There’s something about a Lewis Capaldi show that just stays with you. And tonight in Auckland, that something hit deep. This wasn’t just another stop on a world tour, it was a comeback wrapped in jokes, heartbreak, flawless vocals, and a whole lot of love. For long-time fans, it felt like a full-circle moment. For newer ones, it was a masterclass in how to hold a crowd without any bells or whistles, just talent, charm, and some top-tier chat about chickens.
I’ve been following Lewis since the very early days—those tiny, packed-out shows at Sound Control Manchester in 2017 and Club Academy in 2018 where you’d be shoulder to shoulder and singing along like it was your mate up there. We even spoke to him at Reading & Leeds Festival in 2018, where he sneakily told us the title of his debut album without us even realising. So yeah, to say I was ready for this night is an understatement.
To see him now, years later, standing on stage in Auckland, on this side of the world, with an arena full of fans singing every word? It felt like a full-circle moment. He’s come so far, but it still feels personal.
Before Capaldi even took the stage at Spark Arena, the energy was already building thanks to two brilliant support acts. First up was rising Kiwi star Jude Kelly, who looked ethereal under the lights and had a voice to match, dreamy, confident, and quietly magnetic. Then came Aaron Rowe, an Irish talent with a voice and charm that instantly reminded me of a young Lewis. He connected with the crowd not just through his music, but by praising New Zealanders for their efforts to keep te reo Māori alive, drawing a powerful connection to Ireland’s own language struggles.
When Lewis finally walked on stage, it felt like a collective exhale. We’d been waiting for this moment for years, and it was finally here. After cancelling his 2023 shows to prioritise his mental health, this wasn’t just another gig, it was a return to the spotlight on his own terms. And judging by the roar that greeted him, we were all more than ready to have him back.
He made that clear too: “New Zealand and Australia are my two favourite places in the world to play,” he told us early in the set. “I’ve been dying to get back here ever since 2020, but obviously Covid happened… then 2023 I was supposed to come back but obviously I had mental health issues. Mentally, I was unwell.” He paused, then cracked the first of many one-liners: “I don’t want to go on about it, but while you’re asking, it started when I was five… no, I’m joking—it happened before that, in the womb.” Classic Capaldi.
He didn’t shy away from talking about the struggles that forced him off stage, but he also didn’t let the show get too heavy. It’s that balancing act, complete honesty softened with dry, offbeat humour, that makes Lewis so magnetic. One minute he’s thanking the crowd for “selling this big bitch out,” the next he’s accepting a stuffed chicken from the audience and saying “this cock” way too many times, before launching it off stage and immediately backtracking: “I’m joking, I’m joking, I’ll keep that.”
Musically, the setlist was everything fans could’ve hoped for. He opened with Survive, rolled into Grace, and then came Heavenly Kind of State of Mind, a personal favourite that hit like a gut-punch in the best way. It was a solid reminder that Capaldi’s music isn’t just sad-boy background noise, it’s full-bodied, emotional storytelling, powered by that signature voice. And that voice? Unreal. Perfect, almost. It cracked in all the right places, soared where it needed to, and left a lump in the throat more than once. From older heartbreakers like Before You Go to newer cuts from Broken by Desire to Be Heavenly Sent, every track was delivered with emotional precision.
And the banter? Relentless. “It’s fucking Tuesday night, baby!” he shouted mid-set. “Who doesn’t love a Tuesday? Domino’s two-for-Tuesdays!” He even took the piss out of his own encore. “This is the last song so let’s sing like it is… I’m definitely not coming back on stage in 5 minutes,” he laughed. “It’s a bit silly, but we have to do it, we’re all part of it.”
As someone who, like so many others, has struggled with mental health, it meant everything to see him back up there, not performing strength, but being real. He spoke candidly, cracked jokes about therapy, and never once pretended to have it all together. That kind of vulnerability on a stage that big? It makes space for the rest of us to feel seen too.
The final song of the night, Someone You Loved landed exactly as it should. A sea of phone lights rose into the air as the crowd sang every word, arms wrapped around each other, mascara running, and not a dry eye in sight. It wasn’t just a song, it was a shared moment. One of those rare live music experiences.
