A night of music, connection, and discovering something bright in the midst of darkness.
A nearly two-hour drive might seem like a lot for a concert, but after seeing Daniel Caesar and 070 Shake at Honda Center, I can confidently say it was worth the trek.
The night started surprisingly smoothly. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, many people were directing cars and showing everyone where to go. After dealing with the chaos that usually comes with parking before a concert, the organization was a nice change. Even getting into the arena felt effortless, with security stationed throughout the entrance and hallways to keep everyone moving.
On the walk toward the Honda Center, my mom and I noticed a merchandise line outside. It wasn’t too long, so we stopped and asked ourselves, “Should we just wait in it?” Instead, we decided to find our seats first and come back later.
That turned out to be one of the worst decisions of the night.
Once we got through security, we faced what looked like miles of people waiting for merchandise. The line was divided so people could still walk through the hallway, making it almost impossible to see where it actually ended. And it gave false hope to those only seeing the front half of the line, like my mom did. Many people were waiting for the viral “Son of Spergy Tour” thermal or the “Daniel Caesar Son of Spergy North America” hoodie.
The demand was obvious. At most concerts, people wait until they get home to put on their merch, but not this one. As soon as their cards were swiped, fans were throwing on their new shirts and hoodies as if they had been waiting all night for that moment.
We finally made it to our seats just before the opener, 070 Shake, came onstage. Even though she was the opening act, the arena was already nearly full. Security was everywhere directing people, continuing the organized vibe that had started in the parking lot.
Then the lights went down.
One of the first things I noticed was the microphone stand. Rainbow-colored lights sparkled around it, glowing against the arena’s darkness. It immediately caught my eye as more than just a cool stage design; it felt like a visual symbol of one of the ideas that would stay with me all night: even when everything around you is dark, there can still be something bright cutting through.
070 Shake began her set with “Violent Crimes,” a song by Kanye West featuring her on vocals. The song reflects on fatherhood and how having daughters can change a man’s view of women. Hearing Shake’s vocals live gave the song a different impact, especially with thousands singing along.
The lighting continued to highlight the contrast between brightness and darkness. Bright colors flashed across the arena before fading, leaving only a spotlight on Shake. The effect was simple but powerful.
She then performed “Guilty Conscience,” and the crowd immediately started clapping along. It was one of those moments where the audience wasn’t just watching; they were actively part of the performance.
She finished her set with “Love,” delivering an emotional conclusion. Rather than every song needing to connect to the same message, what stood out to me was how her music, the lighting, and the crowd created an emotional atmosphere that prepared the arena for what was coming.
After 070 Shake left the stage, the arena became its own form of entertainment.
Faces appeared on the giant screens around the arena. One man held a hot dog and ate it in one bite.
Couples appeared on the screen and received a collective “awww” from the crowd. Some people didn’t realize they were being shown until their third appearance, at which point they started dancing. It was hilarious.
I also noticed many people had digital cameras, clearly determined to document the night. Even before the headliner took the stage, the energy was building with the crowd doing the wave and Daniel Caesar briefly appearing on screen before vanishing.
Finally, Caesar appeared on the screen with a video announcing he was going to “lay it all down” onstage. The video warned that the first four rows would be covered in blood, sweat, guts and love.
Then he began counting down… 10..9..8..7..6..5..4..3..2..1.
The crowd counted along.
Caesar stepped onstage, and almost immediately, thousands of people started singing the first lyrics together. He opened with “Rain Down,” and from that moment, it was clear this wasn’t a concert where people just sat back and watched.
Beginning with “Call on Me,” a live choir joined Caesar onstage. This was one of the biggest surprises because I had managed to avoid social media spoilers about it.
The choir was incredible.
Dressed in red robes, they added a powerful, almost spiritual feeling to the performance. At times, it felt like Caesar was the backup singer. Their voices filled the arena so completely they became one of the most memorable parts of the night.
The red robes also linked back to Caesar’s earlier mention of blood, sweat, guts and love. To me, they symbolized the sacrifices people make to grow, heal, and find their way through tough times.
That vulnerability was especially evident in songs like “Please Do Not Lean,” “Have a Baby (With Me),” and “Streetcar.” Instead of breaking down each song individually, what stood out was the emotional vulnerability that connected them. Caesar’s music often explores loneliness, insecurity, relationships, fear of loss and self-understanding.
Hearing these songs live changed how they felt.
They weren’t just songs about personal struggles anymore. Thousands of people sang them together, each bringing their own experiences.
The energy of the audience made that clear.
During a choir solo, the man’s friends shouted, “Let’s go, Steve!” and the crowd joined in. Suddenly, strangers cheered for someone they never met.
Phone flashlights lit up throughout the arena as people waved them in the air. For a moment, the Honda Center looked like a sky full of tiny stars.
There was a funny moment when Caesar tried to talk to the crowd but realized his band had already started playing because he forgot to cue them. He apologized, laughed, and kept going.
Those small moments made the performance feel personal. Caesar wasn’t hiding behind a perfect show; he was engaging with the audience.
The concert flew by.
“Who Knows” and “Japanese Denim” were huge crowd favorites, with the audience singing so loudly it sometimes felt like they were the performers.
Then came “Best Part.”
Caesar gave a countdown from three, and everyone started singing together. The song is about comfort security, and devotion in another person, but in that moment, it felt bigger than romance.
For those moments, the audience found comfort in each other.
That same feeling continued with “Transform.” The visuals showed close-ups of a man’s eyes before shifting to animals’ eyes, symbolizing our deep connections despite differences.
It was a reminder that the concert was about more than just the performers, it was about everyone in the room.
Caesar even took requests, performing “Transform” and “SUPERPOSITION.” Those moments showed his appreciation for the fans who came to see him. He wasn’t just going through a setlist; he was responding to the audience.
Finally, the night wrapped up with “Sins of the Father” and “Always,” saving the last song for a powerful ending. It was an emotional, reflective choice, leaving everyone with a memorable moment.
Then it was over.
After the show, my mom and I went back to the merchandise booth, hoping to finally get what we had skipped earlier.
Everything was sold out.
Apparently, that long line had really been worth waiting in.
Fortunately, the same merchandise was available online through the Son of Spergy shop, so our mistake wasn’t entirely irreversible.
Before leaving, I bought a hot dog from one of those iconic carts.
It seemed like the perfect way to end the night after watching someone eat one in a single bite on the arena screen.
On the long drive home, I kept thinking about what made the concert so special. It wasn’t just the music. It was how thousands of strangers—who had never met, could sing the same words, cheer for a stranger, wave lights, and share the same moments.
070 Shake’s rainbow lights cutting through the darkness, the choir’s red robes, thousands of phone flashlights, the crowd taking over “Best Part,” strangers cheering for Steve, all shared a common message: sometimes the light isn’t something you find alone.
Sometimes it’s the person next to you.
Sometimes it’s a song.
Sometimes it’s thousands of strangers singing together.
And sometimes, after a long drive, a sold-out merch line, and a hot dog, you realize maybe everything really does work out.
You just have to keep looking for the light.
