Wembley Stadium, London
Sunday, 6 September 2026
Forever, Together
Early in the set, the show stopped. Jon Bon Jovi noticed someone in the crowd was unwell and struggling. He held the band, called for help and kept a packed Wembley Stadium in place, refusing to continue until he knew she was safe. There was no theatricality in it, only the quiet, concerned authority of a man unwilling to let the vast machinery of a stadium show ignore someone in need of help.
For me, it set the tone for the rest of the evening.
I have been struggling with a fairly jaundiced view of human beings this year. Somewhere beneath it, I remain hopeful something good exists in people gathered in large numbers for the right reason. Wembley on Sunday night made the case better than I ever could myself. When the opening chords of You Give Love a Bad Name hit, the stadium rose as one. No one on stage gave instructions; nothing felt calculated or premeditated. The song found a profound resonance with each and every one of us.
I said out loud: “There it is.” That feeling which only music creates. The missing piece; the cure for my jaundice. For a few hours, a stadium of strangers stopped feeling like separate individuals and became one warm, and by the end, extremely hoarse, collective. Losing yourself like that, willingly, among thousands doing the same, remains one of the few genuinely communal joys we can experience. I had half forgotten what it felt like. “Shot through the heart”, indeed.
Jon Bon Jovi can certainly still sing. The “still” is not intended to be snarky. After well-documented vocal surgery and rehabilitation, Wembley was no exercise in pretending nothing had happened. From the beginning, the set offered ample opportunity to show what persistence, control, passion and intelligent pacing can achieve. Hey God and Bed of Roses showed remarkable nuance in their quieter passages, delivered with poignant sensitivity and emotional warmth. When he escalated the energy and intensity for the larger choruses, there was no indication he was managing or protecting his voice from the material.
Indeed, the show was a fascinating testament to how far he has come as a singer. The almost raucous, self-satisfied brightness and effortless abandon of earlier years have given way to greater poise, assurance and control. He did not shy away from anything; he met the songs head-on, with a confidence born of experience rather than the need to recapture his younger self.
That was clearest on These Days, a song of survival, regret and second chances. Its already considerable emotional weight was heightened by the qualities now audible in his delivery. There was restraint where it served the song, force when the moment demanded it, and enough authority in the phrasing to make even the most familiar material feel inhabited rather than merely revisited. You know when someone is playing it by the numbers. There was no possibility of accusing him of that here.
He remains a formidable frontman. In the early days, his charisma had a strong element of showmanship, but even then he tempered grandstanding with personal connection. He takes time to speak with the audience, which is no mean feat when the audience is this size: an ability to command an immense space while making the moment feel almost intimate. The pause for the unwell woman in the crowd felt entirely consistent with the performer he has always been, with showmanship and authenticity flowing from the same source.
The band, too, understand the value of serving these songs without indulging in excess. Phil X brought bite, fluency and fluid precision to riffs which could easily have become little more than commemorative gestures. Hugh McDonald’s bass lines were gorgeous: throbbing and pulsating, yet always in character with the guitars and providing the bedrock beneath their melodic lines. Tico Torres’s drumming was, as ever, a masterclass in control, touch and knowing exactly when to unleash energy and drive. David Bryan’s keyboards and John Shanks’s rhythm guitar provided rippling textures and background heft without swamping the arrangements.
Wembley Stadium demands a large-scale production, but the spectacle never overwhelms the performance. The songs always remained centre-stage.
What also struck me forcibly was how the set evolved. I had expected a greatest-hits parade. What we got was far more valuable: a long musical career viewed in retrospect, told in a way which did justice both to the continuity across the years and to the particular character of each stage. This was a band creatively shaping an evening’s musical journey rather than simply banging out the biggest hits.
As is always the way at occasions such as these, audience participation was a key ingredient. Opening with the Beatles’ With a Little Help from My Friends was a telling gesture, foreshadowing the growing role the audience would play as the evening progressed. It was also a reminder, if one were needed, of why people sing along with anyone at all.
James Bay, who had opened the evening, returned for Legendary, a brief, genuinely warm meeting between musicians who are clearly friends. The wickedly anthemic Livin’ on a Prayer arrived mid-set, a surprise, since a song of such scale would normally be held back for the final run-in. Playing it early felt like a statement of confidence: there were other places the band intended to take us.
And there were. The encore showstoppers, Wanted Dead or Alive and Bad Medicine, provided all the cathartic release an exhausted but happy Wembley could reasonably summon. Yet the final word was reserved for Always. No bang-crash, cacophonous finale; instead, a ballad whose compelling, yearning devotion took on a truly collective dimension as the stadium sang it back. It was the choice of a band secure enough in its songs, its audience and its own history to end on this gift of feeling rather than noise.
I went in hoping for a good night out. I did not expect a reminder of what a stadium full of people can still be: attentive, generous, joyous, and united for a few hours by far more than nostalgia. I badly needed a reason to believe in human beings again. Wembley gave me one.
SETLIST
With a Little Help From My Friends
Beautiful Drug
We Weren’t Born to Follow
Lost Highway
You Give Love a Bad Name
Born to Be My Baby
Legendary (with James Bay)
Whole Lot of Leavin’
Bed of Roses
Have a Nice Day
These Days
This House Is Not for Sale
It’s My Life
Livin’ on a Prayer
Raise Your Hands
I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead
Hey God
Keep the Faith
~ Encore:
I’ll Be There for You
Wanted Dead or Alive
Bad Medicine
Always
MUSICIANS
Jon Bon Jovi – Lead Vocals, Acoustic & Rhythm Guitar
Everett Bradley – Percussion, Backing Vocals
David Bryan – Keyboards, Piano, Backing Vocals
Hugh McDonald – Bass Guitar, Backing Vocals
John Shanks – Rhythm Guitar, Backing Vocals, Producer/Collaborator
Tico Torres – Drums, Percussion
Phil X – Lead Guitar, Talk Box, Backing Vocals
LINKS
Bon Jovi – Website | Facebook | YouTube | X | Instagram
