kendrick lamar & sza: the grand national tour
On May 12th, I witnessed what might genuinely be the most unforgettable concert experience of my life. Kendrick Lamar and SZA’s Grand National Tour landed in Massachusetts—not Boston, technically, but Foxborough, which deserves a mention if only for the geographical betrayal. The show took place at Gillette Stadium, a venue I’d never stepped into before. The last stadium concert I attended was, fittingly, Kendrick’s Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers tour in Los Angeles. In a way, this show felt like a strange full-circle moment—like I was watching a version of myself grow up through sound.
DJ Mustard opened the night, and he was good—better than expected, honestly. He knew exactly what kind of energy to bring: loud, fast, unrelenting. At one point he played “Party in the U.S.A.” by Miley Cyrus, which was as chaotic as it was hilarious, and for some reason, it worked. The stadium was already buzzing by the time Kendrick and SZA took the stage.
The structure of the show was unexpectedly elegant. Rather than segmenting the night into two isolated sets, Kendrick and SZA alternated—each performing around five songs, then returning the spotlight to the other. It was rhythmic, generous. It didn’t feel like a co-headliner tour; it felt like two complete concerts stitched into one fluid event, with no sense of excess or exhaustion. It helped that the two of them have so many songs together that are culturally and personally loaded—“All the Stars,” of course, being the most spellbinding. That performance, under a sky of synchronized phone lights, was transcendent. People around me cried. I think I may have.
Visually, the show was stunning. Kendrick’s set for “Backseat Freestyle” was aggressive and glitchy in the best way—pure cinematic chaos. “Alright” felt like watching a stadium catch fire in real time, and not just because of the pyrotechnics. SZA’s lighting design leaned dreamlike, delicate, deeply curated. Every moment demanded attention. There was no time to check texts, or process. Thank god I grabbed a hot dog beforehand.
The only drawback? Post-show purgatory. Once the concert ended, we were marooned in the synthetic hellscape that is “Patriot Place.” Every restaurant closed. No public transit. Ubers were $200. We waited. Shivered. Lost hope. At 1 a.m., we gave in. That two-hour freeze-out may have been the price for touching divinity.
I’m writing this review after an accidental all-nighter, since I didn’t return to my dorm until the early hours of the morning. It’s possible I’m still vibrating. Or hallucinating. But if it wasn’t real, don’t tell me.
Photos below. No filter necessary.
