Rob Hirst’s Thunderous Exit: Midnight Oil’s Heartbeat Silenced Forever

Mia Reynolds, 1/21/2026Rob Hirst's passing marks a profound loss for Midnight Oil and the Australian music scene. Celebrated for his powerful drumming and activism, Hirst's legacy resonates through iconic tracks like "Beds Are Burning." His impact transcends music, reflecting a commitment to social justice and creative integrity.

What happens to a band when its backbone is gone? Try picturing Midnight Oil minus Hirst’s relentless, surging beat, and you’re left with a parade float with no engine. Peter Garrett—looming, charismatic, and extraordinary to behold—may have drawn eyes, but it was Hirst anchoring the madness, a force both propulsive and disciplined. At every concert, that pulse in the chest? That was Rob, whose drumming didn’t just keep time; it set hearts racing. It’s no stretch to say some nights, he was the electricity making those bold canvases of sound truly live.

Sydney’s sweaty club scene in the ’70s doesn’t crop up in many history books, but for Midnight Oil it was where calluses formed and ideals clashed. Hirst, along with Jim Moginie and Andrew James, were already working their way through the local scene as Farm—though things only clicked into place when Peter Garrett, the most unlikely frontman in Australian rock, accepted an ad in 1972. Some say the Oils could have been just another northern beaches cover band, had the pieces fallen differently.

Yet the turbulence, the “muscular democracy” of the group, was at the core of their identity. It wasn’t a cozy brotherhood; if anything, it sounds exhausting. Hirst, never short of candor, once offered up this gem to Rolling Stone: “I don't like Garrett's taste, and he doesn't like mine.” Tension built something fiery, not frictionless—and from that storm emerged a catalogue as eclectic as it was fearless. From the raw edges of “Head Injuries” to the grown-up activism of “Diesel and Dust,” every album carried a signature tension, a steady beat of argument under the melody.

Of course, “Beds Are Burning” stands as a lesson in what happens when righteous indignation meets a pop hook—a global anthem that forced the world to contend with Indigenous dispossession in a way that was impossible to ignore. But sometimes it was the subtler moments—Hirst’s drumming in “Power and the Passion,” for instance, battling a drum machine and emerging triumphantly human, even as the era succumbed to synths and sameness—that showed what he was really about. No drum circle platitudes here; just bare-knuckle energy and outright refusal to sand off the rough edges for palatability’s sake.

Integrity might be a buzzword in PR circles, but for Midnight Oil it was lived. No pandering, no easy radio edits. Hirst rang out as their conscience, the one keeping the band grounded even as Garrett (“Mr. Iconic Dance Moves” himself) went from blasting out “Blue Sky Mine” to standing behind a Prime Minister’s podium. Midnight Oil didn’t just sing songs—they picked fights the music industry would rather leave alone, squaring up to environmental disaster zones, corporate greed, and all manner of polite silences. Sometimes they won. Sometimes they didn’t. The point, as Hirst succinctly put it, was to try—and to keep trying.

Even as headlines drifted away and Garrett leaned into politics, Hirst was hard to pin down. Ghostwriters. Backsliders. Angry Tradesmen. And, remarkably, a full-circle moment—recording with the daughter he’d once given up for adoption, a story with just enough heartache and hope to put most songwriters to shame. As recently as 2025, he was still releasing music, collaborating with Sean Sennett and proving that for some artists, the well of creativity has no bottom.

Quiet philanthropy mirrored Hirst’s persistent energy—when his pancreatic cancer diagnosis came in 2023, he didn’t just retreat. Instead, he took his beloved Ludwig kit (iconic in its own right) out of storage, auctioned it off, and managed to funnel $90,000 toward Indigenous music charities and cancer research. Typical, really. Let the spotlight chase others; Hirst was content to fuel the next generation, letting action echo louder than applause.

Predictably, tributes rolled in from every corner. The nation’s Prime Minister, Anthony Albanese, summed up what so many felt: “the real deal”—a drummer whose energy could wear out an audience just by watching him, yet he never flagged. INXS’s Garry Gary Beers, a man who has certainly seen a few good drummers in his time, called Hirst one of the best.

But it’s hard not to let Hirst himself have the final word, quietly proud of the stubbornness that defined both himself and Midnight Oil. Reflecting on their place in the world, he grouped them with fellow agitators—U2, Billy Bragg—and especially First Nations musicians, always keeping one eye fixed on the bigger picture of justice. “We take on all the things you’re supposed to avoid,” he said once, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

No tidy conclusion exists for a story like this, except the growing sense that some drummers don’t just keep time—they keep memory. The Oils may tread the stage no more, but the heartbeat underneath “Beds Are Burning” and “Power and the Passion” hasn’t faded; it just migrates, showing up in protest marches, car radios, or maybe some teenager in 2025 discovering what a real drum solo feels like. Maybe history isn’t written by the victors, after all—it’s kept in rhythm by those, like Rob Hirst, who never forget where the beat came from.

It’s a rare thing, when the passing of a drummer leaves silence echoing not just in a band, but across a country’s cultural landscape. Yet the news on Tuesday—Rob Hirst, the firecracker behind Midnight Oil’s thunder, gone at 70 after a tough three-year fight—hit a nerve so deep it feels as though a cornerstone of Australian rock has shifted forever. The band’s note to fans, ringing out on Facebook with heartbreaking finality, spoke of his peace surrounded by loved ones—and that faint, beautiful notion of “a glimmer of tiny light in the wilderness.”What happens to a band when its backbone is gone? Try picturing Midnight Oil minus Hirst’s relentless, surging beat, and you’re left with a parade float with no engine. Peter Garrett—looming, charismatic, and extraordinary to behold—may have drawn eyes, but it was Hirst anchoring the madness, a force both propulsive and disciplined. At every concert, that pulse in the chest? That was Rob, whose drumming didn’t just keep time; it set hearts racing. It’s no stretch to say some nights, he was the electricity making those bold canvases of sound truly live.Sydney’s sweaty club scene in the ’70s doesn’t crop up in many history books, but for Midnight Oil it was where calluses formed and ideals clashed. Hirst, along with Jim Moginie and Andrew James, were already working their way through the local scene as Farm—though things only clicked into place when Peter Garrett, the most unlikely frontman in Australian rock, accepted an ad in 1972. Some say the Oils could have been just another northern beaches cover band, had the pieces fallen differently.Yet the turbulence, the “muscular democracy” of the group, was at the core of their identity. It wasn’t a cozy brotherhood; if anything, it sounds exhausting. Hirst, never short of candor, once offered up this gem to Rolling Stone: “I don't like Garrett's taste, and he doesn't like mine.” Tension built something fiery, not frictionless—and from that storm emerged a catalogue as eclectic as it was fearless. From the raw edges of “Head Injuries” to the grown-up activism of “Diesel and Dust,” every album carried a signature tension, a steady beat of argument under the melody.Of course, “Beds Are Burning” stands as a lesson in what happens when righteous indignation meets a pop hook—a global anthem that forced the world to contend with Indigenous dispossession in a way that was impossible to ignore. But sometimes it was the subtler moments—Hirst’s drumming in “Power and the Passion,” for instance, battling a drum machine and emerging triumphantly human, even as the era succumbed to synths and sameness—that showed what he was really about. No drum circle platitudes here; just bare-knuckle energy and outright refusal to sand off the rough edges for palatability’s sake.Integrity might be a buzzword in PR circles, but for Midnight Oil it was lived. No pandering, no easy radio edits. Hirst rang out as their conscience, the one keeping the band grounded even as Garrett (“Mr. Iconic Dance Moves” himself) went from blasting out “Blue Sky Mine” to standing behind a Prime Minister’s podium. Midnight Oil didn’t just sing songs—they picked fights the music industry would rather leave alone, squaring up to environmental disaster zones, corporate greed, and all manner of polite silences. Sometimes they won. Sometimes they didn’t. The point, as Hirst succinctly put it, was to try—and to keep trying.Even as headlines drifted away and Garrett leaned into politics, Hirst was hard to pin down. Ghostwriters. Backsliders. Angry Tradesmen. And, remarkably, a full-circle moment—recording with the daughter he’d once given up for adoption, a story with just enough heartache and hope to put most songwriters to shame. As recently as 2025, he was still releasing music, collaborating with Sean Sennett and proving that for some artists, the well of creativity has no bottom.Quiet philanthropy mirrored Hirst’s persistent energy—when his pancreatic cancer diagnosis came in 2023, he didn’t just retreat. Instead, he took his beloved Ludwig kit (iconic in its own right) out of storage, auctioned it off, and managed to funnel $90,000 toward Indigenous music charities and cancer research. Typical, really. Let the spotlight chase others; Hirst was content to fuel the next generation, letting action echo louder than applause.Predictably, tributes rolled in from every corner. The nation’s Prime Minister, Anthony Albanese, summed up what so many felt: “the real deal”—a drummer whose energy could wear out an audience just by watching him, yet he never flagged. INXS’s Garry Gary Beers, a man who has certainly seen a few good drummers in his time, called Hirst one of the best.But it’s hard not to let Hirst himself have the final word, quietly proud of the stubbornness that defined both himself and Midnight Oil. Reflecting on their place in the world, he grouped them with fellow agitators—U2, Billy Bragg—and especially First Nations musicians, always keeping one eye fixed on the bigger picture of justice. “We take on all the things you’re supposed to avoid,” he said once, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.No tidy conclusion exists for a story like this, except the growing sense that some drummers don’t just keep time—they keep memory. The Oils may tread the stage no more, but the heartbeat underneath “Beds Are Burning” and “Power and the Passion” hasn’t faded; it just migrates, showing up in protest marches, car radios, or maybe some teenager in 2025 discovering what a real drum solo feels like. Maybe history isn’t written by the victors, after all—it’s kept in rhythm by those, like Rob Hirst, who never forget where the beat came from.