Gig Review: Mel Parsons @ Opera House, Wellington – 05/09/2026

By the time Mel stepped onto the Opera House stage, she had nothing left to prove. Castle Hill was already sitting at No. 1 on both the New Zealand Top 40 Albums Chart and the Top 20 Aotearoa Albums Chart – a fact Mel herself was clearly revelling in. “I’ve become a bit insufferable – so I apologise to my circle of friends,” she quipped on stage tonight. Actually, it was totally well deserved – as I can attest. Tonight’s opening set was all about this album, as the band ran down the full track list, with Mel interjecting with comments, anecdotes and much revelry along the way.

Castle Hill was recorded live in the tiny South Island settlement that lends the album its name. If 2024’s Sabotage found Mel tracing cracks in the plaster, these songs throw open the windows: broader, brighter, but never scrubbed clean of their bruises.

At the back of the stage was a huge banner of the very Maunga. Mel found a moment to point out the spot on the giant image where the cabin was (sort of) – without the aid of a laser pointer. I was hoping for a few stories from the village sessions. Sadly, not.

They opened with “the sad songs” – Grain By Grain and Not Enough. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty more of those to bring you down,” she joked. Not the case, really: despite their ‘low tone’, I think both are positive tracks about growth and recovery. Her dry between-song banter kept pricking the gloom, while the set circled self-sabotage, endurance, absence and the awkward business of getting back up.

Then we got to Caravan, which she tells us is all about nostalgia – holidays on West Coast beaches, where she grew up. “Cape Foulwind, that’s my home, grew up on a farm there – anyone?” No one from those parts tonight, though. The song glowed like an old summer photograph left too long in the sun. Mel leaned into the memories: no syrup, no sepia cosplay, just the ache of looking back while knowing there is no road home.

There were a couple of stories about her time in Canada as a “ski bum”, sporting dreadlocks, no less. “No, don’t ask, they are never coming back!” she laughed. “That time’s gone.”

Introducing Brick By Brick, she canvassed the audience. “Any marketing managers from the major hardware chains in tonight? This’d make a great opportunity for a jingle.” There was back-and-forth banter between the room and the band – the ever-faithful Jed Parsons (drums, and cousin), Aaron Stewart (electric and upright basses) and Josh Logan (guitar).

Logan’s resonator was superb tonight, providing plenty of slide action, subtly delivered across many of the songs in the set. Stewart played with melodic thrift, quietly keeping the engine room ticking over, but occasionally shone in his own right on the upright with a couple of solos.

And Jed – what a showman. Sure, he brought the ‘muscle’ to the songs when needed. But you could tell there was more. Behind the kit, he was a bit restrained. He led the banter and had a few moments where the band floored Mel with pranks, breaking into a reggae version of I Get The Lonely in the second half of the show. Apparently, playing reggae is their ‘jam’ during sound checks. This was a well-travelled band, very comfortable together – more like whānau than just bandmates.

At one point, Mel made the mistake of asking Jed about his upcoming kids’ show with Tom Knowles at Circa Theatre (Jed also performs under the moniker ‘Jeff Parsnips’). Instead of just shouting out the dates, he gave us a full rundown of the gig, summing it up as: “It’s two dads answering all the questions of the universe before AI can do it” (or words to that effect). Then they broke into a quick rendition of Tomato Tomati, a number from the show, complete with squeezy-bottle actions. Hilarious!

Mel’s songs rarely kick down the door. They slip in sideways – a stray thought, a doubt, a road half-remembered – then quietly rearrange the furniture. From my seat, I watched melancholy turn communal.

Be Here Now slowed the room’s pulse, landing like a mantra without the scented-candle baggage. Then Don’t Leave The Light On cut straight through. Mel noted how affecting this song about domestic abuse has been. “It’s been a real trigger for (lots of people). I’ve heard so many stories. I hope tonight it doesn’t resonate with you! But if it does, there’s still time to get out!”

It’s a really affecting song, especially live. Mel faced domestic abuse without melodrama, trusting the ugly weight of the details. No grand gesture. No emotional neon. Just one voice making a huge theatre feel suddenly airless. That restraint is her secret weapon. No giant screens. No pre-packaged crescendo begging for a standing ovation. The show worked by stealth: a lyric, a harmony, a twitch of rhythm, another image lodged under the skin. Then the lights came up and you realised the songs had carried the whole room somewhere else.

For part two, we got plenty from the back catalogue – especially 2018’s Glass Heart (I Get The Lonely, Come Over Lover, Just Cause You Don’t Want Me) – plus highlights from Sabotage (the album’s cover artist was in the audience tonight), Drylands and my favourite, the post-Covid Slow Burn. The older songs brought the shadows. Material from Sabotage still buzzed with anxiety and crossed wires, but beside the new work it sounded less like a dead end than a rough stretch of road. Mel has always known how to turn grief into momentum.

Hearing these songs in Wellington after Mel’s 2024 Community Halls Tour (the last time I saw her) felt apt. Those shows turned rural halls into pop-up republics of hay bales, barbecues and local chatter. The Opera House came with velvet and grandeur, but the same DIY spirit survived. Mel can make a formal theatre feel like the good end of a kitchen party.

I wouldn’t say the audience tonight was overflowing. There was a lot on in the Capital. But most of the Stalls were populated. A few well known faces including Brett McKenzie were here in support alongside a couple of faces from the Arts Funding community (many thanks to them for financials – without which this tour couldn’t even happen, she reminded us).

Recent years have put her alongside Crowded House (an “utterly joyous tour”, she said) and on stages across Australia and Canada, but the songs hit hardest at home. Weather, back roads, coastlines and small-town drift carry extra voltage when the audience knows the terrain. Overseas, that texture reads as universal. Here, despite the gracious airs, it still feels like mud on your own boots.

By the final stretch, the set had shown its hand: Little Sadness and Driving Man, followed by the encores – Don’t Wait and her Fly My Pretties collab, Far Away – really showcased her continuing evolution beyond being just a folk singer. She’s an immense talent, with a real knack for working grief, consideration, deeper thinking and life’s lessons into an artful, poignant song. She’s a quiet deliberator.

That was the night’s quiet flex: nothing was forced, but everything hit, with plenty of dry wit and revelry along the way. Mel never had to command the Opera House. She just opened the door – and somehow, we all walked out carrying the same weather.

Photo Credit: Andy Russell for Muzic.NZ
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