Tony Hadley - Australian Tour 2026
Some nights do not just revisit the past, they remind you why it still matters.
A warm Thursday night on Enmore Road had that familiar kind of pre-show hum about it, the one where people arrive looking quietly pleased with themselves for having made the effort. Inside the Enmore Theatre, the all-seated room was close to full, the crowd smartly turned out, well behaved, and carrying that particular mix of anticipation and nostalgia that only a room full of people waiting for Tony Hadley can produce. “I love the Enmore, it feels so personal,” one expat near me said, and he was dead right. It did feel personal. Intimate, even. The sort of room where a raised eyebrow from the stage can reach the back row.
Georgia Lines opened the night with the sort of poise that makes a room sit up straight without quite realising it. Dressed in black silk and seated at her keyboard, with her name neatly displayed across the front as both introduction and quiet statement of intent, the New Zealand singer-songwriter looked every inch the polished artist. The stage around her was bathed in cool blue, with magenta and gold warming her face and shoulders, and from the first notes it was obvious she was not there to simply fill time before the main event. Her voice was crystal clear, soulful and beautifully controlled, with a richness that never had to force itself on the room.
Her songs unfolded with calm confidence, piano-led and emotionally open, never over-sung, never overplayed. Grow Old Without You set the tone, while The Guest House deepened it, and by the time she invited the audience to choose between two songs using their phone torches, she had already won them over. The vote for Bonnie Raitt’s I Can’t Make You Love Me was overwhelming, and fair enough too. It landed like a shared exhale, tender and bruised and beautifully held. Later, with Made for Loving, she taught the crowd the chorus and brought them gently into the song, and they responded with surprising heart for such an early set. One woman behind me softly said, “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she,” and that pretty much summed it up.
The emotional high point of her set came with Grand Illusion, which showed off the full sweep of her range and drew one of the biggest rounds of applause of the opening slot. She had real command by then, the kind that looks effortless but plainly is not. Before closing, she charmed the crowd further by giving a sweet, practical plug for the merch desk, joking that if anyone was planning a little snack break at interval, coming to say hello and buying some merch was one of the best ways to support musicians. Then she signed off with Hine E Hine, the beautiful Maori lullaby by Hayley Westenra and Robbie McIntosh, and the room fell into that hushed kind of stillness that tells you people know they have just seen something rather lovely. She thanked everyone for coming early and promised we were in for a really good night with Tony Hadley. She was not wrong.
Then came the man himself.
Tony Hadley walked on in a sharp suit, white shirt and a loosely tied cravat, looking exactly like a frontman should look when he knows full well he has a room in the palm of his hand before he sings a note. Behind him sat a beautifully balanced band set-up from the audience view: Adam Wakeman on keys to one side, Tim Sandeford with guitar in ready silhouette, Philip Williams holding down bass, Tim Bye on drums, and Lily Gonzales on percussion and backing vocals, adding colour, motion and sparkle all night long. No sax on stage, but somehow the sound still felt huge. Ridiculously tight is the only way to put it. Nobody overplayed. Nobody pushed. Everyone played for the song, and the result was rich, full and alive.
Opening with Nina Simone’s Feeling Good was an inspired move. It gave Hadley room to settle into the theatre, stretch into the vocal and remind everyone that this was not going to be a karaoke lap around the 80s. It was a performance. Then came the pivot, swift and glorious, straight into To Cut a Long Story Short and Highly Strung, and suddenly the years collapsed. The room warmed palpably, the applause sharpened, and shoulders that had walked in politely upright started moving in their seats. Lily’s percussion shimmered through those early songs, giving them bounce and pulse without ever crowding the arrangement.
The first proper rush of collective joy came with Only When You Leave and I’ll Fly for You. By then the audience had fully given themselves over, and the latter brought the first big guitar solo of the night, a proper lift-off moment. Then came one of those lovely live-show imperfections that make a performance feel human and unforgettable. As Tony built toward the final drawn-out “you” in I’ll Fly for You, an eager audience member beat him to it by a fraction. Hadley cracked up, visibly laughed, paused to gather himself, and then delivered the ending anyway. The whole place loved him more for it. “He’s still got it,” someone a row across said, half to herself, half to the universe.
Between songs, Hadley was in playful form. He asked how many married people were in the audience, then how many were on their second marriage. A few hands went up. Then someone apparently claimed a third, someone else maybe a fourth, and Tony’s face lit up with mock disbelief before rolling into Alibi, which came with a slightly rocky bossa nova feel and plenty of cheek. Round and Round followed with real swagger, almost sounding autobiographical in the way he leaned into it. Without a sax in the line-up, the guitar found a wonderfully voiced way to carry the spirit of those melodic lines, and the crowd rewarded it with one of the biggest reactions of the night so far.
Hadley also had great fun introducing newer material. Before Turn Me On, he admitted, “This is about the third time we’ve done this song, and I think I just about know the lyrics.” When he added that it was not a sexual song, a woman near me instantly shouted, “Why not?” which got exactly the laugh it deserved. He explained it was really about those rare people who just make you feel amazing no matter what is going on in life, and the song landed warmly because of it. A little later he looked back on Spandau’s last Australian tour in 2015, joking, “I was 25 then… and I’m still 25 now… and still feel as silly as arseholes.” Then, with perfect self-awareness and genuine gratitude, he introduced Soul Boy as being about people like us coming out to see people like them, saying they would not be here without an audience like this. It was funny, grateful, and oddly moving all at once.
But the emotional centre of the night was Through the Barricades.
Hadley brought a tumbler of Jack Daniel’s over to the stool and mic, remarking that every dressing room he had ever been in over 45 years had a bottle of Jack in it and that he really ought to be sponsored by them (does anyone have any contacts?). Then he raised his glass and introduced the song as his favourite, a song about people from different walks of life getting on and being in love, something he noted felt especially poignant given the madness in the world right now. “This one’s for you,” he said, and then he bent the opening lines into shape with aching control, pushing and pulling the tempo ever so slightly, wringing every last bit of feeling out of it. Lily’s harmonies were beautiful there, floating around him. At one point the crowd thought the song had ended and erupted, only for Tim Bye to bring the full band crashing gloriously back in, earning an even bigger cheer as the second wave hit. It was one of the goosebump moments of the night, no question. Then, after the regular shape of the song had run its course, the band stretched it out with a gorgeous instrumental passage and a fantastic guitar solo before easing it back down so Hadley could introduce the players one by one. It was theatrical, heartfelt and brilliantly judged.
From there the show kept finding new gears. Chant No. 1 (I Don’t Need This Pressure On) injected fresh punch and movement, and then came another beautifully framed moment when Hadley spoke about the thrill, in the early days, of appearing on shows like Top of the Pops and meeting his idols, only to discover that some of them really were beautiful people. He singled out Freddie Mercury, along with Brian, Roger and John, and dedicated Somebody to Love to Queen. It was a belter. Not a novelty cover, not a throwaway crowd-pleaser, but a full-bodied, committed performance that gave the whole band room to flex while still keeping the song’s heart intact.
By the time Lifeline and Mad About You arrived, the room was fully his, but he still had one more bit of mischief to deploy before the home stretch. Looking out into the audience, he joked that there were clearly a few blokes in the theatre who had been dragged along under duress by their partners, and that he could still see some of them sitting there with folded arms. “Just wait until you get home tonight,” he said. “You can thank me later.” Into True it went, and somehow that song still has the power to hush a room and make grown people grin at each other. Hadley stretched phrases, delayed entries, smiled sideways at the band and made them work beautifully for every cue, while they followed him with the kind of telepathic ease that only great musicians manage. It felt loose and precise at the same time. That is not easy.
And then, of course, Gold.
The lighting shifted for the finale, brighter, bolder, more flamboyant, and the whole theatre lifted with it. If there had been any polite reserve left in the room, it disappeared there. This was the biggest singalong of the night, joyous and unapologetic, the kind that spills from stage to stalls and back again until the whole place is running on one shared pulse. It was impossible not to grin. Impossible not to feel the years, the memories, the old choruses and the new warmth of the room all colliding at once. As people filed out into the humid buzz of Enmore Road afterwards, the chatter was loud and happy. “That was better than I had even imagined,” one man said, sounding faintly surprised. And I suspect a few of the blokes who had supposedly been dragged there under sufferance were indeed going to be thanking Tony later!
This was not just a nostalgia show, though it certainly delivered the hits. It was something better than that. It was a reminder of what a proper frontman can do with a sharp band, a personal venue and a crowd willing to meet him halfway. Georgia Lines brought grace, soul and a lovely hush to the beginning of the night. Tony Hadley brought style, warmth, humour and a voice that still knows exactly how to lift, tease and break a room open. Ad by the end, what lingered most was not simply the songs themselves, but the feeling they left behind.
Sydney Enmore - You’re indestructible, always believing - Gold!
Gallery https://musicfestivalsaustralia.com/event-photos/tony-hadley-australian-tour-2026
Thank you to Tony Hadley, Destroy All Lines, Estellar PR and the Enmore Theatre for having us along.
Review and Photos by Andy Kershaw for Music Kingdom Australia
