Happy Mondays – Powerstation, 11 September 2026: Review & Photo Gallery

Aaron Gascoigne and Photos by Leonie Moreland

12th September 2026

Happy Mondays are back in New Zealand celebrating the 35th anniversary of their seminal 1990 album Pills ‘N’ Thrills And Bellyaches, the record that launched them properly into the mainstream and became one of the defining albums of the Madchester era. It spent more than six months on the UK Albums Chart and contained songs including Step On, Kinky Afro and Loose Fit. The set would also reach further into their catalogue with the likes of 24 Hour Party People, Hallelujah, Judge Fudge and W.F.L.

It’s 2pm on a Friday afternoon and I get a text from the amazing onstage photographer Leonie Moreland. “Accreditation approved for your show tonight to review, Happy Mondays.”

Oh no.

I had completely forgotten. Sorry, team. There was also one fairly significant problem — I literally had no idea who the Happy Mondays were. Didn’t know the songs, didn’t know the band members and, other than vaguely knowing the name, I had absolutely no idea what I was walking into. So, for probably the first time ever reviewing a band, I was going in completely blind.

I needed to phone a friend, and I knew exactly who to call. Nick Sampson — my mate, my guitarist, songwriter and former Netherworld Dancing Toys legend, who spent a decent chunk of the late 80s and early 90s in England touring and living around this whole scene. “I’d love to come,” was the answer down the phone. Perfect. A few hours later we’re sitting in the burger joint across the road from the Powerstation and Nick is giving me Happy Mondays 101.

He starts explaining the mana of this band and what Manchester — or “Madchester”, as I was quickly learning — actually meant. These guys weren’t simply another British rock band. They were pioneers of a movement that smashed funk, rock, psychedelia and house music together with the energy of the emerging UK rave scene. They were OGs, if you like. Bad boys with a reputation for clubs, chaos, excess and all sorts of legendary shenanigans. How much is fact and how much has become Manchester folklore over the years, I genuinely have no idea, but their reputation certainly arrived at the Powerstation before they did.

Nick’s trying to explain that you can’t really understand Happy Mondays by listening to a couple of tracks. They captured a time, a place and an energy in British music. Somewhere amongst Inspiral Carpets, the Stone Roses and what eventually became Oasis, Happy Mondays helped create this collision between guitar bands and club culture. Noel Gallagher had been a roadie for Inspiral Carpets before Oasis existed, and Nick’s argument was pretty simple: bands like Happy Mondays helped create the space for much of what followed.

Then he mentions Oasis again. Sorry. Lost me there. I’m not exactly a Gallagher fan.

I’m nodding intelligently throughout all of this, but truthfully I still had no idea. In my head I’m picturing a bunch of old dudes wandering onto stage and playing something vaguely resembling Wonderwall. This could be a very long night.

Then Nick tells me about Bez. Bez is basically the bloke with the maracas — although, as I was about to discover, describing him that way is doing the man a massive disservice. The story Nick tells me is that Shaun Ryder was rather worse for wear at an early gig, told Bez he was coming onstage with them and Bez essentially asked, “What am I going to do?” Someone gave him some maracas and, somehow, all these years later he remains one of the most recognisable members of Happy Mondays. His official contribution is perhaps best described as “freaky dancing and percussion”. That might also be one of the greatest job descriptions in rock and roll.

Walking into the Powerstation, the first thing I noticed was the crowd. Different ages, different styles and clearly different generations. There were people who had lived this music the first time around mixed with people who weren’t even alive when the Mondays were creating havoc in Manchester. There was already an energy in the room that suggested I might have seriously underestimated what I was about to see.

Debut Club

First up were Wellington indie band Debut Club, and these guys were exceptional. Really, really good band. Great energy, great musicianship and they absolutely deserved the room they were playing in. My only criticism had nothing to do with them and everything to do with the front-of-house mix. Their sax player was outstanding — I could see that he was outstanding — unfortunately I could barely hear him. Perhaps the sound technician was a former guitarist or vocalist because everything else seemed determined to win the argument. The mix didn’t do them justice, but the band itself was unreal.

One of my favourite moments of their set had nothing to do with musicianship. The drummer singled out his Dad in the crowd for coming along to watch him, and he was proud as punch. I loved that. I get it. He loves what he does, he’s up there playing the Powerstation and his Dad is standing in the crowd watching him do it. There’s something pretty special about having your whānau behind you while you chase the thing you love.

Before Happy Mondays came on I found myself talking to a bloke called Bradley. Turns out he’s from Manchester. Perfect. Another opportunity for me to work out exactly what I was about to watch. I asked him what Happy Mondays meant to him.

“Without Happy Mondays, there’d be no Oasis.”

There’s that Oasis thing again.

But Bradley backed up everything Nick had been telling me. Happy Mondays, Stone Roses, Oasis — to him it was all part of the same Manchester story. He’d seen the Mondays twice before at the Powerstation and reckoned they had been excellent both times. He also confirmed the reputation. These boys certainly knew how to party.

This tour, however, had a particular reason for existing.

Happy Mondays

Thirty-five years later, the band walking onto the Powerstation stage is Shaun Ryder out front, Bez on freaky dancing and percussion, Mark Day on guitar, Gary Whelan on drums, Mikey Shine on bass, Dan Broad across guitar and keys as musical director, and Firouzeh Berry on backing vocals.

Right. History lesson over. Lights down. Band walks out.

And within about 30 seconds my entire perception of what I thought I was about to watch disappeared.

Holy moly. THIS is Happy Mondays?

This isn’t a bunch of old blokes playing nostalgic British guitar music. This is old-school dance music. There’s bass, groove and this loose, almost hypnotic rhythm coming off the stage, and suddenly the entire Powerstation is moving.

Then I look across and there’s Bez. Maracas going, dancing like an absolute madman. I genuinely found myself wondering how many calories this bloke burns during a Happy Mondays gig because he does not stop. He’s not standing on the side adding a little percussion here and there either. He is completely pivotal to what is happening on that stage. Part musician, part dancer, part lunatic and part human metronome. It shouldn’t make sense. Somehow it makes perfect sense.

Then Shaun Ryder opens his mouth and suddenly I understand exactly what Nick had been trying to explain to me over burgers. He isn’t some technically perfect, polished rock vocalist — and that would completely miss the point anyway. There’s something in that voice. Northern, rough, conversational and almost poetic. It sounds lived in. It sounds like Manchester. Against that rhythm section it is absolutely perfect.

Nick had told me before the show that Shaun was essentially a poet, a bloke who writes great lyrics and has one of those voices that simply belongs to him. I’d taken that with a grain of salt at the time because I still had no idea what he was talking about. Standing there watching Ryder command the Powerstation, I got it.

Then something even stranger happened.

I knew the song. Then another one started and I knew that too. Then another.

Hang on a minute.

I KNOW HAPPY MONDAYS.

I just didn’t know that I knew Happy Mondays.

Suddenly I’m standing in the middle of the Powerstation laughing at myself because I’d spent the afternoon thinking I was coming to watch some ancient Manchester band I’d never heard of, possibly endure something vaguely resembling Wonderwall, write some polite words and go home. Instead, all these songs buried somewhere in the back of my head are suddenly coming back to life.

And now I finally understood what Nick meant when he said Happy Mondays captured a time, a place and an energy. You could actually feel it in that room. This wasn’t some nostalgia act trying desperately to recreate 1990. The groove was still there. The attitude was still there. The weirdness was definitely still there and, most importantly, the music still worked.

It also suddenly made sense why their influence has endured. In 2016 Happy Mondays received the Ivor Novello Inspiration Award, recognition of a band whose impact extended far beyond their own record sales. They helped blur the lines between the rock gig and the nightclub, between guitars and electronic dance music, and between the traditional frontman and the glorious madness happening beside him with a pair of maracas.

Shaun Ryder had said before the tour, “Always a great buzz when we play New Zealand.” Watching the Powerstation bouncing 35 years after Pills ‘N’ Thrills And Bellyaches, you get the feeling the buzz goes both ways.

I walked into the Powerstation knowing virtually nothing about Happy Mondays.