In the twelve years I’ve been covering BST Hyde Park concerts, from the Rolling Stones, Duran Duran and Sabrina Carpenter, I’ve never seen the park this full, this charged, or this unified in joy as I did on Saturday 12 July 2025, when Stevie Wonder, at 79, took to the stage for what is believed to be his final UK tour date. Families sprawled out on parched yellow grass, teenagers wearing vintage Motown tees, and elders holding each other close – all gathered beneath the scorching London sun for a man who transcends generations, genres and even ideologies.
This wasn’t just a concert. It was a communion.
STEVIE WONDER at BST Hyde Park – Photo by @BETHANMILLERCO
A night of joy, a season of farewell
The day was hot – not just warm – but heavy, sticky, memory-staining hot. The kind of heat that etches moments into the body. But even under that weight, the atmosphere remained radiant, peaceful. There was a gentle breeze, an occasional cheer rippling like wind through the crowd, and then there was Stevie.
He emerged in a long white tunic, adorned with portraits of John Lennon and Marvin Gaye, like two patron saints watching over the night. In that simple garment, Wonder was a messenger – carrying the legacy of soul, peace and protest into 2025 with grace.
Then came his voice. Soft, then strong. Fragile, then furious. He opened with Love’s In Need of Love Today, and paused, as if to let the lyrics re-land in the present. “We’ve been through the hate; love is far bigger,” he said. Not as a platitude, but as someone who has lived through decades of division and somehow still believes in harmony.
And just like that, the crowd shifted. We weren’t just at a gig; we were at a gathering of hopeful humans.
The songs we all know by heart
As the music rolled out – Master Blaster, Higher Ground, Isn’t She Lovely, You Are The Sunshine of My Life – I realised I didn’t just remember these songs. I knew them. My body did. So did the strangers to my left and right. We weren’t just singing. We were recalling, reliving, restoring.
When Stevie Wonder launched into Imagine, the hush was almost holy. A Lennon song sung by Wonder, surrounded by portraits of peace and soul – it felt like a time loop. 1967’s Summer of Love was suddenly no longer a chapter in a history book, but a sensation breathing again in Hyde Park. The parallels were unmistakable: a world seeking peace, a divided society craving joy, and music acting as the only true bridge.
It struck me then: Stevie Wonder ’s music has been in the background of my entire life – from childhood birthday parties to university heartbreaks, to dancing with my own child in the kitchen. It is personal and universal. That’s his gift.
A family affair
This wasn’t just Stevie’s farewell – it was a family send-off. He brought his children, cousins, and long-time collaborators on stage, wrapping them in applause and legacy. His daughter Zaiah turned 13 that day, and we all sang Happy Birthday to her. His son Kailand Morris gave a beautiful, trembling performance of I Can Only Be Me, a moment that felt both torch-passing and deeply intimate.
Corinne Bailey Rae joined him for Everybody Is A Star, paying tribute to Sly and the Family Stone. It was an understated, elegant duet – filled with joy rather than fireworks.
As the sun melted behind the stage, I Just Called To Say I Love You rang out and grown men cried. Grandmothers clapped in rhythm. Teenagers filmed with teary awe. Wonder’s gift is not just his music, but the way he creates a shared moment, even amongst 65,000 people.
The big goodbye
His final act was a masterclass in farewell. Superstition whipped the park into a frenzy, all stomps and claps and funk-sweat joy. Always and Another Star closed the night, not with sorrow, but celebration.
We left buzzing – not just with sound, but meaning. This felt like the conclusion to a season of light, a reminder of what live music is truly for.
And though Sunday’s BST closer – the much-anticipated – Jeff Lynne’s ELO and Doobie Brothers – was heartbreakingly cancelled due to Lynne’s illness, Stevie Wonder’s set felt like the proper end. The final note of a remarkable festival summer.
BST Hyde Park 2025 won’t be remembered for who didn’t play, but for who did – and what they gave us.
The legacy of a night
Stevie Wonder’s final Hyde Park concert was not just a gig. It was a mirror and a memory.
A reminder that music isn’t just entertainment. It’s memory. It’s movement. It’s medicine.
And as we all hummed the chorus of Signed, Sealed, Delivered into the night air, the lyrics landed not as a love letter to another, but as Stevie Wonder ‘s parting gift to us:
“I’m yours.”
And you always will be.
Monica Costa has reported on every BST Hyde Park concert since 2013. This one, she says, is the one she’ll remember the most.
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