Thomas Lambert
The final hours before the show always feel like a slow burn, a pyrotechnic fuse creeping toward ignition. My crew and I have spent months perfecting every detail of this year’s New Year’s Eve fireworks in Sydney, Australia, and yet, as we stand near the Harbour Bridge, the enormity of it all hangs heavy. Nine tons of pyrotechnics. Drones creating shapes we once thought impossible. Floating platforms ready to paint the water with light. A million people around the harbor, and a billion more around the world, waiting to see what we’ve made.
I’m 48 now, and each year the stakes seem to grow taller, more precarious. Back when I started, the job was simpler—no drones, no synchronized platforms, just fireworks against the night sky. Now, technology is an artist in its own right, and I have to be both conductor and magician. The first time I stood here as part of the team, I was just a kid with stars in my eyes. Tonight, the stars feel heavier, shaped by pressure and expectation.
Yesterday, the whole thing almost fell apart. The transport strike threatened chaos. Crowds packed tight with no way home would’ve meant the show might not go on. When the news came through that the strike was called off, the relief was palpable. But that wasn’t the end of my worries. Everything about this display is new territory—264 firing points, patterns that will cascade like waterfalls down the Harbour Bridge, and the drones, tiny mechanical dancers that must move in perfect harmony.
As the countdown begins, my pulse matches the rhythm of the crowd’s excitement. Ten, nine, eight... It’s like holding your breath underwater, waiting for the explosion of light and sound to break through.
When the first rocket soars, painting the sky with gold, a cheer erupts. The drones spell “Sydney” with a precision I almost doubted we could achieve. For a moment, all my nervousness evaporates. This is why I do it—for this magic, fleeting yet unforgettable.
And when the last firework fizzles out, leaving a smoky canvas above, I exhale fully for the first time in hours. Another year, another sky painted.