Toto and Christopher Cross play a double bill of nostalgic Rock and Power Pop.
It’s a cool autumn night in Auckland, and under the soft lights of Spark Arena, nostalgia has never sounded so damn smooth. The crowd—salt-and-pepper beards, vintage tees, and a sea of retro tour jackets—settled in early, and they were rewarded handsomely.
Because before Toto could even whisper the word Africa, Christopher Cross took the stage and turned the clock back to 1980 with a performance that was nothing short of timeless.
Cross, the velvet-voiced Texan behind one of the softest Rock eras known to man, opened for Toto on their Auckland stop and proved that pairing these two acts is the kind of booking magic you’d expect from a deluxe box set fantasy tour. No pyro, no dancers—just pristine musicianship, buttery vocals, and melodies that felt like a warm yacht breeze across the Waitematā.
Cross took to the stage dressed in a striking purple suit, complete with a matching fedora. He was backed by a tight band, along with three female backing vocalists dressed head-to-toe in green—a vibrant contrast to Cross’s purple ensemble.
Cross opened with the silky-smooth All Right, before gliding into the wistful shimmer of Never Be the Same.
But it was Sailing that brought the house to stillness. Phones up, tears maybe down.
There’s something poetic about hearing one of the earliest digitally recorded chart-toppers (cut on the revolutionary 3M Digital Recording System, no less) in a room full of analogue souls.
Released as a single back on 27 May 1980—somewhat improbably as the eighth track on his debut album—Sailing hit with the kind of emotional resonance that makes you forget you’re in a concrete bowl downtown.
Midway through his set Cross encounters a few technical hiccups, Cross swapped his electric guitar for an acoustic, which seemed to be functioning properly.
The issue appeared to be with the electric guitar’s wireless pack, likely not charged correctly. Possibly due to the voltage difference between the US and New Zealand.
There’s an elegance to Christopher Cross’ presence. He doesn’t command the stage so much as he glides through it. His voice—still uncannily pure—floats like a silk scarf caught in a breeze, and the audience leaned in with reverence.
No gimmicks, no flash, just melody, memory, and that rarest of concert treasures, sincerity.
As the night built toward its finale with Ride Like the Wind, the crowd finally rose to their feet, flooding the aisles.
For the uninitiated, Cross’s debut self-titled album from 1979 is still a masterclass in melodic craftsmanship. The record scooped five Grammys, including Album of the Year, and with good reason. Every track is a masterstroke, and Sailing is its crown jewel.
As the crowd roared their approval and Cross took his final bow, one thing was clear. Smooth Rock legends never fade. They just go sailing.
Toto, a polished machine playing to a sparse congregation.
Seventeen years ago, I brought Toto to New Zealand for the very first time. Back then, they were a different beast. Same name, same hits, but a different lineup, a different decade, and a far more electric crowd.
Fast forward to 2025, and I’m watching them again, this time from the stands of an oversized stadium in Auckland that feels more like a test lab than a rock concert.
But one thing remains unchanged. Toto don’t walk on stage, they arrive tight, polished, and already warmed up like a Formula 1 engine before the green light.
The band takes the stage as a well-oiled seven-piece, kicking things off with the type of precision that only comes from decades of doing this night after night.
And it’s no accident. I remember from that first tour in 2008 that Toto demands a full hour of lockout time before the show. Each member warming up in their dressing rooms like athletes before the big game.
When they hit the stage it’s not a warm-up. It’s already mid-set intensity.
From the first chord, Toto sounds like they’ve already been gigging for hours. No sluggish openers, no sonic cobwebs. Just a band of seasoned pros, hitting the mark with laser precision.
But intensity alone doesn’t fill empty space. The stadium setup, clearly reconfigured to mask a modest turnout, had fans sitting evenly spaced in rows on the floor like obedient lab rats.
A far cry from the sweaty, swaying crowd one expects at a Rock show, especially from a band that once ruled the charts and, for a while, soundtracked a generation.
Then comes Rosanna, and like Pavlov’s bell, it works. Bodies stir. A ripple of movement.
At least half the crowd is finally on its feet, if only temporarily. It’s a fleeting victory.
By the next track, they’re seated again, leaning into the music with a meditative stillness which felt more like a musical Mass than a Rock concert. The audience listens intently, respectfully, but moves little. Are they reverent, or just… bored?
Midway through the show, Pamela rolls out with all its smooth, saccharine charm. It can only coax six people to their feet. Six. I counted.
The rest seem content to sit and observe, as if they’re watching a museum installation rather than living, breathing Rock musicians.
Georgy Porgy finally hits the sweet spot, with the crowd once again briefly jolted alive. But by then, the pattern was clear. This wasn’t going to be a night of rapture. It was a respectful tribute. Polished and professional, but emotionally distant.
From the nosebleed seats, the sound is serviceable at best — mono-muddled and skewed, with the right ear hogging the mix while the left gets ghosted like an ex-lover on tour.
Still, Toto are pros. There’s no denying their musicianship, and the harmonies are airtight.
But this show felt like witnessing greatness through a pane of glass. Technically impressive, but too controlled, too mannered.
In 2025, Toto is a band that still has the chops, but maybe not the firestarter crowd they deserve. Or maybe it’s just hard to light a fire when your audience already looks like they’ve paid for eternal rest.
Tickets for Toto’s Wellington and Christchurch shows can be purchases at ticketmaster
Paul Marshall
Photography by Leonie Moreland
Toto
Christopher Cross
