Groundwater turns the Gold Coast into a boot-stomping, beer-slinging celebration of all things country.
I checked into The Star Residences on a sun-splashed Friday morning, the kind of Gold Coast day that makes you want to ditch your to-do list for a swim and a schooner. The Star sits right in the middle of Broadbeach, sleek and glassy with that polished-but-relaxed vibe the Coast does so well. From the 26th floor, the ocean stretched out like a blue-screen fantasy and the hum of the city below was already warming up for the weekend. It was perfect festival positioning. Close enough to walk everywhere, far enough to retreat when my dancing legs inevitably gave up (a little foreshadowing for ya).
The apartment I was staying in was all marble and light with a balcony that practically begged for pre-festival drinks. I unpacked my boots, dropped my hat on the counter, and poured something sparkling before heading out the door. The Groundwater Country Music Festival had officially kicked off, and the streets of Broadbeach were alive with the sound of steel guitars, laughter and the faint, unmistakable twang of an Aussie-ish southern drawl.
What’s wild about Groundwater is that it takes everything you think you know about country festivals – dust, paddocks, hay bales, beer cans – and drops it smack-bang on one of Australia’s glitziest beaches. Instead of a sea of caravans and cowboy hats in the outback, you get cowboy hats wandering past high-rises and surfboards. The juxtaposition shouldn’t work, but it absolutely does. Country music with a sea breeze? Yes please.
I started at the main precinct in Kurrawa Park when the sun went down, where the smell of barbecue smoke drifted through the air. Market stalls lined the grassy edges, selling everything from hand-tooled leather belts to sequined cowboy hats, pearl snap shirts, and boots so sharp they could cut glass. There was even a stand offering custom belt buckles that could double as small dinner plates. Nearby, the food trucks were going hard — slow-cooked birria tacos, cheesy quesadillas, crispy fish & chips, churros, and (because this is the Gold Coast) a stall selling ceviche for anyone pretending to be healthy between beers.
One of the best parts about Groundwater is that it’s completely free and spread out across the whole of Broadbeach – you can wander from Kurrawa Park to the Surf Parade strip, catching different acts at every turn; a musical treasure hunt if you will, where every street corner has its own rhythm. I drifted between stages, cold drink in hand, as Casey Barnes played a set that hit like a heartbroken road trip, followed by the smooth, soulful grit of Michael Honan. Both were pure proof that Australian country is in a very, very good place.
By the time I wandered back to The Star that night, the elevators were full of festivalgoers in boots and hats, still buzzing, still humming snatches of whatever song had been stuck in their head for hours. I poured another glass, kicked off my shoes, and watched the glow of the city lights bounce off the ocean. You couldn’t ask for a better view. Or a better bed to collapse into after a day of dancing, eating, and (possibly?) mild dehydration.
The next morning started early. The Loose Moose was hosting its now-legendary Bluegrass Breakfast with Huxley & Friel, and I wasn’t about to miss the chance to eat bacon while listening to live mandolin before 9 am. The place was absolutely buzzing. Like, it was impossible not to grin as the duo jammed away, the crowd clapping along between bites of eggs benedict. There’s something deeply satisfying about that combination – coffee, comfort food and twangy tunes – especially when you know you’ve got another full day of festival chaos ahead.
From there, the day blurred into a glorious rhythm of sun, sound and movement. The beauty of Groundwater is that there’s always something happening within walking distance — one moment you’re at a laid-back songwriter session, the next you’re surrounded by a crowd losing their minds to a big stage act. I caught Michael Honan (because once isn’t enough) as he lit up the Broadbeach Mall Stage, then drifted to see Aaron D’Arcy at Oracle Boulevard. Every performer seemed to feed off the crowd. The energy was high and the smiles were so genuine.
Somewhere in between sets, I found myself back at the main area, eyeing off a pair of boots that I definitely didn’t need but almost certainly deserved. Around me, families sang together and couples slow-twirled. It’s what I love about this festival, it’s not pretentious, not polished within an inch of its life. It’s just good people, great music, and a ridiculous amount of happiness.
At one point, I stumbled into a crowd gathered around the Beach Deck, where Chris Watson was leading a line-dancing class. Now, I’m not exactly the coordinated type, but there’s something disarming about a group of strangers moving in perfect sync (or, in my case, trying to) with the ocean as your backdrop. The steps were easy enough, the vibe infectious, and the laughter came faster than the rhythm. Even if your boots aren’t made for dancing, they’ll sure be sliding by the end of it.
By Saturday night, Broadbeach was officially transformed. The streets were packed, balconies filled, and every open space had become a makeshift dance floor. The Wolfe Brothers brought the kind of energy that made the whole crowd forget the concept of personal space, and Nikki Lane (making her first Australian appearance in over a decade) reminded everyone exactly why she’s one of the coolest voices in country. The music spilled out of every corner and the atmosphere was so alive you could almost bottle it.
But Sunday rolled around far too quickly. I dragged myself out of bed and wandered over to the Kurrawa Big Top catch a quieter, more intimate session with local songwriters. The slow start felt right – reflective, a little emotional, the calm after the storm. But of course, the calm didn’t last. The afternoon built into one final surge, with The Buckleys bringing their infectious energy and Troy Cassar-Daley wrapping it all up in style. His set felt like the perfect full-stop to three days of music, movement and pure coastal chaos.
As the final chords rang out over the Surf Parade Stage, the crowd erupted; a sea of boots, hats, and sunburnt smiles under a sky blushing pink with the last of the light. I stood there, dusty and happy and absolutely spent, watching as people hugged, cheered, and promised to come back next year. And honestly? I’m right there with them.
As I took one last stroll back to The Star, boots scuffed, voice gone, and spirit full, I couldn’t help but laugh at how perfectly it all fit together; country and coast, sand and steel, music and mischief. Groundwater might not be your typical country festival, but that’s exactly why it works. It’s the Gold Coast with a southern accent, and I’ll happily check back in next year to hear it sing again.