Traffic may have stolen Playboi Carti’s opening set from us, but the energy radiating from inside Hard Rock Stadium made it clear the night was only just beginning. As soon as we walked in, it was impossible to ignore the vibe: blacked-out fits, sleek accessories, and a confident attitude that felt unmistakably Weeknd-coded. The crowd looked like an extension of Abel Tesfaye’s world — sensual, stylish and ready to surrender to the night.
The stage was a spectacle. A sprawling, cross-shaped platform cut the floor into four parts, giving Abel access to every corner of the stadium.
At its center towered a gleaming, 24-foot chrome “Sexy Robot,” a futuristic sentinel that anchored the night’s visual storytelling. Behind it all loomed the apocalyptic skyline of a fallen city — a backdrop that felt equal parts dystopian and cinematic.
Abel emerged masked, pacing the cross stage like a prophet stepping into his own mythology. The slow reveal of his face — mask slipping away little by little — only sent the crowd into louder screams, each glimpse met with a new wave of frenzy. “That’s a hot welcome,” he joked after wiping sweat from his face, but the smile said it all: Miami lit him up.
What followed was a seamless medley of era-defining tracks — “After Hours,” “Starboy” and “Heartless” — woven together so tightly the show felt like one continuous act rather than a stop-and-start setlist. The production matched the music beat for beat: hypnotic lights, surreal cityscapes and a restless energy that pulled fans deeper into the performance. The crowd itself was alive — dancing, jumping, screaming — as if the stadium was breathing with Abel.
Newer songs like “Take My Breath” and “How Do I Make You Love Me?” showcased his stage presence, soaring over pulsing visuals while he prowled every edge of the stage. Then came the classics that needed no introduction: “Can’t Feel My Face,” “Often,” and “The Hills.” Each drop sparked an explosion of sound, thousands of voices rapping and screaming as if these songs belonged to them as much as to him.
And then, the guests. Playboi Carti’s arrival sent the floor into chaos — bodies moving, voices cracking as he tore into “Timeless” and “RATHER LIE”. Just when the energy seemed at its peak, Future stormed the stage.
The second he dropped into “Low Life,” the stadium was jumping and more so when they revealed the track was recorded in Miami.
The set wasn’t without its softer touch. During “Out of Time,” Abel slowed his pace, walking stage-side to embrace a fan and sing with her — a quiet, disarming moment against the show’s colossal scale. Later, he teased the crowd: “Do you love me, Miami?” The response — a deafening, mostly female chorus of, “yes” — needed no second take.
By the time “Moth To A Flame” rang out, the show felt less like a concert and more like a fever dream of love, lust and release. The transitions were fluid, the visuals immersive, and the crowd’s devotion undeniable. From the towering robot to the post-apocalyptic skyline, every detail was designed to build a world — and for those few hours in Miami, it belonged to us.