Live at The Powerstation
12 March 2025
Live Review by Music Journalist: Paul Marshall
Wellington rockers descend on Auckland with ferocious power
Auckland’s Powerstation is packed to the rafters with a sea of black-clad rock veterans, their faces etched with the stories of wild nights and heavy riffs. The atmosphere is thick with anticipation. Some in the crowd still bear the marks of youthful rebellion; others wear their battle scars with pride. Tonight isn’t just another gig—it’s a farewell to one of New Zealand’s most beloved bands.
Shihad, a band that pre-dates many of its own fans, first stormed the scene in 1988, back when grunge was still a whisper and metal reigned supreme. Born out of a misspelled sci-fi obsession from Dune, their name became synonymous with Kiwi hard rock. And tonight, as the band steps onto the stage for one of their final shows, the crowd erupts in a deafening roar.
The room vibrates as the unmistakable four cymbal crashes from Tom Larkin’s kit signal the start. Jon Toogood’s guitar slashes through the air like a buzzsaw, and with that, the band launches into a blistering set that sees them perform two of their most iconic albums back to back—Killjoy (1995) and The General Electric (1999).
For a farewell show, it’s a bold move—self-indulgent, perhaps—but undeniably powerful. The fans, who expected a career-spanning set of greatest hits, quickly surrender to the sonic onslaught. The band is as tight as ever, the years of relentless touring evident in their seamless execution.
The sweat-drenched crowd sways in hypnotic unity. Deb’s Night Out ignites a wave of smartphones raised high, while Passengers sees the first real burst of airborne enthusiasm, with fans and band alike bouncing in sync. The rhythmic pounding of The Thin White Line turns the floor into a heaving mass of nodding heads.
Jon, ever the charismatic frontman, perches on the bass bins, peering into the sea of faces. “You guys are moving like you’re 20 again! Wait, I think that person actually is 20,” he laughs, pointing into the crowd. A few rebels defiantly puff away on their vapes, their illuminated clouds momentarily cutting through the darkness.
Shihad’s influence stretches far beyond New Zealand, and it’s no secret they’re adored by rock royalty worldwide. Benji Webbe of Skindred, no stranger to a raucous gig himself, once confessed his band’s love for the Kiwi legends. Tonight, it’s easy to see why.
As the final notes of Brightest Star fade into the ether, the crowd is left hanging. It’s an emotional comedown—a track soaked in introspection rather than the raw power Shihad is known for. But this isn’t the end. Jon grins, teasing the audience: “We can’t leave it there. Let’s do some Churn shit we don’t usually play.” And just like that, the band launches into Clapper Loader, Stations, and The Happy Meal with reckless abandon.
By the time the encore kicks in, the crowd is a frenzied beast. Empty Shell is dedicated to long-time fan Topaz, and then, with a final surge of energy, they close with Screwtop in an all-out sonic assault. A small but determined mosh pit erupts near the front, proving that even in their twilight hours, Shihad can still incite chaos.
Tonight wasn’t just another gig. It was a war cry, a last stand, and a reminder of why Shihad remains one of the most formidable forces in rock. What we just witnessed was a legendary band delivering a historic penultimate performance—one that will be remembered as a defining moment in rock history. And Paul Was There.
Reviewer: Paul Marshall
Photography by Paul Marshall
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