I’ve been attending live performances for most of my life, hundreds upon hundreds of shows, long before I ever thought about reviewing them. That started young, thanks to musically curious parents who believed exposure mattered, who treated concerts not as indulgences but as necessary life experience. Over time, live music became more than entertainment for me. It became grounding. Spiritual. A place I return to when the world feels loud or unsteady. For me, live music is a form of church, and I need it, regularly.
In 2025, that need evolved into purpose. I tried to turn an extreme personal passion into a full blown cultural pursuit, stepping into the role of concert and theater reporter, documenting what moved me, what didn’t, and why. I was lucky enough to do it alongside a partner who shares that love and curiosity, making the experience communal instead of solitary, a year of shared nights out, shared playlists on the drive home, and shared debates about what made a show great.
San Diego anchored much of that journey. The city’s venues, especially absolutely magnificent The Rady Shell at Jacobs Park, continue to punch above their weight, drawing artists across genres and generations. The Shell doesn’t just host concerts, it frames them. The bay, the skyline, the salt air, the way the light changes as the opening act ends and the headliner begins, it all turns an ordinary set into something cinematic. That setting mattered all year, because it changed the way I listened. It made me notice staging, pacing, and the invisible craft of live production in a deeper way.
But some of the most meaningful musical experiences of the year happened elsewhere. Nashville reminded me what it looks like when live music is simply part of daily life. It pours out of doorways, spills onto sidewalks, even echoes in the airport bars. Dublin felt the same way, songs everywhere, woven into conversation, pubs, streets, and history. Music there isn’t scheduled; it’s lived.
Two artists, in particular, became permanent fixtures in my personal soundtrack this year: KALEO and Matt Maeson. KALEO hit twice, once in Southern California and once across the country, and both times they delivered that rare combination of power and precision, the kind that makes you feel the room physically vibrate. Matt Maeson at the Ryman felt like the other end of the spectrum, intimate, story driven, and quietly commanding. Their performances didn’t just impress me in the moment, they lingered. They followed me home. They stayed. That’s the highest compliment I can give.
But some of the most meaningful musical experiences of the year happened elsewhere. Nashville reminded me what it looks like when live music is simply part of daily life. It pours out of doorways, spills onto sidewalks, even echoes in the airport bars. Dublin felt the same way, songs everywhere, woven into conversation, pubs, streets, and history. Music there isn’t scheduled; it’s lived.
The single most awe inspiring venue I experienced all year wasn’t local, though. It was the Palau de la Música Catalana in Barcelona, where architecture, history, and sound collided in a way that felt almost sacred. Later in the year, standing inside Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium, a room soaked in musical history, offered a different kind of reverence. These were spaces that don’t just host performances, they hold them. Rooms that remind you why live performance still matters in an era of endless streaming. The Rady Shell is as close as we have in San Diego to the perfect venue.
Two artists, in particular, became permanent fixtures in my personal soundtrack this year: KALEO and Matt Maeson. KALEO hit twice, once in Southern California and once across the country, and both times they delivered that rare combination of power and precision, the kind that makes you feel the room physically vibrate. Matt Maeson at the Ryman felt like the other end of the spectrum, intimate, story driven, and quietly commanding. Their performances didn’t just impress me in the moment, they lingered. They followed me home. They stayed. That’s the highest compliment I can give.
And while many shows were exceptional, Elton John at Petco Park presented by Curebound stands apart not just as one of the performances of the year, but as the most fun I had at a concert in 2025. It was spectacle with heart, a stadium sized hit parade that still felt personal in the way only a true icon can pull off. It wasn’t just the setlist, it was the atmosphere: a ballpark transformed into a cathedral of singalongs, fireworks hitting at exactly the right time, and the strange joy of thousands of strangers knowing the same choruses by muscle memory. When the night ended, it didn’t feel like a concert so much as a communal victory lap, all for a great cause.
The most emotionally powerful moment, however, came unexpectedly at Wonderfront Festival. Seeing Four Non Blondes perform “What’s Up” wasn’t nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It was beautifully overwhelming. It landed like a time capsule cracking open in real time, a song that has somehow followed all of us through different versions of our lives and still knows where to hit. Hundreds of voices sang back every word, and I teared up, no irony, no embarrassment. Just gratitude for a moment that reminded me why music stays with us for life.
Another thing Wonderfront taught me this year is how a festival can be both chaos and curation. One minute you’re watching a legacy act turn the bay into a choir, the next you’re discovering a new favorite in a crowded pocket of the grounds, or catching a set from a yacht stage that literally moves through San Diego Harbor. Wonderfront in 2025 felt like San Diego showing off, not just musically, but culturally, as a city that can host something ambitious without losing its coastal ease.
Until February, musical theater simply wasn’t part of my cultural vocabulary. I’d written it off as something adjacent to my interests but not quite for me. That changed the night I saw Wicked at the San Diego Civic Theatre. What I expected to sit through became something I couldn’t look away from, an immersive, technically daring, emotionally sharp piece of storytelling that dismantled every lazy assumption I’d held about musicals. The scale was stunning, but it was the emotional intelligence that really got me. Wicked didn’t feel ornamental or indulgent, it felt intentional, muscular, and alive. It made the entire room feel like it was holding its breath.
That theater door Wicked opened stayed open. The months that followed turned into a deep dive: Broadway tours, jukebox musicals, original productions, and plays that proved spectacle and substance aren’t opposites. Wicked didn’t just win me over, it permanently expanded how I understand live performance, and it’s a corner of culture I now actively seek out rather than sidestep.
Not every experience landed. Ain’t Too Proud at the San Diego Civic Theatre was the low point of the year of musicals. While the legacy of The Temptations deserves reverence, the production felt oddly hollow, leaning heavily on surface level storytelling without earning its emotional weight. It was a useful reminder that representation alone isn’t enough. Execution matters. A great story still needs great staging, great pacing, and real dramatic architecture. Without those, even legendary music can feel flat.
On the other side of the biographical musical spectrum, A Beautiful Noise: The Neil Diamond Musical did something I didn’t expect at all: it turned me into a full fledged Neil Diamond fan. I went in appreciating the hits but without any real emotional investment, and left with a genuine understanding of his place in American music. The show struck a rare balance, joyful without being shallow, reflective without slowing the momentum, and framed Diamond’s catalog as something deeper than nostalgia. Anchored by a standout performance from Nick Fradiani and structured around Diamond’s own self examination, the production revealed how much vulnerability, ambition, and self doubt lived inside songs I’d previously taken for granted. By the time the entire Civic Theatre was on its feet singing “Sweet Caroline,” it felt less like a curtain call and more like a shared release. It wasn’t just one of the strongest musicals I saw all year. It permanently reshaped how I hear Neil Diamond, and those songs now live firmly in my regular rotation.
Hamilton was another turning point, but in a more complicated way. Seeing it in 2025, I felt the tension between what the show achieved historically and how it reads now, with audiences more fluent in questions of narrative, power, and historical accountability. The ambition is still undeniable, the craft is still elite, and moments still hit with real force, especially in the later emotional arc as the story tightens and the cost of ego becomes unavoidable. But I also found myself wrestling with clarity in the live setting and with the way myth can be polished into something too clean. It was one of the most valuable shows of my year precisely because it made me think harder, and because it reminded me that cultural juggernauts don’t just exist to be adored, they exist to be examined.
The Book of Mormon, on the other hand, was pure controlled chaos, the rare production that pushes every boundary and somehow still lands with surprising heart. It was outrageous, offensive, and genuinely one of the funniest nights I had all year, the kind of laughter that makes your face hurt. But what impressed me most was how tight it was. The pacing, the ensemble work, the orchestra, the way the satire stays sharp without collapsing into laziness, it’s a machine. Whether you love it or hate it, you can’t deny it knows exactly what it is doing.
Then came & Juliet, which felt like the perfect antidote to anything heavy. It’s a jukebox musical that shouldn’t work on paper, yet it absolutely does, because it commits fully to joy. It weaponizes pop nostalgia into a real narrative engine, turning songs we all grew up with into emotional turning points rather than karaoke filler. It was glittery, smart, self aware, and surprisingly moving, the kind of show that reminds you theater can be both clever and carefree without apologizing for either.
The most emotionally powerful moment, however, came unexpectedly at Wonderfront Festival. Seeing Four Non Blondes perform “What’s Up” wasn’t nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It was beautifully overwhelming. It landed like a time capsule cracking open in real time, a song that has somehow followed all of us through different versions of our lives and still knows where to hit. Hundreds of voices sang back every word, and I teared up, no irony, no embarrassment. Just gratitude for a moment that reminded me why music stays with us for life.
@sandiegoville The first time 4 Non Blondes played this song in more than two decades…and it. was. epic. @Wonderfront Festival ♬ original sound - SanDiegoVille
Another thing Wonderfront taught me this year is how a festival can be both chaos and curation. One minute you’re watching a legacy act turn the bay into a choir, the next you’re discovering a new favorite in a crowded pocket of the grounds, or catching a set from a yacht stage that literally moves through San Diego Harbor. Wonderfront in 2025 felt like San Diego showing off, not just musically, but culturally, as a city that can host something ambitious without losing its coastal ease.
Until February, musical theater simply wasn’t part of my cultural vocabulary. I’d written it off as something adjacent to my interests but not quite for me. That changed the night I saw Wicked at the San Diego Civic Theatre. What I expected to sit through became something I couldn’t look away from, an immersive, technically daring, emotionally sharp piece of storytelling that dismantled every lazy assumption I’d held about musicals. The scale was stunning, but it was the emotional intelligence that really got me. Wicked didn’t feel ornamental or indulgent, it felt intentional, muscular, and alive. It made the entire room feel like it was holding its breath.
That one night had a domino effect. After falling in love with the play, I finally watched the Wicked film adaptation, and it deepened the obsession in a different way. Seeing Cynthia Erivo’s work on screen, and understanding her voice and presence through that lens, changed what happened for me when she later came to The Rady Shell. By the time she walked onstage, I wasn’t just seeing a powerhouse vocalist. I was seeing an artist who could carry narrative inside a single note, someone who understands how to make a crowd feel like they’re part of the story. Her San Diego performance became one of the most transcendent nights of my year, and honestly, it may have been one of my favorite shows of the entire year. The setting helped, of course. The Shell always does. But Cynthia turned it into something bigger than a concert. It felt like witnessing a once in a decade voice in full command, with San Diego Bay as her backdrop.
That theater door Wicked opened stayed open. The months that followed turned into a deep dive: Broadway tours, jukebox musicals, original productions, and plays that proved spectacle and substance aren’t opposites. Wicked didn’t just win me over, it permanently expanded how I understand live performance, and it’s a corner of culture I now actively seek out rather than sidestep.
Not every experience landed. Ain’t Too Proud at the San Diego Civic Theatre was the low point of the year of musicals. While the legacy of The Temptations deserves reverence, the production felt oddly hollow, leaning heavily on surface level storytelling without earning its emotional weight. It was a useful reminder that representation alone isn’t enough. Execution matters. A great story still needs great staging, great pacing, and real dramatic architecture. Without those, even legendary music can feel flat.
On the other side of the biographical musical spectrum, A Beautiful Noise: The Neil Diamond Musical did something I didn’t expect at all: it turned me into a full fledged Neil Diamond fan. I went in appreciating the hits but without any real emotional investment, and left with a genuine understanding of his place in American music. The show struck a rare balance, joyful without being shallow, reflective without slowing the momentum, and framed Diamond’s catalog as something deeper than nostalgia. Anchored by a standout performance from Nick Fradiani and structured around Diamond’s own self examination, the production revealed how much vulnerability, ambition, and self doubt lived inside songs I’d previously taken for granted. By the time the entire Civic Theatre was on its feet singing “Sweet Caroline,” it felt less like a curtain call and more like a shared release. It wasn’t just one of the strongest musicals I saw all year. It permanently reshaped how I hear Neil Diamond, and those songs now live firmly in my regular rotation.
Hamilton was another turning point, but in a more complicated way. Seeing it in 2025, I felt the tension between what the show achieved historically and how it reads now, with audiences more fluent in questions of narrative, power, and historical accountability. The ambition is still undeniable, the craft is still elite, and moments still hit with real force, especially in the later emotional arc as the story tightens and the cost of ego becomes unavoidable. But I also found myself wrestling with clarity in the live setting and with the way myth can be polished into something too clean. It was one of the most valuable shows of my year precisely because it made me think harder, and because it reminded me that cultural juggernauts don’t just exist to be adored, they exist to be examined.
The Book of Mormon, on the other hand, was pure controlled chaos, the rare production that pushes every boundary and somehow still lands with surprising heart. It was outrageous, offensive, and genuinely one of the funniest nights I had all year, the kind of laughter that makes your face hurt. But what impressed me most was how tight it was. The pacing, the ensemble work, the orchestra, the way the satire stays sharp without collapsing into laziness, it’s a machine. Whether you love it or hate it, you can’t deny it knows exactly what it is doing.
Then came & Juliet, which felt like the perfect antidote to anything heavy. It’s a jukebox musical that shouldn’t work on paper, yet it absolutely does, because it commits fully to joy. It weaponizes pop nostalgia into a real narrative engine, turning songs we all grew up with into emotional turning points rather than karaoke filler. It was glittery, smart, self aware, and surprisingly moving, the kind of show that reminds you theater can be both clever and carefree without apologizing for either.
Outside the Civic, some of the year’s best lessons came from concerts where the venue and the programming did as much storytelling as the artist. Beck with the San Diego Symphony at The Rady Shell was one of those nights. The first half felt like a mood piece in the best way, restrained, elegant, a conversation between his catalog and orchestral texture. Then the second half flipped into a proper rock show and proved how versatile Beck’s identity really is. The Symphony collaboration wasn’t a gimmick, it was an illumination, a reminder that “alternative” at its best is just openness to form.
Heart at Pechanga Arena felt like something else entirely, a reminder that legacy acts can still be living forces when the vocals and musicianship are real. Ann Wilson’s voice had weight and command, and the show carried an emotional layer that made it feel more like a homecoming than a tour stop. Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo with Bryan Adams at Viejas Arena hit that same nerve. It didn’t feel like nostalgia cosplay. It felt like artists who still believe in the material, still deliver it with conviction, and still know how to work a room.
What stood out most wasn’t the volume of shows, but the range. Classical symphonies, hip hop legends, indie acts, arena pop, experimental theater, Broadway blockbusters, and even music stumbled upon accidentally in bars, parks and even airports. One June weekend alone captured the entire spectrum: a Mainly Mozart symphony on Friday, Wu Tang Clan on Saturday, and Alabama closing out the Temecula Wine and Balloon Festival on Sunday. Each experience sharpened my instincts and clarified what works, what doesn’t, and why.
Below is the full chronological record of every concert and play I attended in 2025. It’s part personal archive, part cultural ledger, and part proof of concept. This is what it looks like to take culture seriously, not as background noise, but as something worth documenting, questioning, and sharing.
October 24 – The Revivalists at The Sound in Del Mar
October 30 – Matt Maeson at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville
November 2 – Sigur Rós at Jacobs Music Center
November 16 – Mainly Mozart at Fairbanks Ranch Country Club
November 16 – Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo with Bryan Adams at Viejas Arena
December 3 – Louis C.K. at San Diego Civic Theatre
December 14 – The Holiday in Concert with the San Diego Symphony at Jacobs Music Center
2025 Plays and Musical Theatre
February 6 – Wicked at San Diego Civic Theatre
March 16 – Moulin Rouge! in Paris, France
March 28 – Ain’t Too Proud at San Diego Civic Theatre
April 12 – Shen Yun at San Diego Civic Theatre
May 7 – Hamilton at San Diego Civic Theatre
May 28 – A Beautiful Noise at San Diego Civic Theatre
June 12 – The Book of Mormon at San Diego Civic Theatre
June 25 – Moulin Rouge! at San Diego Civic Theatre
July 20 – & Juliet at Stephen Sondheim Theatre on Broadway in New York City
August 12 – Shucked at San Diego Civic Theatre
October 25 – Little Shop of Horrors at Point Loma Playhouse
This year wasn’t about chasing clout or checking boxes. It was about showing up, listening closely, and learning the difference between spectacle and substance. If 2025 was the apprenticeship, the reporting starts now. Stay tuned.
Heart at Pechanga Arena felt like something else entirely, a reminder that legacy acts can still be living forces when the vocals and musicianship are real. Ann Wilson’s voice had weight and command, and the show carried an emotional layer that made it feel more like a homecoming than a tour stop. Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo with Bryan Adams at Viejas Arena hit that same nerve. It didn’t feel like nostalgia cosplay. It felt like artists who still believe in the material, still deliver it with conviction, and still know how to work a room.
Sigur Rós at Jacobs Music Center was the most complicated concert experience of my year, not because it lacked beauty, but because it raised a question I couldn’t shake. The hall itself, newly renovated and acoustically stunning, felt like the main character before the first note. The music was immaculate, the orchestra was lush, and the audience reverence was real. Yet there was a distance to it all, a perfection that sometimes felt like watching emotion through glass. It was still a memorable night, and Jacobs absolutely proved itself as a world class room, but it also clarified my own taste: I want beauty, yes, but I also want a little grit, a little immediacy, a little human mess that reminds you it’s live.
Bill Murray and His Blood Brothers at The Sound might be the funniest example of that human mess turning into magic. It started as a novelty, a “what are we watching” kind of curiosity. Then it became sincere. The band was legitimately great, and Murray, once he settled in, found a strange, soulful gear that won the room over. It was a reminder that sometimes the best nights are the ones you can’t explain cleanly afterward, the ones that work because they shouldn’t.
What stood out most wasn’t the volume of shows, but the range. Classical symphonies, hip hop legends, indie acts, arena pop, experimental theater, Broadway blockbusters, and even music stumbled upon accidentally in bars, parks and even airports. One June weekend alone captured the entire spectrum: a Mainly Mozart symphony on Friday, Wu Tang Clan on Saturday, and Alabama closing out the Temecula Wine and Balloon Festival on Sunday. Each experience sharpened my instincts and clarified what works, what doesn’t, and why.
Below is the full chronological record of every concert and play I attended in 2025. It’s part personal archive, part cultural ledger, and part proof of concept. This is what it looks like to take culture seriously, not as background noise, but as something worth documenting, questioning, and sharing.
2025 Concerts
January 10 – San Diego Symphony performing Camille Saint-Saëns’ Violin Concerto No. 3 at Jacobs Music Center
February 28 – Dan Soder at Balboa Theatre
March 27 – AWOLNATION at House of Blues San Diego
May 9 – Elton John at Petco Park
May 16 – Hermanos Gutiérrez at The Sound
May 17–18 – Wonderfront Festival where we saw Four Non Blondes, Khruangbin, Neon Trees, Portugal. The Man, Foster the People, Anderson .Paak, Jason Mraz, Gary Clark Jr., La Lom, The Fray, and Donavon Frankenreiter along the San Diego waterfront Embarcadero North
May 23 – Randy Houser Live Booze Cruise on City Cruises
May 25 – KALEO at House of Blues Anaheim
May 29 – HAUSER at The Rady Shell
June 5 – Ludacris at The Rady Shell
June 11 – Collective Soul and LIVE at the San Diego County Fair
June 20 – Mainly Mozart Orchestra at The Conrad in La Jolla
June 21 – Wu-Tang Clan at Pechanga Arena
June 22 – Temecula Wine & Balloon Festival featuring Wyatt Flores, Jamey Johnson, and Alabama
July 24 – Fitz and the Tantrums at Humphreys Concerts by the Bay
July 29 – Beck & San Diego Symphony at The Rady Shell
August 2 – Primus at Cal Coast Credit Union Open Air Theatre
August 6 – Creed at North Island Credit Union Amphitheatre
August 13 – Todd Rundgren and Heart at Pechanga Arena
August 17 – Cynthia Erivo at The Rady Shell
August 22 – Dave Matthews Band at The Forum in Inglewood
August 24 – Trampled by Turtles and Shakey Graves at The Sound in Del Mar
August 25 – Mt. Joy at The Rady Shell
September 4 – X Ambassadors at House of Blues San Diego
September 16 – KALEO at Archer Music Hall in Allentown, Pennsylvania
September 17 – Marcin at Irving Plaza in New York City
September 22 – Xavier Rudd at Palau de la Música Catalana in Barcelona, Spain
October 16 – Bill Murray and His Blood Brothers at The Sound in Del Mar
January 10 – San Diego Symphony performing Camille Saint-Saëns’ Violin Concerto No. 3 at Jacobs Music Center
February 28 – Dan Soder at Balboa Theatre
March 27 – AWOLNATION at House of Blues San Diego
May 9 – Elton John at Petco Park
May 16 – Hermanos Gutiérrez at The Sound
May 17–18 – Wonderfront Festival where we saw Four Non Blondes, Khruangbin, Neon Trees, Portugal. The Man, Foster the People, Anderson .Paak, Jason Mraz, Gary Clark Jr., La Lom, The Fray, and Donavon Frankenreiter along the San Diego waterfront Embarcadero North
May 23 – Randy Houser Live Booze Cruise on City Cruises
May 25 – KALEO at House of Blues Anaheim
May 29 – HAUSER at The Rady Shell
June 5 – Ludacris at The Rady Shell
June 11 – Collective Soul and LIVE at the San Diego County Fair
June 20 – Mainly Mozart Orchestra at The Conrad in La Jolla
June 21 – Wu-Tang Clan at Pechanga Arena
June 22 – Temecula Wine & Balloon Festival featuring Wyatt Flores, Jamey Johnson, and Alabama
July 24 – Fitz and the Tantrums at Humphreys Concerts by the Bay
July 29 – Beck & San Diego Symphony at The Rady Shell
August 2 – Primus at Cal Coast Credit Union Open Air Theatre
August 6 – Creed at North Island Credit Union Amphitheatre
August 13 – Todd Rundgren and Heart at Pechanga Arena
August 17 – Cynthia Erivo at The Rady Shell
August 22 – Dave Matthews Band at The Forum in Inglewood
August 24 – Trampled by Turtles and Shakey Graves at The Sound in Del Mar
August 25 – Mt. Joy at The Rady Shell
September 4 – X Ambassadors at House of Blues San Diego
September 16 – KALEO at Archer Music Hall in Allentown, Pennsylvania
September 17 – Marcin at Irving Plaza in New York City
September 22 – Xavier Rudd at Palau de la Música Catalana in Barcelona, Spain
October 16 – Bill Murray and His Blood Brothers at The Sound in Del Mar
October 17 – Slander at The Rady Shell
October 23 – Twenty One Pilots at North Island Credit Union Amphitheatre
October 24 – The Revivalists at The Sound in Del Mar
October 30 – Matt Maeson at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville
November 2 – Sigur Rós at Jacobs Music Center
November 16 – Mainly Mozart at Fairbanks Ranch Country Club
November 16 – Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo with Bryan Adams at Viejas Arena
December 3 – Louis C.K. at San Diego Civic Theatre
December 14 – The Holiday in Concert with the San Diego Symphony at Jacobs Music Center
2025 Plays and Musical Theatre
February 6 – Wicked at San Diego Civic Theatre
March 16 – Moulin Rouge! in Paris, France
March 28 – Ain’t Too Proud at San Diego Civic Theatre
April 12 – Shen Yun at San Diego Civic Theatre
May 7 – Hamilton at San Diego Civic Theatre
May 28 – A Beautiful Noise at San Diego Civic Theatre
June 12 – The Book of Mormon at San Diego Civic Theatre
June 25 – Moulin Rouge! at San Diego Civic Theatre
July 20 – & Juliet at Stephen Sondheim Theatre on Broadway in New York City
August 12 – Shucked at San Diego Civic Theatre
October 15 – & Juliet at San Diego Civic Theatre
October 25 – Little Shop of Horrors at Point Loma Playhouse
December 17 – The Rockettes Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall in New York City
December 30 – SIX at San Diego Civic Theatre
This year wasn’t about chasing clout or checking boxes. It was about showing up, listening closely, and learning the difference between spectacle and substance. If 2025 was the apprenticeship, the reporting starts now. Stay tuned.
Originally published on January 7, 2026.
