When I arrived at Hersheypark Stadium Wednesday night, raindrops were already spattering against the pavement, but the electric anticipation in the air couldn’t be dampened. Fans streamed into the venue, ponchos at the ready, determined not to miss a beat. As Sierra Ferrell’s opening chords rang out, I slipped past the entry lines just in time to catch her final two songs—her Bluegrass-meets-Gypsy-Jazz vibe cutting through the mist and warming the crowd. Though I joined midway, I could sense how her spirited “Years” and “Fox Hunt” left an early mark on everyone watching.
By the time Jelly Roll took the stage, the drizzle had turned steady. Wearing a matching black “Bailee” vest and jeans, he leaned into each lyric of “Need a Favor,” and the rain only heightened the raw power of his presence. Wrapped in ponchos and huddled under stadium tunnels, fans sang every word alongside him. When Jelly Roll transitioned into his closer “Save Me,” the sound of the audience’s roar rivaled the patter of rain on metal bleachers. That moment captured why his blend of grit and vulnerability has built such a devoted following—whether you arrived dry or damp, you were instantly part of something bigger.
By 9:00 PM, the rain had softened to a fine mist, the kind that seems to hang in the air like a shared secret. Post Malone emerged with a red solo cup and cigarette in one hand and a microphone in the other as massive video screens behind him flared to life. His entrance felt almost cinematic: the mist swirling around those tilted screens gave the stage an otherworldly glow. Uniting everyone under the illuminated canopy, the opening notes of “Texas Tea” surged through Hersheypark’s crisp sound system and the low-end bass vibrated through our chests.
As Post Malone launched into “Wow,” the combination of fog, lights, and mist created an atmosphere that blurred the line between spectacle and intimacy. Six backing vocalists surrounded him, fueling each chorus with layered harmonies that turned the rain-dampened field into a communal chorus pit. When “Better Now” followed, fans raised their horns in solidarity, voices blending into a single, triumphant echo.
Mid-set, Post Malone stripped “I Fall Apart” down to just his voice and an acoustic guitar. Hundreds of phone lights bobbed above the crowd like a constellation of fireflies. In that space between the intense spectacle, I felt the vulnerability of his lyrics—an emotional core amplified by the stadium’s natural acoustics that let every note resonate. This was more than a hit song live; it was a moment of shared catharsis, and in the hush that followed, you could sense the collective breath held by thousands.
Once the tempo ramped back up—“Go Flex,” “Hollywood’s Bleeding,” “M-E-X-I-C-O”—smoke machines kicked in, swirling low to the ground as strobes flashed through the mist. The rain-washed field became a constellation of light and shadow, each strobe burst painting silhouettes of heads and raised arms. By the time Post Malone hit “Rockstar,” flame jets shot skyward, flickering above the sea of ponchos. The heat from the pyrotechnics cut through the damp chill, and for a moment, the rain felt like a participant, each drop sparkling in the blaze.
Watching the crowd, I saw how Jelly Roll’s gritty country-rap opener had primed everyone for genre-blending. Sierra Ferrell’s brief acoustic set had reminded us that even a fleeting folk melody can captivate. And now, Post Malone’s alt-pop anthems felt like a natural next step—an embrace of vulnerability and spectacle under one roof. The demographics spanned generations and tastes: teenage hip-hop fans in hoodies, longtime country-rap enthusiasts in trucker hats, and dedicated Post Malone devotees with face tattoos peeking out beneath hoods.
As “Circles” began, the stadium lights softened, bathing Hersheypark in a gentle glow. Thousands of voices sang in unison, a moment that felt almost sacred amid the festive chaos. Then, for the closer, Post Malone slipped away from the main stage and reemerged on a secondary platform set in the middle of the stadium’s floor section. As “Sunflower” kicked off, fireworks erupted overhead—golden sparks bursting into the misty sky, illuminating the crowd like a shower of stars. Standing surrounded by fans on all sides, Post’s vocals felt electrified; the roar of triumphant cheers merged with each lyric, and every burst of pyrotechnic flame underscored the song’s euphoric finale.
When the last notes of “Sunflower” rang out, the rain had let up, leaving behind a cool, crisp breeze and the smoky scent of spent fireworks. Post Malone took a final bow on that floodlit platform, drenched in adrenaline and gratitude, as the crowd chanted his name. Exiting the stadium, the afterglow was palpable—laughter, shared recounts of favorite moments, and the universal glow of a night well lived. Even as fans headed into the parking lot, water squelching beneath their feet, conversations buzzed with setlist highlights and plans to replay the unforgettable closer over and over again.
Hersheypark Stadium proved, once again, that even a little rain can’t dampen a performance this spirited. From Jelly Roll’s gritty anthems to Post Malone’s genre-defying spectacle, the night showcased why this venue remains a favorite among performers and fans alike. If you ever find yourself at Hersheypark on a drizzly night, rest assured: the show goes on, and it’s every bit as magical as promised—rain be damned.
Post Malone Tour
Post Malone
Jelly Roll
