Gracie Abrams in New Zealand. A barefoot baptism of Gen Z devotion.
There’s a moment just before the lights go down at a pop concert where time bends. It’s when breathless teenage girls hold their collective breath and start to scream in waves. Not because of who’s on stage, but because of who they think is
When Ashe (Ashlyn Rae Willson), the Californian Pop-Rock priestess best known for 2019’s heartbreak anthem Moral of the Story strolled barefoot onto the Spark Arena stage in Auckland, those screams hit like a freight train of hormones and hopeful confusion.
No, it wasn’t Gracie Abrams. But Ashe made damn sure no one cared within minutes.
There was no Kiwi opener. A baffling omission in a country teeming with rising talent. Seriously, why not give a local act a shot at this sold-out crowd?
Still, Ashe filled the void with a swagger that screamed West Coast cool, commanding the space with a confidence born of road miles and emotional scars.
The stage was simple, the setup stripped back. A tight-as-hell three-piece band with guitar, bass, and drums that reminded the glittered-up crowd this wasn’t just another laptop-and-loops affair. Real instruments. Real noise. Real feel.
Opening with a muffled sound mix — common for the first few songs at Spark Arena shows — Ashe powered through the haze with grit.
By song three, the mids had cleared, and the room locked into her wavelength. Her vocals soared, her bare feet danced, and when Moral of the Story dropped, the room shifted into something deeper.
That falsetto moment? Absolute spine-tingler. One of those rare, real live-wire show moments where you forget you’re holding your phone and just feel.
I’m really honoured to be here, Ashe said, beaming at the room packed 80% with women — mostly teens — whose collective voices nearly outshone the PA. Forget queues at the men’s bathroom tonight. This was a girls’ night to the core, shrill with love and knowing every lyric.
Ashe wasn’t the headliner, but she might as well have been for the first half of the night. If Gracie’s the diary entry, Ashe is the postscript in sharpie. Bruised, bold, and born to be loud.
The stage then lit up with more than just spotlights and dry ice. Gracie Abrams, barefoot and bold, delivered a heartfelt, all-killer-no-filler masterclass in modern Pop sincerity. Without the smoke and mirrors of auto-tuned fluff or over-produced pageantry.
Her first-ever show on New Zealand soil felt more like a shared secret than a concert, a communion of song and soul in a sea of iPhone screens.
By the time she took the stage, the crowd, mostly teens in their emotional prime, had long since reached fever pitch. Screams ripped through the air like they’d been storing them since her debut EP.
The band walked on with no pyrotechnics, no elevated risers, just four world-class musicians set up like your neighbourhood garage band. If your garage band had a record deal and perfect pitch.
The first two songs came and went in a blur of emotional vocals and collective catharsis before Gracie strapped on an acoustic guitar for the third track, Risk.
The crowd roared in approval—not just for the gear switch, but for the symbolism. Abrams isn’t just a Pop singer, she’s a musician’s musician. The kind who doesn’t hide behind backing tracks or pre-programmed pads. Everything was real. Honest. Human.
And yes, barefoot! There seems to be a footloose theme on this tour, and if freedom starts at the toes, Abrams is leading a revolution.
The entire stadium was on its feet from the jump, an arena-sized standing ovation that didn’t let up. Fans—some of whom had queued overnight outside the venue—clung to the front barrier like it was a lifeline.
Unfortunately, the reality of sleep deprivation and dehydration soon took its toll. One by one, fans began to faint, collapsing into the arms of security staff like war heroes carried from battle. First-row dreams morphed into medic tent realities. Still, the devotion was undeniable.
At one point, Abrams—equal parts superstar and girl-next-door—paused the show to hug a fan clutching a heartbreak sign that read my boyfriend just broke up with me.
That hug will probably live in TikTok history forever.
A few songs later, she grabbed a fan’s phone and filmed herself selfie-style, drawing an ear-splitting reaction from the crowd and handing back a piece of content that kid will probably play at their wedding.
The set was intimate and expansive all at once. Abrams, a polymath performer, made her way to the keys mid-show, layering her already raw vocals with haunting piano lines.
Her band, tight and tasteful, operated like a unit honed over a lifetime. Casey Kalmenson on keys, Gabe Smith on drums, Cooper Cowgill on bass and Elle Puckett on guitar. Never overplaying, never underdelivering.
Meanwhile, the crowd nearly drowned her out. Song after song, thousands screamed every lyric back with the kind of energy usually reserved for football finals or mass religious awakenings.
Phones hovered like lighters used to, illuminating the front ten rows in a glow of performative fandom, every second broadcast for online validation.
But none of that took away from the truth of the night. Abrams brought it—every note, every moment. She received gifts from fans, smiled wide, and made New Zealand feel like the centre of her universe, even if just for one night.
This is our first ever show in New Zealand, she said, visibly moved. This place is so special – as we have been here for a week. I feel like I’ve known all of you for years and years.
And maybe, in the connected chaos of the digital age, she has.
Highlight Reel:
- Barefoot badassery: Check.
- Live band, no trickery: Double check.
- Fan faint count: Too high to call.
- She hugged a heartbroken fan mid-show: Yes, and we’re still not over it.
- Dry ice nostalgia: Served in generous helpings.
- Best writer to ever live? According to one sign in the audience. Unironically, maybe.
Gracie Abrams wasn’t just a concert. It was a generational moment, equal parts therapy, theatre, and pure pop magic.
Paul Marshall
Photos by Abby Waisler
