Live at Bowl of Brooklands
7 March 2026
Live Review by Music Journalist: Paul Marshall
If rock ’n’ roll is religion, then the lawn at the natural amphitheatre known as the Bowl of Brooklands briefly became its cathedral. The occasion was the Mānuka Phuel Full Metal Orchestra Rock Festival a thunderous collision of orchestral drama and metal muscle featuring a lineup of Aotearoa heavyweights.
The concept is simple and gloriously ridiculous in equal measure: take a stack of classic metal songs from bands like Metallica, AC/DC and Iron Maiden, add a full orchestra, crank the amplifiers, and let chaos bloom under the stars. Or in this case, under a stubborn blanket of grey Taranaki cloud. The roadside sign might insist this region is the “sunniest town in New Zealand,” but the weather clearly hadn’t checked the memo.
Still, nobody came for the sunshine. They came for volume.
Arriving early meant watching the crowd assemble like characters wandering into a heavy metal western. Tattooed bikers. Long haired devotees in battle worn band tees. A scattering of carefully styled hipsters who looked like they’d wandered over from a boutique coffee bar. And of course, plenty of rock stars.
The tone for the afternoon was set by DJ Kane Hawkins, who spun a warm up set of classic rock deep cuts while the lawn slowly filled with fans clutching beers and bracing for impact.
But the real opening salvo belonged to Jon Toogood. Standing alone with an acoustic guitar at a venue designed for thousands is a brave move. No wall of drums. No safety net of distortion. Just a man, six strings and the expectation of a crowd that knows every lyric.
Toogood, of course, has never been one for half measures. The Shihad frontman tore into stripped-down versions of his band’s classics with a mixture of humour and swagger that instantly won over the audience.
The biggest moment came when he launched into “Pacifier.” The crowd roared the chorus back at him with rugby-stadium intensity, thousands of voices rising in chaotic harmony.
Then came the night’s first gloriously human moment: a cover of “I Got You” by Split Enz that veered hilariously off course when Toogood jumped into the wrong verse mid song. Instead of stopping, he cracked himself up laughing, apologised while still playing, and kept going.
“Sorry to everyone who brought their kids today,” he joked at one point. “I tend to swear a lot.”
When a fan yelled “I love you!” he fired back: “You don’t know me. I could be a cunt.”
Cue another apology to the parents and another roar from the crowd.
Rock ’n’ roll, after all, thrives on imperfection.
Next came I Am Giant, who hit the stage with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Frontman Ed Martin bounded around like a man possessed, announcing at one point: “I’ve got the best fucking job in the world, ladies and gents.”
A microphone failure during the third song hinted at a theme for the night, technical gremlins would haunt several performances but the band powered through regardless.
Watching Martin perform is like watching someone physically wrestle the music out of the air. At one point he bent almost double over the stage monitors, seemingly reading lyrics from the floor. I took a closer look and realised he was simply locked so deeply into the song that his body had folded forward under the force of it.
Behind him, Aja Timu wielding a white Flying V carved out thick slabs of distortion while bassist Paul Matthews played like a man trying to break the instrument through sheer enthusiasm legs wide, rock-star stance fully deployed.
By the time Martin climbed onto the centre monitor and roared into the crowd, the audience had completely lost its collective mind.
If I Am Giant brought thunder, Devilskin delivered the eruption.
From the front row the floor literally vibrated with every kick drum strike from drummer Nic Martin. The sensation was like standing next to a geological event, Mount Ruapehu going off in double-time.
Singer Jennie Skulander doesn’t waste words. “Last year we released our album Re-evolution. This next track is from it,” she said simply before unleashing another barrage of riffs.
Her voice, however, said everything.
Bassist Paul Martin prowled the stage pointing at fans and throwing devil horns, while Skulander stalked the monitors like a metal ballerina.
By the final track she was scissor kicking through the air with ferocious precision.
“I’ll start a revolution when I get up in the morning,” she sang, a line that felt like the perfect mic-drop ending.
They were, frankly, a brutal act to follow.
Blindspott took the stage next and immediately ran into gear trouble when a bass issue disrupted the opening song. The fix was quick, but it set a slightly shaky tone.
Frontman Damian Alexander also seemed to be wrestling with his voice early on, perhaps still warming up after weeks on the road. By the third song it had settled into its familiar snarl.
“You don’t know what it’s like to write a song and hear everyone singing it back,” Alexander told them at one point, clearly moved.
The set ended with a moment of slapstick when drummer Shelton Woolright stood triumphantly on his kit during the final song, then missed his stool while sitting down and toppled backward, saved from disaster by a quick thinking crew member.
Rock ’n’ roll survival, level unlocked.
And then it was time for the main event.
The Taranaki Synthony Orchestra, conducted by Tom Rainey, took their places alongside the rock musicians. This hybrid ensemble, strings, brass, woodwinds and percussion sharing the same stage, formed the beating heart of Full Metal Orchestra.
The pre show blast of Bohemian Rhapsody sent the crowd into delirium before Toogood kicked things off with “Enter Sandman.”
It was instantly clear why metal and orchestras belong together.
The symphonic swells elevated the song into something cinematic, transforming the familiar riff into a thunderstorm of sound.
Next up, Skulander returned in a skeletal black outfit to belt out “The Number of the Beast,” proving once again that her voice could peel paint off the amphitheatre walls.
When the opening chords of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” rang out, originally by Guns N’ Roses, the crowd erupted into a mass sing along that felt less like a concert and more like a national sporting event.
One of the evening’s most magical moments came during “Nothing Else Matters,” when Skulander asked the audience to raise their phone lights. Thousands of glowing screens illuminated the Bowl like a constellation.
Elsewhere, Milan Borich delivered a strong performance but spent too much time crouched at the front of the stage, fantastic for the first row, less so for the thousands behind them.
Then the legend arrived.
When Phil Rudd walked onstage the crowd erupted. The band launched into “Thunderstruck”… and immediately had to stop and restart after a technical hiccup. Rudd shrugged off his jacket after the first song like a man settling in for a long night.
Not everything ran smoothly. Video effects sometimes overwhelmed the stage, and monitor issues forced a restart during “Master of Puppets.”
But here’s the thing about rock concerts: perfection is overrated.
Watching Toogood sing that Metallica classic with obvious passion, even after a false start, felt more real than any flawlessly rehearsed show.
And then came the moment that stole the night.
Skulander’s rendition of “Sober” by Tool was breathtaking. She hit the towering final notes with apparent ease, sending shivers through the audience.
Concerts aren’t just about the performers. They’re about the little communities that form in the audience.
At one point I met two gorgeous ladies, Laura and Kate, partners of musicians onstage, who were equally fascinated and amused by the parade of staggering drunk punters weaving around us.
I’ve never quite understood why someone would spend good money on a concert ticket only to drink themselves into oblivion. But each to their own.
Later I ran into two fans Lyana and Alistair, who summed up the night perfectly. “The orchestra gives the music a fullness you don’t normally hear,” Alistair said. “It’s huge.”
If there was one universal verdict from the crowd, it was this: being close to the stage was worth every dollar.
From the front, the experience wasn’t just musical, it was physical. The drums shook the ground, the guitars buzzed through your chest, and the orchestra wrapped everything in cinematic grandeur.
By the time the final chords faded into the Taranaki night, the damp grass was littered with empty cups, hoarse voices and satisfied grins.
Full Metal Orchestra isn’t a polite concert. It’s a glorious, slightly chaotic spectacle where classical elegance and metal aggression collide head on.
And on this night at the Bowl, that collision sounded absolutely magnificent.
Reviewer: Paul Marshall
Photography by Paul Marshall
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