08/11/2025

Grentperez – Auckland Town Hall: November 7, 2025 (13th Floor Concert Review)

It had been just over two years since I first stumbled across Grentperez on a late-night TikTok scroll, his voice lilting through my phone speaker like a small kindness in the middle of the week.

A lo-fi version of Cherry Wine, a smile that seemed almost too genuine for the internet, and before I knew it, I was replaying Ego and When We Were Younger on repeat.

Now I’m standing in the Auckland Town Hall, surrounded by a sea of Doc Martens, white button-ups, and loose ties, the unofficial Grentperez uniform for his Backflips in a Restaurant Tour.

The air is heavy with that early-summer Auckland warmth, the kind that sticks to your skin and hums with anticipation. The queue had wrapped around the block earlier that evening, stretching past the Civic Theatre, filled with fans who had shown up hours early just to get front row. The chatter outside had been all excitement and gentle worry, a few fans whispering about Grent’s sore throat, which he’d mentioned online earlier that day. But no one was leaving. Not one person.

Park Rd

Opening the night were Park Rd, Auckland’s own indie pop-rock darlings and possibly one of the most consistent live bands in the country right now. This was the fourth time I’d seen them this year, and somehow, they just keep getting better. Tom, Leo, Carlos, Angus, and TK looked entirely in their element, effortlessly commanding the Town Hall’s stage.

They kicked off with English Boy, and the response was immediate, a roar of recognition and energy from the mostly Gen Z crowd that made the old wooden floors vibrate. Tom Chamberlain has always had that mix of charm and chaos on stage, but tonight he looked completely untethered in the best way. He danced across the front like he was born under a spotlight, dropping to the floor mid-chorus, his movements equal parts suave and unhinged.

Despite a few early sound hiccups, Park Rd didn’t miss a beat. Leo and Carlos tore through their guitars like they were feeding off the crowd’s energy, occasionally glancing at each other with grins that said we’re really doing this. The chemistry between them was so natural that it felt almost punk rock in spirit. At one point, I caught myself wishing they’d slip in Carlos’ cover of Shake It by Metro Station, the one that blew the roof off Double Whammy last month. But even without it, their setlist was relentless.

Grentperez

There’s always a question when it comes to artists who rise through the internet. Can they make the leap from screens to stages? Can that intimacy survive translation? Tonight, Grentperez answered those questions before he even sang a note.

The stage was set like a dream pulled from a memory. G’s Bar & Grill, a playful nod to his latest tour’s concept, looked like a cozy Southeast Asian restaurant, with potted greenery, glowing lamps, and a neon sign casting a warm, honeyed light. The guitarist and drummer wore aprons, dressed as cooks, and the guitarist even looked like Jeremy Allen White from The Bear. In the center sat a dining table, softly lit, as if waiting for something tender to unfold.

When Grent finally appeared, dancing across the stage with full energy despite his sore throat, the crowd erupted. It was the kind of cheer that shakes your bones, that makes you grin even if you weren’t planning to. His stage presence was magnetic, understated yet deeply felt, like he’s figured out how to let sincerity be his superpower.

The set was an elegant balance of theatre and intimacy. The high-energy songs hit like jolts of sunlight, while the softer moments washed over the audience like slow waves. He opened strong, moving through When We Were Younger and Stuck On You, before easing into quieter reflections like Silver Lining and Us Without Me. His voice, warm and velvet-smooth, carried effortlessly across the room, even when he wasn’t at full strength.

Midway through the night, one of the most tender moments arrived. Grentperez invited a couple onstage to dine at the mock restaurant. As they sat at the table under soft light, he sang Yours To Keep, turning the space into something private, almost sacred. The crowd stood silent, some swaying, some whispering to each other like they were afraid to break the spell. It was pure theatre, but it never felt artificial. But then, the biggest surprise came. The couple got engaged right there and then and the girl next to me had their breath taken away. The bar has been set gentlemen.

Between songs, Grent’s charisma carried the show as much as his music. He joked about his sore throat, introduced his band with playful stories, and shared snippets about growing up Filipino-Australian, about how the warmth of family and culture shaped his songs. He has this rare ability to make a crowd of hundreds feel like they’re all just hanging out in his living room.

And maybe that’s why he connects so deeply. There’s no wall between who he is online and who he is in person. The goofy, charming kid from the internet is the same person who now commands international stages. He doesn’t pretend, he doesn’t posture, he just exists in his own soft, generous way.

As the night went on, it felt like the band and the crowd were locked in this unspoken effort to match each other’s energy. Every guitar riff and bass groove pulsed through the room, and you could see Grent feeding off the movement of the fans in front of him. It was equal parts concert and conversation, the kind that can only happen when an artist really listens to their audience.

By the time the final chorus of Ego hit, the audience had become a single, moving organism. Strangers had arms around each other, phones forgotten, every voice straining to match his. Cherry Wine came last, a bittersweet closer that felt like both a lullaby and a farewell. When the final note faded, Grent smiled, waved, and disappeared backstage, leaving behind an afterglow that lingered long after the lights came up.

Walking out into the humid Auckland night, I kept thinking about how unlikely it all was. A 23-year-old from Western Sydney who used to post covers in his bedroom now commanding a crowd halfway across the world. The energy, the set design, the storytelling, it was all so meticulously crafted, yet it never lost that handmade feel.

Grentperez doesn’t just play shows; he creates spaces. Spaces where sincerity is allowed to breathe, where heartache is communal, and where joy feels both intimate and infinite. For a few hours in the Town Hall, he made us believe in that world, and for most of us, I think, we weren’t ready to leave it behind.

Azrie Azizi

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