On Tuesday, Nov. 19, Daryl Hall and Howard Jones transported the Ryman Auditorium back in time, filling its iconic walls with timeless melodies and stories that have shaped decades of music. Known for their ability to evoke nostalgia while still connecting with new audiences, the two artists came together for an unforgettable evening of soaring vocals and heartfelt lyrics. Performing at the ages of 78 and 69, good friends Hall and Jones, respectively, brought energy to the stage, proving that great music knows no age.
Looking around the historic Ryman Auditorium that night felt like stepping into the living, breathing version of songs my parents played on repeat — the ones I ended up adding to my own playlists. With the colliding elements of Jones’ synth-pop optimism and Hall’s soulful ballads, it was a night of harmony, timeless hits and several cowboy hats spinning in the back of the venue. Hall and Jones didn’t just perform; they pulled the audience into a world where music isn’t only heard — it’s felt.
Jones kicked things off with a bang. His black, glitter coat sparkled under the lights, but it was his energy that really lit up the room. From the first note, Jones had the crowd swaying side to side. “New Song” hit like sunshine on a summer day with its electrical beats and shakers, a perfect mix of jazz and rhythm that made it impossible not to smile. When he broke into “Life in One Day,” it was like he was speaking directly to me. As a college student constantly rushing to meet deadlines, it felt like a much-needed reminder to slow down and enjoy the moment. Watching him at the age of 69, radiating positivity and joy, felt like being handed permission to stop and to just be.
Then entered Hall, the man of countless Billboard chart hits. The wood of the Ryman’s pews seemed to hum in anticipation. As Hall stepped onto the stage, his presence filled the room, opening with a gritty rock vibe that hit me in the chest. The audience reciprocated instantly — whistles, cheers and even a few raised beer glasses set the scene.
Something inside me came alive when I heard the first notes of Hall’s classic “Sara Smile” in person. His performance was soulful and sweet, and suddenly the Ryman felt like a giant living room, intimate despite being filled with strangers.
When “You Make My Dreams Come True” started, even people with their cowboy hats in the back were up and dancing, spinning each other around like it was a honky-tonk party.
The highlight of Hall’s performance for me was “Everytime You Go Away,” a song about the emotional heartache and longing of separation from a loved one. It’s one of those songs that tugs at a missing piece of your heartstrings. Everyone in the room was singing along, swaying side to side in unison like one big community. By the time the final note hung in the air, the audience erupted in whoops and cheers. Everything about that moment was pure magic.
The intensity of the crowd’s energy only grew from there. By the end of the concert, nearly the entire room was on its feet.
“I love you, Daryl!” a fan shouted.
Whistles and cheers filled the space long after the stage went dark — but the magic wasn’t over. Jones came back out, and, together, he and Hall were two old friends jamming in perfect sync. Jones’ uplifting energy met Hall’s palpable soul, illuminating a nostalgic spirit and tranquility that felt both fantastical and unforgettable.
