01/02/2026

L.A.B & Stan Walker – Trusts Arena: January 31, 2026 (13th Floor Concert Review)

With January giving way to February, L.A.B and Stan Walker celebrated summer in style with help from Nesian Mystik, Aaradhna and Te Wehi. The 13th Floor’s Azrie Azizi and Chris Zwaagdyk were at Trusts Arena to catch all the action.

New Zealand summers have a sound. You don’t always notice it while it’s happening. It sneaks in through open car windows, long coastal drives, and speakers that never quite get turned off. Reggae, soul, hip-hop, blues. Familiar voices. Familiar feelings.

Walking into Trusts Arena felt less like arriving at a concert and more like stepping inside a playlist that’s been quietly playing for years. Same songs. Bigger speakers. Thousands of people who already knew every word.

This wasn’t a crowd chasing hype. It was a crowd coming home.

Te Wehi / Hori Shaw / Nepia

Early on, the atmosphere was calm in the best way. Not flat. Just settled. People drifted in without urgency, beer in hand, sunnies still on, finding friends and patches of grass like this was something they’d done before.

Te Wehi opened the day with a grounded blend of soul, reggae, and alt-rock. A Bay of Plenty native with an easy presence, he threaded Te Reo through his songs so naturally it felt less like a feature and more like a language he simply lives in. Nothing forced. Nothing overstated.

Covers of Dead or Alive and Raining could have felt like curveballs, but instead they landed gently. Familiar enough to pull people in. Reworked enough to still feel personal. The sound across the open field was clean. Vocals crisp. Instruments balanced without drowning out the lyrics.

When Hori Shaw joined for Ready to Ride, the response was instant. The opening beat triggered a roar that rolled from the front all the way to the back, even from pockets of people shouting into open space. The field began to sway left and right, bodies moving like the breeze had rhythm.

The crowd was easy to move through. Smiles when you passed. Quiet dances between strangers. A relaxed sense of togetherness that’s hard to manufacture.

Nepia shifted the emotional tone with a heartfelt cover of Lean on Me, released for Men’s Mental Health Month in honour of their late friend, MMA fighter Te Hakaraia o Te Rangi Wilson. It began heavy, deliberately so. Then the beat changed. Reggae crept in. Grief turned toward hope without pretending the sadness wasn’t still there.

Check on your people. Check on your loved ones.

Te Wehi closed his set by bringing his daughter on stage for Unaware. No speeches. No grand statements. Just legacy unfolding in real time.

Aaradhna

I’ll admit it. I didn’t grow up deeply immersed in Aaradhna’s catalogue. Walking into this show felt like catching up. Walking out felt like realising I’d missed something special.

Her set slowed the night down, but it didn’t drain the energy. It focused it.

She opened with She, her voice raspy but calming, supported by two backing vocalists who added texture without distraction. Each band member had their moment, acknowledged by a crowd that felt genuinely appreciative rather than reactive.

I’m Not the Same stripped everything back to just Aaradhna and her bassist. Even in an open field, her voice carried effortlessly. That final falsetto lingered just long enough to quiet everyone who hadn’t already gone still.

The set moved between beloved classics like Down Time and Forever Love and newer material shaped by reflection, identity, and resilience. Audiences sang along to nearly every lyric, proof of the deep connection she’s built over two decades.

Getting Stronger lifted the field back onto its feet, with Adeaze joining her on stage. Brown Girl struck emotional and cultural chords that rippled through the crowd. When she closed with Forever, thousands sang back to her under the hot summer sun.

It didn’t feel like a performance. It felt like a conversation.

Nesian Mystik

Nesian Mystik didn’t ease their way back in.

They walked on and started rapping immediately. No intro. No pause. Hands shot up left and right. Space disappeared fast.

“We’re home, baby,” they said after the first song. The crowd roared back.

“It feels like we’re 17 again.”

When the camera panned to the barricade, every face was singing line for line. Even the group looked surprised by it.

“If you’re a day one or you just got on the waka, nau mai, haere mai.”

Representing four parts of the Pacific, they looked completely free on stage. Their chant, How much? Too much! How meke? Tu meke!, echoed across Auckland like it never left.

Robin Hood Heroes was a standout, partly because of what it represented. A social media request. A rare live performance. Possibly the last time Auckland might ever sing it with them. That knowledge gave it weight.

Nesian Style landed with pride. Mr Mista had the field buzzing. Nesian 101 sent everyone straight back to primary school assemblies in 2008, hands up, follow the leader ringing out across generations.

They closed with When the Sun Goes Down as the sky shifted orange. Perfect timing. No notes.

Stan Walker

Stan Walker stepped onto the stage with quiet authority.

Black T-shirt. Silver pants catching the light. The opening falsettos of I Am floated across the field as backlights pulsed softly against the still-blue sky. Cinematic without being showy. Controlled. Intentional.

This was my first time seeing Stan Walker live, and it landed immediately. Vocally, he was operating on another level.

There’s power in his voice, but more importantly, there’s control. He knows when to pull back. When to lean in. When to let the crowd take a line and carry it for him. His longtime band, The Levites, matched that precision, moving as one and filling the stage with energy rather than clutter.

Bulletproof hit early, followed by Soul Deep, pulling the crowd straight back to 2011. Brass instruments threaded through the set, lifting the energy and giving the music a physical push that made standing still feel impossible.

Stan flowed seamlessly between songs, often running two or three together, dropping verses and leaning into choruses the crowd knew by heart. It kept momentum high while showing the depth of his catalogue.

Holding You, written with Ginny Blackmore, was a standout. He sings like he means every word. Nothing casual. Nothing half-done. The effort is visible, and it matters.

For The One, he brought out a young girl who performed beautifully beside him, their voices blending effortlessly. It felt sincere rather than staged.

He spoke briefly about wanting to make music that leaves a mark. Something for his kids. For the next generation. That sentiment tied into his newer work like One Life, a pop-gospel track centred on shared humanity and connection.

The Mai FM classics followed. Take It Easy. Bigger. Each landed bigger live than expected. Aotearoa closed the set, surprisingly emotional, before Stan simply said “laters” and walked off.

No lingering. Just confidence.

L.A.B

When L.A.B finally came on, you could barely see any grass.

Picnic mats covered the back. Camping chairs stayed put. Dancers pushed forward. It was packed, but still manageable, like the crowd knew how to hold itself.

They opened with Casanova, and the shift was immediate. Bigger stage setup. Extra screens. More gear. The electric guitar alone breathed new life into the field, amplified by brass and a rhythm section locked in tight.

Joel Shadbolt led from the front with calm assurance. Vocals steady. Guitar sharp. There’s an ease to how he commands a stage, never overreaching, never disappearing.

Someone near me said L.A.B might be the best live act in New Zealand right now. By the end of the set, I agreed.

They are polished without feeling distant. Tight without feeling rigid. There’s heart here. A sense of gratitude. A recognition of who supported them on the way up. That underdog-goes-big energy is hard to fake, and they don’t try to.

Covers of Jungle Boogie and Don’t You Forget About Me landed cleanly. Phones went up for Mr Reggae. A loud la la la echoed back at the stage. The bass player repping a Corella tee and Katchafire hat didn’t go unnoticed.

Bringing Te Wehi back out for Unaware felt full circle. For those who arrived later, it was his moment in front of a full field. Louder than earlier. Deservedly so.

Ain’t No Use lit the screens with purple lightning visuals that worked without overwhelming. In the Air turned the crowd into backup vocalists, positivity radiating outward.

Here’s the honest take. L.A.B’s live performances closely mirror their recorded versions. Some people love that consistency. It sounds perfect. After Stan Walker’s raw emotional delivery, part of me craved a little more looseness, a little more risk. But that’s preference, not a flaw.

Then came the emotional peak.

For those affected by recent weather events in Mt Maunganui and Gisborne, Joel Shadbolt stepped forward alone and played a somber electric guitar rendition of Amazing Grace. Spotlights softened. Phone torches lit the field. The crowd sang back.

It was the most emotional moment of the night.

Controller followed. Just Joel, his guitar, and thousands of voices echoing the lyrics back. No distractions. No rush.

They closed with Yes I Do, briefly disappeared, then returned to chants for one more song.

The encore brought everyone together.

Stan Walker. Te Wehi. Aaradhna…Redemption Song.

Low tones and high notes weaving together, voices lined up shoulder to shoulder. Then Take It Away closed the night properly.

Above us, an inflatable ball drifted through the crowd. Food trucks stayed busy. Lightsabers waved for no reason other than joy. DJ Arok kept the intermissions playful.

And honestly, that might’ve been the best part.

This didn’t feel like a spectacle built for social media. It felt like a community gathering. Relaxed. Generous. Grounded.

A summer soundtrack, finally played out loud.

Azrie Azizi

Click on any image to view a photo gallery by Chris Zwaagdyk:

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