Biography
A central figure in Brisbane’s punk and alternative communities, remembered for his fierce generosity, sharp humour and instinctive musicality. This page preserves his life, art and the imprint he left on a city’s creative soul.
A central figure in Brisbane’s punk and alternative communities, remembered for his fierce generosity, sharp humour and instinctive musicality. This page preserves his life, art and the imprint he left on a city’s creative soul.
Brentyn “Rollo” Rollason
Born and raised in Brisbane, QLD.
A lifelong presence in the city’s punk, underground and DIY arts communities.
• Guitarist, songwriter, performer
• Long-time member of Blowhard
• Contributor to numerous side-bands, jams and community gigs
• Known for his instinctive rhythm and generous mentorship of young musicians
• Story collector, memory-keeper, natural archivist
• Loved photography, tape-trading and documenting the moment
• Known for legendary storytelling — hilarious, heartfelt, chaotic, true
• Remembered as a mentor, friend and community pillar
• A life lived loudly, honestly and generously
• His influence continues through artists, bands and stories he lifted up
• This archive exists to preserve and honour that impact
Brentyn “Rollo” Rollason was many things at once — a musician, a father, a mentor, a mischief-maker, a believer in people, and a walking archive of Brisbane’s underground culture. His life threaded itself through rehearsal rooms, backyard gigs, radio stations, pubs, community venues and late-night kitchens where the best conversations tend to happen.
Rollo didn’t just exist in the scene; he animated it. He played, he encouraged, he organised, he turned up. He believed in DIY, in the scrappy honesty of loud guitars, in the importance of documenting the moment. Whether you met him in a band room, a workplace, at a gig or through family, you remember him. He was impossible to forget — big laugh, big presence, huge heart.
Music lived at the centre of his world. He played guitar with instinctive rhythm and subtle precision, always more interested in feeling than perfection. Young players would walk in nervous, and he’d place a reassuring hand on their shoulder and tell them they were already good enough. Somehow, through him, they believed it.
Yet his creativity reached far beyond music. He collected stories the way some people collect records. He’d retell them with perfect timing — sometimes hilarious, sometimes profound, sometimes chaotic in the best possible way. He remembered names, held details, and made other people feel fascinating even when he was the one with the wildest past.
His generosity was its own ecosystem. He showed up when people needed him — with a lift, a meal, a conversation, a laugh, a warm presence. He listened deeply. He cared fiercely. He gave without hesitation. That was simply who he was.
As a father, he loved without boundaries. He filled his daughter’s world with creativity — guitars leaning on walls, notebooks stacked on tables, stories told late at night. His imagination made space for hers. His presence shaped her voice. He believed in her the same way he believed in the artists he admired: fully and loudly.
Rollo’s life wasn’t polished and he never pretended it was. He held his ideals openly, his flaws lightly, and lived in a way unmistakably his own. People gravitated toward that honesty. They still do.
This archive collects the span of his work and memory — music, photos, press, stories and decades of creative contribution. It’s here for those who knew him, and for those discovering him now. It keeps alive the humour, sharp wisdom, gentle encouragement and undeniable presence he carried everywhere.
Rollo’s legacy lives on in the people he inspired, the bands he supported, and the stories we continue to tell.
There are photos of Rollo that do more than show what he looked like — they feel like him. The warmth in his face, the way he held his guitar like it was part of his body, the spark in his eyes right before he made someone laugh. Even in stillness, he looked alive.
This photo holds that feeling — the gentleness beneath the noise, the humour beneath the chaos, the quiet kindness that
shaped entire rooms. For everyone who loved him, and even those meeting him for the first time here, this moment shows who
he truly was.
“Rollo: The Brisbane punk community and broader alternative music scene are forever in your debt.”
— TONEDEAF
Brentyn “Rollo” Rollason grew up in Brisbane at a time when the city’s underground scene was still finding its edges. He was one of the kids who helped draw those edges wider.
Before the bands, before the shows, before Blowhard became a name carried through rehearsal rooms and 4ZZZ hallways, he was a kid who loved music with an almost gravitational pull. Radios, borrowed guitars, garage jams with friends — these were the places where he first felt fully himself.
Brisbane shaped him, and in return, he helped shape a version of Brisbane that future generations would step into: louder, stranger, braver, more generous.
Those early years built the foundations people remember so clearly today — the humour, the curiosity, the instinctive kindness, and the raw creative drive that carried him through decades of music and community.
Rollo’s musical life was stitched together by bands that weren’t just bands — they were families, rebellions, experiments and sometimes outright chaos in the very best way. Each one carried a different piece of him, and each helped shape Brisbane’s underground sound.
Blowhard
Formed in 1989, Blowhard became Rollo’s heartbeat — loud, frenetic, theatrical and unmistakably Brisbane.
He fronted the band with raw humour and chaotic brilliance. Across nearly 30 years, Blowhard grew from a
scrappy punk act into a local legend.
The Fred Band
Before Blowhard, Rollo tore up stages with The Fred Band — a wildly energetic collision of punk roots and
country-rock chaos. These early years sharpened his stagecraft and cemented his reputation as a performer
who gave everything, every time.
Bad Ronald
One of his earliest bands — gritty, fast, and unfiltered punk delivered with a young man’s urgency.
Bad Ronald recorded live-to-air sessions at 4ZZZ and became a vital stepping stone toward the sound
Rollo would later refine.
Side Projects & Collaborations
Novelty bands, charity shows, tribute nights, ska, cowpunk, polka experiments, experimental noise bursts —
Rollo said yes to creativity wherever it appeared. These projects weren’t footnotes; they were proof of
his willingness to make music fearless, fun and free.
These bands weren’t just chapters — they were the backbone of Rollo’s creative life, and the pulse of a scene he helped shape from the inside out.
To see Rollo on stage was to witness a man fully alive. It didn’t matter whether he was playing to twenty people in a sweaty pub or packing out a festival tent — the moment he stepped up to the microphone, something shifted in the room. He didn’t perform at people. He performed with them.
His presence came from a rare mix of humour, heart, and absolute lack of pretence. He’d crack jokes between songs, heckle himself, hype the crowd, and somehow make everyone feel like part of the band. Yet beneath the chaos was instinct — sharp timing, emotional intelligence, and rhythm that held the whole thing together.
Rollo believed that a gig wasn’t a transaction — it was an exchange of energy. He’d give everything he had, sweat pouring, voice cracking, guitar thrashing, heart wide open. If someone in the audience needed lifting, he somehow knew. If someone was celebrating, he leaned into it. If a room needed shaking awake, he rattled its bones.
Stories from musicians who played alongside him echo the same sentiment: Rollo made you brave. Whether you were a nervous teenager at your first gig or a seasoned player stepping into something new, he had a way of making the stage feel less like a spotlight and more like a place you belonged.
His performances weren’t polished. They weren’t tidy. They weren’t designed for perfection. They were designed for connection — the kind that rattles you, wakes you up, makes you feel more human. That’s why people still talk about his shows. They weren’t just something you went to. They were something you carried home with you.
On stage, Rollo wasn’t performing a character. He was simply — gloriously — himself.
The version of Rollo people saw on stage — loud, wickedly funny, full of spark — was only one piece of who he was. Away from the noise, he carried a surprising gentleness. He listened with his whole attention, offered comfort without judgement, and had a way of grounding people simply by being there.
His home, his workplace, even the corner of a café became small hubs of connection. People would sit down planning to say hello and end up sharing their lives with him — their troubles, hopes, regrets and triumphs. He could listen in a way that made others feel both safe and unforgettable.
He wasn’t without flaws; he never pretended otherwise. He moved with a weathered honesty — unpolished, growing, learning. His loyalty was deep, his humour warmly disarming, and his presence could settle a room. Off stage, he cooked meals for anyone who wandered in, offered late-night rides, and made space for others to breathe.
Off stage, Rollo made life feel more human — and in the moments that needed it most, more possible.
“He was one of a kind, and he was truly punk rock.”
— THE PORKERS
For decades, you could find Rollo weaving himself through the corners of Brisbane’s underground arts scene — the rehearsal rooms, community venues, street festivals, late-night lounges and second-hand record shops. He showed up with the same big-hearted energy every time, offering support long before anyone knew they needed it.
He loved watching people create. More than that, he believed that everyone had the right to make noise, to try things, to take up space. Young musicians, first-time writers, emerging artists — Rollo treated them with the same respect he gave seasoned players. He’d lean against a wall with his guitar slung over his shoulder and say, “Give it a crack. That’s how all of us started.” It was enough to change the trajectory of someone’s confidence in a single night.
Part of what made him a community pillar was his instinct for bringing people together. New bands formed because he introduced strangers. Zines existed because he nudged someone and said, “You should print that.” Gigs happened because he pushed rooms, negotiated equipment, rallied performers and built momentum simply by caring loudly enough.
He was the kind of person who’d leave a show, walk straight into a 1am conversation in a carpark, and somehow make that moment feel just as important as the music. People gravitated towards him not because he demanded attention — but because he paid attention. He noticed potential, effort, passion and vulnerability, and he celebrated all of it.
In many ways, Rollo was a quiet architect of scenes. He held doors open, encouraged the shy and the uncertain, and sanded away the rough edges of doubt. Whatever community he stepped into — music, work, neighbourhood, family — he helped it grow stronger simply by being part of it.
Rollo didn’t just participate in communities — he built them, tended them, and kept them alive in ways that still ripple today.
Rollo left behind more than memories — he left a living influence. His impact echoes in the musicians who picked up guitars because he told them they could. In the friendships strengthened by his honesty. In the stories still traded across Brisbane’s backyards, green rooms and late-night kitchens.
His life threaded itself through Brisbane’s creative underground in ways that continue to matter. People who met him once remember him vividly. People who knew him well carry pieces of his humour, his ethics, and his generosity into their own work and lives.
That’s the heart of this archive. It gathers the fragments — the music, the photographs, the press, the handwritten notes, the personal stories — and holds them together so his impact isn’t lost to time. It’s a place to remember, a place to learn, a place to meet Rollo even if you never knew him in life.
This isn’t a monument. It’s a continuation. A living testament to a man who believed deeply in people, in community, and in the magic that happens when creativity is shared. His story doesn’t end here — it ripples outward through every person who keeps telling it.
Rollo’s legacy is alive — in the music he made, the people he lifted, and the stories still unfolding because of him.
For all the wild colour and noise of Rollo’s life, the place he poured the deepest part of his heart was home. Family grounded him. Beneath the jokes, the music, and the endless stories, he was a devoted father — steady, gentle, and fiercely proud of his kids.
At home, he raised his daughter with a mix of creativity and gentleness — guitars leaning on the walls, notebooks scattered across tables, art supplies never out of reach. He taught by example: be curious, be bold, be kind, be real. He didn’t force inspiration; he created space for it to grow.
Many people saw the public Rollo — the guitarist, the storyteller, the community backbone. But at home he was quieter, reflective, deeply present. He cooked, he listened, he shared long late-night conversations. He gave his daughter the kind of attention that made the world feel safer.
His family was not just part of his life — it was the axis around which everything else turned.
Rollo’s greatest pride lived in his children. He talked about them constantly — their creativity, their resilience, their humour, their enormous hearts. They carry his spark in different ways, each carving their own path while honouring the legacy of the man who raised them with music, mischief, warmth and story.
Alex carries the quiet steadiness of his dad — thoughtful, grounded, and unwaveringly loyal. He’s built a life shaped by dedication, creativity, and community, with a sharp mind and a generous heart. Now he works in sound engineering, shaping experiences through careful craft and technical artistry. Rollo admired this path deeply, always saying Alex had “the kind of strength the world actually needs.”
Ateisha inherited Rollo’s creativity like a second bloodstream — the writing, the music, the deep love of people and their stories. She is a professional writer, publisher and musician, the founder of Teish the Bird Publications, and the driving force behind this archive.
Her work spans fiction, creative non-fiction, editing, community arts, and performing with her band, Aether. Everything she creates carries a piece of her father’s ethos: honesty, heart, humour, and a fierce belief in the value of everyday people.
“Brisbane will not be the same without Brentyn Rollason… he was larger than life and a driving force behind the Brisbane music scene for decades.”
— TONEDEAF
Ateisha is collecting memories, moments and stories about her dad, Rollo, for an upcoming book and creative projects. If you knew Rollo — through family, community, work or music — your story matters.
If you're not sure where to start, you can also reach out via the contact page.