Twenty-three years. That’s how long London had to wait for Savatage to grace a stage in this city again. Twenty-three years of wondering if we’d ever witness the theatrical majesty, the operatic bombast, and the sheer emotional warfare that only Jon Oliva’s metal opera machine could deliver. Thursday night at Shepherd’s Bush Empire, that drought ended with the force of a medieval battering ram wrapped in power chords.
Savatage are the unsung architects of progressive metal, the band that showed everyone how to blend complexity with actual songs. Where Dream Theater built cathedrals of virtuosity, Savatage crafted intimate chapels of emotion. Their genius was wrapping technical prowess in hooks that burrow into your brain and refuse to leave.
The evening opened with “Welcome,” and the band took to the stage with a proper theatrical, almost Broadway-esque opening. Zak Stevens, who joined Savatage on the classic Edge of Thorns and has been the band’s primary vocalist ever since Jon Oliva stepped aside. His voice soared through “Jesus Saves” and “Power of the Night” with the kind of clarity that would make a cathedral choir weep with envy. Stevens has clearly been taking his vitamins and avoiding whatever vocal plague has been decimating metal singers of his generation.
But the evening’s emotional crescendo came courtesy of modern technology and old-school heart. Jon Oliva, too ill to travel but too stubborn to miss this moment entirely, appeared via video to deliver a spine-tingling rendition of “Believe” from Streets: A Rock Opera. “We put something together just for you guys,” he said before launching into the song, and when the band joined in after the first chorus, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Who said metalheads aren’t sensitive? Savatage made vulnerability cool before it was trendy.
The setlist read like the story of progressive metal with a stark lesson in how to balance catalogue depth with crowd-pleasing anthems. Heavy emphasis on The Wake of Magellan and Dead Winter Dead reminded us that Savatage’s later period produced some of their most crushing material, even if the masses had moved onto their Trans Siberian Orchestra alter ego.
Chris Caffery and Al Pitrelli locked into riffs so tight you could bounce quarters off them, while Johnny Lee Middleton’s bass work provided the kind of foundation that could support a small city. Jeff Plate, behind the kit since 1994, remains the band’s rhythmic anchor—a timekeeper who knows when to thunderously announce his presence and when to let the drama breathe. And most of all, they were having fun, and they were clearly happy to be here.
The only glaring omission? “When the Crowds Are Gone” from Gutter Ballet. Sure, it’s probably a Jon Oliva showcase that’s tough to pull off without the master himself, but in a setlist this strong, quibbles feel petty. Besides, they more than compensated with classics from Edge of Thorns, Sirens, and Handful of Rain that had the faithful singing along to every word.
And then came “Hall of the Mountain King.” The crowd went absolutely mental. I’ve seen Savatage twice before, on the Gutter Ballet and Edge of Thorns tours, and this song still destroys. Back in high school, having that Gutter Ballet cassette made you one of the cool kids in metal circles. But Hall of the Mountain King came first, back in ’87, when they stopped being just another power metal band and became something else entirely. Hearing it live again brought back every reason why this band mattered.
The genius of Savatage has always been their ability to make the grandiose feel intimate, the operatic feel genuine. They pioneered the idea that metal could tell stories, that concept albums could transcend pretension, that piano ballads and sword-and-sorcery mythology could coexist with crushing riffs. They made it okay for metalheads to feel things beyond rage and rebellion.
As rumors swirl about one final Savatage album (tentatively titled Curtain Call and slated for 2026), Monday night felt like both a celebration and a benediction. This band paved the way for an entire generation of progressive metal acts, yet they remain criminally underrated compared to their influence. They’re the band that taught Dream Theater it was okay to have melodies, that showed Symphony X how to balance virtuosity with songcraft.
In an era where nostalgia tours often feel like elaborate cash grabs, Savatage delivered something far more precious: a reminder of why they mattered then, and why they still matter now. The phoenix has risen, and it’s soaring.
