The After Hours Til Dawn Tour rolled into Nashville under skies that threatened to drench the night. For hours, I’d been glued to the weather updates, praying for the clouds to hold back. Somehow, they did — as if the magic of The Weeknd himself swept them away.
It had been months of anticipation. I don’t think I’ve ever waited for a Tuesday like I did for this one. The minute work ended, I joined the stream of fans flooding toward Nissan Stadium — black outfits, shimmering metallics, leather jackets, and sequins everywhere. You could hear the stadium from blocks away, a roar that was equal parts excitement and disbelief.
The night opened with legendary producer Mike Dean, whose career includes work with Kanye West, Travis Scott, and Beyoncé — his synth-heavy, hypnotic instrumentals easing the crowd into the night. Then Playboi Carti took his turn, the Atlanta rapper whose Die Lit and Whole Lotta Red turned him into a cult icon, firing up the crowd with his trademark chaotic energy before disappearing into the shadows.
And then… the stage shifted.
A wave of red figures glided forward, their cloaks pooling at their feet, faces hidden behind masks — a scene straight out of a dystopian dream. From their center emerged Abel Tesfaye, masked and robed in black and gold. The opening notes of The Abyss cut through the air, and the place erupted.
Halfway through, Abel removed his mask, smiling through tears. “This might be the craziest show on the entire tour… I’m never skipping Nashville again.” He promised “a lot more tours” despite plans to retire The Weeknd moniker, and the crowd’s roar felt like it could shake the stadium itself.
He didn’t walk this journey alone. Playboi Carti returned for a high-voltage duet, and later Abel pulled a fan from the crowd to sing with him — a moment so pure the entire stadium cheered for her like she was family.
Personally, I can’t pick a “highlight” because the entire night was one. Every track hit like a first kiss — sudden, electric, unforgettable. The cloaked dancers floated across the stage like ghostly sirens, their synchronized moves as mesmerizing as the music.
The encore exploded with Moth to a Flame, fireworks and flames painting the night sky, every voice in the stadium screaming the words back to him. Around me, strangers hugged, friends jumped in circles, couples swayed. It felt less like a concert and more like a shared fever dream we never wanted to end.
If this really is the final tour under The Weeknd name, Nashville gave him a send-off worthy of his legend. And if Abel Tesfaye keeps his word to return, the city will be here — louder, brighter, and ready to do it all again.
