Chance the Rapper blends melody and message at the Masonic 

There’s something about hearing “Summer Friends” live that takes you right back to a distant era. For me, that time is middle school — headphones in, feeling like I understood the world just a little better because Chance the Rapper said something soft and true over a beat that felt like home. So when he started playing it midway through his San Francisco show at the Masonic, that same feeling rushed back: warmth, nostalgia and the quiet realization that this music still holds up. But this wasn’t just a night of old favorites; it was a reminder of how far Chance has come and how much he still has to say.

The evening opened with a trio of independent artists, all of whom brought their own flavor. Taylor Bennett, Chance’s younger brother, set the tone early with melodic confidence — delivering the same Chicago soul as Chance, just a little more subdued. Bay Area’s own LaRussell brought a reflective  energy to the Masonic, as the self-made rapper earned loud cheers from the crowd — reminding onlookers what it means to build something from the ground up. Then came DJ Oreo, whose set was a mix of chaotic fun and pure charisma. His transitions weren’t always smooth, but his spirit made up for it. Together, they made the openers feel intentional. Every act on that stage felt distinctly independent in their artistry, fitting for a night headlined by the first independent artist to ever win a Grammy award.

When Chance finally appeared, no grand intro, just that signature grin, the energy in the room shifted instantly. He kicked things off with “Star Side Intro,” “Ride” and “Tree,” easing into the set before letting the nostalgia roll in full force. By the time he got to “Pretty” and “All Night,” the crowd was already shouting back every lyric. And when “No Problem” dropped — paired with a costume change and the return of his iconic “3” hat — the Masonic lit up like it was 2016 again.

Still, this version of Chance felt older, more grounded, maybe even more deliberate. He took time between songs to talk, not to fill space, but to say something real. Before “Gun In Yo Purse,” he spoke about the role of women, especially Black women, in building and sustaining the world we live in. Later, during “The Negro Problem,” he created one of the night’s most powerful moments by expanding his lyrical  message — “My problem is your problem / Your problem is my problem” — outwards. He talked about ICE operating in his hometown of Chicago, how the agency’s forceful tactics don’t just create an issue for immigrants, but humanity as a whole. It wasn’t a lecture; it was a call to consciousness that lingered long after the bass faded.

The setlist moved seamlessly between eras: “Blessings,” “Juke Jam,” “I’m the One,” “Same Drugs,” “Cocoa Butter Kisses.” Songs that defined Chance’s  early sound still carried weight, maybe even more now that both he and his listeners have grown up a little. “Sunday Candy” turned the whole venue into a choir, a communal celebration that felt like both homecoming and church service. By the time he closed with “Speed of Love,” the room had softened. The joy was still there, but it had deepened — less about hype, more about connection. 

Chance’s San Francisco show wove together nostalgia and political messaging. It was the sound of an artist still balancing light and truth, joy and justice, melody and message. And walking out into the cool night air, I kept thinking about that line: “My problem is your problem.” In a world that feels increasingly divided, Chance’s show reminded us that music, at its best, can be a bridge. And that sometimes, joy itself can be a form of protest.

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