I Went to Puerto Rico for Bad Bunny’s DeBí TiRAR Más FOToS Show (& It Was More Moving Than Expected)

Before we get into the show, let me paint you a picture. I arrived at the Coliseo José Miguel Agrelot a few hours before the concert’s start time. When I saw crowds surrounding the building, I thought people just wanted a good spot in line. But as it turns out, they were all there for a huge pre-show party, which was set up in the parking lot like a food or music festival.

There were *tons* of vendors, including an adorable blue casita where you could get cocktails spiked with Don Q, one of the island’s preferred national rums, a photo booth complete with traditional straw pava hats that Bad Bunny has made famous worldwide and even a pop-up dance club that had an dauntingly long line to get in, even though you couldn’t see inside. (You could, however, hear the reggaeton blasting out the front door.) There was also a traditional Puerto Rican band, complete with live horns and dancers, to bring the crowd’s energy—and signature patriotism—even higher.

We also stopped for photos at the RITZ Salty Club activation. It may seem like a random pairing (maybe less so if you saw the brand’s Super Bowl commercial earlier this year), but RITZ is sponsoring Bad Bunny’s No Me Quiero Ir De Aquí residency, and the star has been a lifelong fan. Décor and signs encouraged concertgoers to put on their fiercest side-eyes and RBFs for photos, the slogan being “be salty.” Like Bad Bunny, countless other Latinos and I have been eating RITZ products for decades, and with plenty of RITZ Bits and Toasted Chips in my hotel room for post-cocktail noshing, I was all the more grateful for the nostalgic, buttery bounty.

Once we got inside, folks were buzzing with an electricity that quickly took over my senses. I’ve been a fan of Bad Bunny since his 2022 album Un Verano Sin Ti, although never a diehard. But I found my excitement growing tenfold just being part of the crowd. I’m biased, of course, but Latinos 1) know how to have a good time and 2) are famously warm and welcoming. With themed freebies, dozens upon dozens of food and drink vendors and an impressive spread of Puerto Rican fare in the RITZ suite I was hanging in before the show, it felt like a massive block party. Compared to American gigs, the vibes were super communal and wholesome, rather than “wow, I just paid $18 for a tall boy of Bud Lite, I need to tell my Instagram followers about this right now.”

After having my fill of shrimp ceviche, chicken chicharrones and every national fritura under the sun, it was time for the main event. The masses were chanting “Benito! Benito!” the instant the lights went down. He wasn’t the first to appear, but rather a dancer and a drummer. They talked some Puerto Rican history before a traditional rhythm swelled over the stage. In the background, there was a stunning mossy mountain, a scarlet-hued flamboyant tree (what a cute name for it, because it is) that’s iconic on the island and two white chairs, positioned just as they are on the DTMF album cover.

It was then that Bad Bunny made his reveal, kicking off the show with “ALAMBRE Púa.” The crowd kicked into gear, dancing and singing along to every word. I clocked how present and invested everyone seemed compared to folks at some American shows I’ve been to; this was a major event for everyone there, and of even more significance to every Puerto Rican. I also clocked a vendor walking the aisles with a tray of piña coladas, because of course.

Soon after, “El Apagón” was played, everyone proudly chanting “Puerto Rico está bien cabrón,” which can mean either (or both) PR is awesome or PR is screwed, a nod to the paradox that many island residents experience. It was then that I fully realized how incredible the set was. There were screens on the ceiling that put a proper sky above the mountain, not to mention a foggy mist and over-the-top pyrotechnics (read: literal fireballs). After a few more tracks from albums old and new, a video played behind the stage, showing Puerto Rican filmmaker Jacobo Morales talking to Concho, a Puerto Rican toad (or sapo), holed up in a snowy cabin, longing for the warm caress of home. 

The cinematic intermission was followed by “WELTiTA,” for which Chuwi was there in person. Lead singer Lorén Aldarondo Torres delivered gut-busting belting IRL as she did on the album. After a few more hits from Un Verano Sin Tí and a throwback to “Ni Bien Ni Mal,” our attention shifted from the stage to a pink casita in the back of the arena, where Bad Bunny had rounded up lucky members from the crowd (and, um, Austin Butler?) to dance on the porch while he performed. The setlist also took a turn, converting it from a traditional concert to a full-on house party with hits like “Tití Me Preguntó,” “NUEVAYoL,” “Yo Perreo Sola” and “Me Porto Bonito.” The cameraman was working overtime, snagging shockingly sharp close-ups on every bouncing booty within reach.

It reminded me of the surprise concert he did back in 2022 on the roof of a Puerto Rican gas station. By having two sets with various heights and viewing points, everyone in the arena had the perfect seat at one point or another, which added to the communal feel and “for the people” energy of the show. There were countless times where Bad Bunny thanked the crowd for being the heart of the fiesta, which I think was driven home by the camera-shaped, light-up lanyards attendees received upon entering. They’d flash different colors at timed, opportune moments during the concert, quite literally making fans part of the show.

After the casita portion, Bad Bunny returned to the main stage in a sophisticated suit, a far cry from his beach attire that included slides and white tube socks. He was joined by LoS SOBRiNOS, a group of young musicians that absolutely slayed the final portion of the concert with their contagiously fun energy and top-notch talent. (You may recognize them from Bad Bunny’s Tiny Desk Concert.) They did a speedy, salsa-fied version of “Callaíta” that, IMO, blew the original away. As much as the attendees loved throwing a** to the clubby songs earlier in the night, this is when the crowd truly peaked. Friends were gleefully grinding on each other against the banisters that separated their seats. Couples managed to expertly salsa within a 10-inch space between them, and with drinks in hand, no less.

It took about five seconds of watching one pareja to my right before I teared up. Sure, there’s a personal element—I’m a notoriously bad dancer who loves Latin music, and I’ve always wished I could get down with my people in our most natural state—but it’d finally hit me how unified the experience felt. This was epitomized by Bad Bunny eventually picking up a camera off the stage floor and turning it around on the crowd, snapping selfies and photos from a live feed as a clever nod to the album’s name and overall message: Be in the moment.

It hit me like a truck—why am I crying at the reggaeton show rn?! I thought back to my Uber drivers on the trip, all of whom asked if I was going to the show. There was a tattoo shop near my hotel that had Bad Bunny flash sheets up for grabs, and you could hear storefronts (and the pool DJ) blaring his music across the city. Bad Bunny himself was wearing the same Adidas sneakers that I saw dozens of fans wearing at the venue. It really felt like the whole island was celebrating his return, rejoicing in the newly ignited global fame and recognition of their patria.

After a triumphant three-hour performance, which ended with a monumental, horn-filled take on “BAILE InoLVIDABLE,” everyone headed for the parking lot, high on percussion and raspy from singing along. One person in the hoard shouted “yo soy Boricua,” (“I am Puerto Rican”) to which every single person gleefully boomed with the utmost gusto, “pa’ que tú lo sepas!” (“so that you know!”)

Call me an empath, but in that moment, I once again found myself overwhelmed by the seamless bond between everyone and the island, including the celebrity that brought them together.