Live at Spark Arena
29 January 2025
Live Review by Music Journalist: Paul Marshall
Loud, Unapologetic and Unsoftened: Joan Jett Proves Rock ’n’ Roll Never Retires.
There’s something beautifully irreverent about opening a rock ’n’ roll show in 2026 with Wanda Jackson’s Let’s Have a Party blasting through the PA. It’s a sly tip of the hat to rock’s original wild women, and a not-so-subtle reminder that tonight is about lineage, attitude, and survival. As the speakers crackle and the hum of anticipation settles over Spark Arena, configured down to an intimate, almost club-sized 4,000, one thing is clear: Joan Jett doesn’t need nostalgia. She is the thing others imitate.
Jett hits the stage with brute force, no easing in, no polite pleasantries. This is a band walking out like they’ve got a point to prove, even after five decades of doing exactly that. The Blackhearts strike classic rock poses, wide stances, guitars slung low, faces locked in snarls and immediately look like a band that still believes in rock ’n’ roll as a physical act, something to be delivered rather than curated.
Opening with Victim of Circumstance, Jett sets the tone early: tight, loud, and unapologetically direct. Dressed in a black spandex pleather outfit, cut-off sleeveless studded jacket clinging like armour, she looks every bit the rock star. Not reinvented. Not softened. Just distilled.
Her first address to the crowd comes quickly and lands like a spark in dry grass.
“We’re the Blackhearts of New York City,” she declares, “and we need to know that you guys wanna sing.”
Before the sentence has fully landed, the drummer is already into the instantly recognisable intro beat of Do You Wanna Touch Me. The band’s chant, Yeah, oh! Yeah, oh!, ignites the room, and suddenly Spark Arena sounds less like a seated stadium and more like a football terrace. The crowd roars it back with hooligan enthusiasm. It’s a masterclass in crowd control: simple, primal, and wildly effective. In seconds, the invisible barrier between band and audience is flattened.
Not everything flows quite as seamlessly. Change the World is preceded by a long spoken introduction, Joan reading carefully from her phone. It slightly stalls the momentum, but it also humanises her, this isn’t a nostalgia act on autopilot, this is a working artist still carrying purpose into her set.
Visually, the show is a mixed bag. The arena is full, but the smaller configuration sharpens the divide between sections. On the floor, a soon-to-be mosh pit erupts into rock ’n’ roll jiving, fist-pumping, and sweat-soaked movement. Up in the seats, however, it’s another story, rows of people sitting motionless, as if watching a film rather than a living, breathing punk-rock institution. Joan Jett demands physical engagement. The seats don’t comply.
Mid-set, during (Make the Music Go) Boom, drummer Michael McDermott briefly signals for assistance with his kit, something clearly misbehaving under the punishment it’s receiving. McDermott, incidentally, is a beast behind the drums, delivering thunderous blows with unwavering precision. Visually, he’s also something of a distraction: a dead ringer for Adam Sandler in Little Nicky, albeit one who hits like a freight train.
By the time we reach the more provocative stretch of the set, Jett peels off her top, revealing the full rock ’n’ roll uniform beneath: tight spandex, no compromise. Back in the day this look would have caused outrage; seeing it now, with Joan Jett well into her sixties, it becomes something else entirely, defiant, fascinating, and oddly powerful. This isn’t denial of age, it’s confrontation with it.
Eagle-eyed fans will notice her roadie every few songs, dutifully turning the pages of the printed set list and lyrics positioned in front of her. There’s something endearing about the ritual. Legends, it turns out, still need page turns.
At one point, a large puff of smoke emerges from near the front of the crowd, immediately attracting the attention of security. The guard investigates, fails to identify the culprit, and retreats. Very rock ’n’ roll. Some traditions refuse to die.
If there’s a consistent weak link tonight, it’s the production. The lighting, in particular, feels lazy, mostly single-colour washes with little imagination or movement, doing scant justice to a band built on drama and contrast. Sight lines are also compromised: six speaker boxes positioned just above stage height block the view from the front. Drop them half a metre or turn them on their side and the problem disappears, an oddly avoidable oversight from the sound crew.
Sonically, though, Joan Jett delivers. Her voice is strong, unmistakable, and holds its signature rasp and authority for the entire 18-song set. The stamina alone is impressive; the consistency is remarkable. Whatever else can be debated, her voice is not a legacy artefact, it’s present, muscular, and convincing from first note to last.
Joan Jett doesn’t pretend rock ’n’ roll is young. She proves it doesn’t have to be. This was a performance built on sweat, conviction, and volume, flaws and all and in 2026, that still counts for everything.
Set List:
- Victim of Circumstance
- Cherry Bomb (The Runaways cover)
- Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah) (Gary Glitter cover)
- You Drive Me Wild (The Runaways cover)
- Change the World
- Light of Day (Bruce Springsteen cover)
- (Make the Music Go) Boom
- Fake Friends
- Androgynous (The Replacements cover)
- Oh Woe Is Me
- Lie to Me
- Love Is Pain
- If You're Blue
- Everyday People (Sly & the Family Stone cover)
- I Love Rock 'n' Roll (The Arrows cover)
- Crimson & Clover (Tommy James & the Shondells cover)
- I Hate Myself for Loving You
- Bad Reputation
Reviewer: Paul Marshall
Photography by Knight Bilham
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