, Lavers mostly let the music lead into itself. 

By the final stretch of the set, I found myself jumping along with everyone else. When Chanel Beads eventually left the stage, the room went into chants for one more song. I joined in. 

Ultimately, Chanel Beads left me wishing the night had lasted longer. What began as an attempt to understand the appeal of a project, ended with me opening Spotify on the light-rail home (my current favourite is “Song for the Messenger”). The live performance transformed the music that once felt difficult into something deeply special. For a band, or solo project, or collective, that remains difficult to define, perhaps that lingering unclarity is the point.