Come Together Presents Neil Young’s Live Rust – Civic Theatre, 20 June 2025: Review & Photos

Paul Marshall and Photos by Leonie Moreland

21st June 2025

There’s a certain reverence required when stepping into Auckland’s Civic Theatre. The velvet-clad grandeur, the moody starlit ceiling, and that unmistakable air of cultural weight.

Tonight, it wasn’t just the architecture we were bowing to. A packed house of silver-haired zealots and loyal Neil disciples gathered under those faux constellations for another instalment of Come Together, New Zealand’s most consistently brilliant musical tribute project.

But this wasn’t just any homage. This was Live Rust, Neil Young’s blistering, ragged, and raw 1979 live album with Crazy Horse, brought back to life by a Kiwi supergroup who more than did it justice.

Now, Live Rust isn’t one of Neil’s 45 studio albums. It’s a sprawling snapshot of his 1978 Rust Never Sleeps tour—part acoustic tenderness, part distortion-drenched grit. And tonight, we got it all—minus, curiously, the biting Sedan Delivery. But more on that mystery later.

Before diving into Live Rust, the first set warmed us with acoustic magic.

Heart of Gold and Harvest Moon shimmered like old flames rekindled, the latter sparking a pocket of dancers to brave the aisle stage-left.

The rest of us remained seated—by choice or age—trapped in the plush red chairs that make dancing more fantasy than reality.

James Milne, our charming MC and multi-instrumentalist, fielded song requests from the crowd with the ease of a man holding court in his own living room. Are there any other tracks you’d like us to play? he quipped after a shoutout from the cheap seats.

Meanwhile, Jon Toogood in fine voice, shared a tender exchange with his daughter who called out Hello Daddy! from the Royal Box.

The band was a veritable who’s who of New Zealand musicianship. Musical director and multi-instrumentalist Jolyon Mulholland at one point helmed the drums (open left-handed, no less) with quiet authority.

Brett Adams proved once again why he’s among Aotearoa’s most electrifying guitarists. Reb Fountain lent sultry grit and occasional improvisational chaos. Dianne Swann’s harmonies soared over the mix with cathedral-like clarity.

Jon Toogood, ever the charismatic frontman, delivered vocals with that signature blend of snarling intensity and showman swagger that made Shihad a household name.

James Milne (a.k.a. Lawrence Arabia) was a chameleon with a wry, velvet-voice, and musically meticulous. Mike Hall anchored the rhythm section with understated finesse, his bass lines moving like warm currents beneath the surface.

Alistair Deverick (a.k.a. Boycrush) brought a producer’s touch to the percussion, effortlessly shifting from digital precision to analogue Soul.

And Finn Scholes? The man is a brass-wielding wizard, his trumpet lines weaving through the arrangements like sunbeams through smoke. Flashes of joy and melancholy in perfect balance.

The Civic’s usual constraints (seats bolted to the floor, polite clapping) meant it often felt more like a séance than a rock show.

During Like a Hurricane, when Brett kept ripping even after the rest of the band stopped, it was as if he was trying to shake the ghosts awake. Eventually, they rallied, and the song hit like a last-chance saloon.

Hey Hey, My My got bums off seats, and Tonight’s the Night brought the house to its feet. For a moment, the Civic transformed into a sweaty, hollering shrine to Neil’s ragged glory.

Sedan Delivery. The Live Rust version—frenetic, punkish, laced with Devo’s influence—was the album’s wild card.

Perhaps too wild? Neil himself once said that live version came from another planet.

And then came the encore of encores, Rockin’ in the Free World. Delivered with grit and gusto, it felt like a gift.

It wasn’t part of Live Rust (released a decade later), but no one cared. I was reminded of that 1993 MTV Awards performance with Pearl Jam. Neil flailing and snarling, guitar bleeding feedback like it had a soul. Tonight’s version came close.

And that perhaps, is Come Together‘s greatest trick. They don’t impersonate. They channel.

It’s a love letter, not a cover band. And if you’re a Neil Young fan—or even just a believer in the power of live music performed with sincerity and spirit—then tonight was church.

As the lights came up and the crowd shuffled out—some buzzing, some slightly confused, some grappling for their Zimmer frames—it was clear that Neil’s legacy, and Live Rust in particular, still resonates.