On July 1, 2025, The Driver Era took the stage at The Pavilion at Toyota Music Factory in Irving, Texas. I spent the time before the show just watching people walk in. Everyone was either finding their seats, crowding toward the barricade, or running into friends they hadn’t seen in a while. And they were dressed for this. It wasn’t just casual concert merch. There were rhinestoned crop tops with lyrics drawn on in Sharpie, matching sets, cowboy boots, sunglasses even though it was nighttime. People had on tank tops with song references, handmade shirts with glitter glue still visible, and pieces you could tell they planned weeks in advance. It was obvious this crowd didn’t just show up, they came for the experience, and they came ready.
The opener was Valé, and she walked out to a half-full venue, but you wouldn’t have known it by the way the room reacted. The second she stepped onto that stage, the crowd was on their feet. It was like something in the air changed. The energy flipped from waiting to fully present. Even though not every seat was filled, the vibe made it feel like it was sold out. People were already dancing, clapping, singing along even if they didn’t know every word. Her set felt warm and alive. The lighting shifted through deep reds, purples, golds, all glowing behind her as she moved. And she didn’t just smile at the crowd, she really looked at people. She pointed out posters, waved at signs, laughed at a few of the more ridiculous hats. It didn’t feel like she was performing at us, it felt like she was just one of us, up there with a mic, having fun. And not every opener can pull that off.
Then came the part everyone had been holding their breath for. The Driver Era’s entrance was bold. A big white sheet dropped across the front of the stage, and all we could see were two silhouettes. The opening notes of “Touch” started behind the curtain, and you could just feel the crowd start to buzz. It was this electric kind of anticipation, like everyone was trying to be the first one to scream when the beat hit. And then, right on the final note of the song, the sheet dropped. The crowd absolutely lost it. People were screaming, jumping, grabbing their friends, pointing their phones toward the stage in full panic-mode excitement. Without missing a beat, they went right into “Better,” and it was like the crowd took that as permission to let go completely. Everyone was dancing, shouting every lyric, hands up trying to get Ross or Rocky to look their way. And honestly, it worked. The band kept locking eyes with people in the front row, waving, making hearts with their hands, smiling mid-verse. At one point, Ross leaned forward toward the barricade and just stayed there for a second, like he was trying to shrink the space between the band and the fans. That connection felt real. It didn’t feel like we were watching a band run through the motions, it felt like we were all experiencing the same thing at the same time. They were there with us, not just on stage.
And the energy? It never dropped. Not once. From “Touch” all the way through to the encore, the crowd didn’t let up. Even the slower songs didn’t feel like a break, they just created a different kind of high. It was less about jumping and more about swaying, singing softer, holding up your phone light, grabbing your best friend's hand. It was all part of the same flow. But there were two moments that cracked everything open: “Get Off My Phone” and “A Kiss.” When the first notes of “Get Off My Phone” hit, the screams got loud. Like, physically loud. You could feel it in your ribs. People were shouting every word with this kind of messy joy, like the song had been bottled up inside them for too long and now they finally got to let it out. And then “A Kiss” started, and somehow, the crowd had even more left to give. It was louder, more chaotic, more beautiful than anything before. People were crying and laughing and dancing at the same time.
By the end of the show, one thing was clear, this wasn’t about hitting the right notes or checking off a setlist. It wasn’t just about playing the fan favorites. It was about being fully, completely present. The Driver Era knew this crowd had shown up for them, and they showed up just as hard in return.
