The Powerstation, Auckland, Feb 21st 2026
Reviewed by Jeremy Elwood , photographs by Steve McCabe
It says a lot about how deeply music can touch people when a band who never had a NZ number one, haven’t released an album in the last decade or a single since 2004, and haven’t toured here in over 20 years has to upgrade to a bigger venue and sells out the Powerstation on a night where they’re competing with Pulp and The Edinburgh Military Tattoo. Hothouse Flowers are that kind of band, and as the opening Gaelic Karakia of An Raibh Tú Ar An Gcarraig segues into a raucous, 15 minute version of their definitive cover of I Can See Clearly Now, it’s clear indeed – this is going to be something special.
Hothouse Flowers were formed in 1985 by schoolmates Liam Ó Maonlaí (vocals and keyboard) and Fiachna Ó Braonáin (guitar), soon joined by Peter O’Toole (bass, guitar and bouzouki), and are currently rounded out by Dave Clark (drums) and Martin Brunsden (double bass).
The legend goes that they were discovered while busking, by Bono. As with most musical origin stories, it isn’t entirely true, but they do possess a particular dichotomy that many ex-street bands (including Barenaked Ladies, The Roots and Violent Femmes) have in common; an ability to enthral a crowd, but to be utterly uncompromising while they do it. Their setlists from the Australian leg of this tour show a penchant for changing things around significantly, and there’s certainly a sense that some of those changes happen live, depending on what Liam feels like playing in a particular moment. The gig feels very much alive, as if it could tip over into total chaos at any moment – but never does. While their singer moves between front of stage microphones and the piano, often within the same lyric, he never misses a cue, and the band are right there with him. Even the occasional slip-up adds to the dishevelled beauty of it all, as a missed final chord or slightly late backing vocal from one member of the band brings unabashed laughter from the others.
In fact, the only moments where the energy lags slightly are the most cohesive ones. This is It (Your Soul) and Isn’t It Amazing both come off the back of lengthy musical diversions, but feel so relaxed in comparison that they lose some of their intensity.
Liam Ó Maonlaí hasn’t lost any of his, though. His voice is still remarkable, able to go from a monastic drone to a rock wail across an impressive range. A few of the high notes are a stretch, (although this is most evident on Songs from The Rain, a tune that was vocally ambitious even when they first recorded it) and his vocals did seem to tire a little as the night went on. He’s a memorable frontman, arriving barefoot in a poncho and pith helmet, firing one-liners at the inevitable sprinkling of hecklers (how anyone thinks that repeatedly yelling out the name of a bands biggest hit ten minutes into their show will make it any more likely that they’ll play it, is a sociological mystery) and reminding us all of that sadly lost generation of interpretive dance moves that he and contemporaries like REM’s Michael Stipe and The Tragically Hip’s Gord Downie turned into an MTV art form. Imagine Dr John doing yoga, and you’re getting close.
The rest of the band are right behind him, playing loose and tight at the same time, and getting a chance to show off their individual skills (and in the case of Martin Brunsden, to embrace his New Zealand roots – in both of the ways that word is used here) during a lengthy series of band introductions late in the show. Stylistically, it’s rock and roll slathered in folk and even gospel, a righteous mix that encourages the audience to play backing choir. It’s a fascinating instrumental blend, too, featuring doubled up electric and upright basses, bouzouki solos, keyboard percussion and eventually the classic pairing of tin whistle and bodhran.
The set closes with their breakthrough classic, the wonderfully uplifting Don’t Go, before an encore that embraces all of that uncompromising crowd control mentioned earlier. During the intro to If You Go, Liam asks that we do not applaud at the end, but rather let the words fade to silence in the form of a prayer. He means it too, with the eventual reverential pause stretching close to a full minute. And then as they began, they end; with a mournful Gaelic solo that morphs, gloriously, to a full noise cathartic cèilidh instrumental.
This isn’t a legacy act churning out the hits. Rather, it’s a gathering of brothers, obviously loving what they do and insistent on sharing it with as many other people as possible – but strictly on their terms, and in their own specifically spiritual way.
Hothouse Flowers play Wellington and Christchurch this week – note for attendees, in Auckland they were onstage at 8:25pm, earlier than advertised.