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The parking lots pulsed with life as tailgate smoke and country drawls rose over humming radios. Irish melodies wove through “Something in the Orange” as strangers from Chicago to Grand Rapids shared coolers and laughter.
The sun was still climbing, it was barely noon. Before the concert even began, I wandered among students and families, seniors in cowboy boots tailgating beside alumni, all united by music. What stayed with me was not the jokes or outfits, but the spirit of camaraderie that fills Notre Dame when fans lock arms for the alma mater or students harmonize in the Basilica. In that moment, music did what it always does: bringing people closer. From the Joyce Lot to the steps of the Basilica, this music was cultivating the community that defines life at Notre Dame.
By 7 p.m., 80,000 people had filled Notre Dame Stadium to see three wildly different performers: Irish singer Dermot Kennedy, comedian Shane Gillis and headliner Zach Bryan. Each came bearing their own unique kind of storytelling and emotional depth. “Who here’s Irish?,” Dermot Kennedy asked with a grin as he stepped onto the stage in his signature all-black, hoodie-clad look. A cheer went up, not just from Irish students or visiting alums, but from thousands who had no direct ties to Ireland or Notre Dame, yet still felt moved by Kennedy’s words. In that moment, they were Irish too, drawn in by the sense of belonging that Notre Da me so naturally creates, a feeling deepened by music.
After this beautiful opening by Kennedy, a stroke of Irish luck brought me and my dear friend Jane Palmer backstage with none other than Dermot Kennedy. Palmer, an Irish native and co-president of Notre Dame’s Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA), immediately bonded with Dermot over their shared homeland and love for Gaelic football.
Jane later recalled; “I’ve been a fan of Dermot for years, and getting to meet him and hand him our GAA jersey was incredible. My friends and family back home couldn’t believe it — they were in awe and disbelief.”
As Kennedy closed his set with “Carrickfergus,” a song about longing for home and lost love, Palmer found herself unexpectedly moved.
“Being Irish in America, hearing that song about returning to the place you belong made the moment feel so full of meaning. My dad used to sing it to me when I was little, and hearing it live — it all just felt perfectly connected, like a piece of home had come across the Atlantic Ocean for three and a half minutes or so.”
What struck Palmer most was how Kennedy carried that connection into his work. “Dermot has done things like his Misneach festival—‘misneach’ means courage in Irish—in places like Sydney and Boston for the Irish diaspora. I think that same spirit of connecting Irish people wherever they are really resonated in that moment.”
She added, “There’s an old seanfhocal that says, ‘ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine’—‘we live in each other’s shadow’— meaning we thrive through community. That saying is written on the walls of the Notre Dame building in Dublin. This perfectly captures what it felt like that night: a little bit of home, incredible music, and fierce craic.”
The evening’s backstage magic didn’t end with Jane. Members of the Notre Dame women’s soccer team soon joined in, sharing highlights from their season and trading thoughts with Dermot about the unmistakable spirit of Irish athletics. Delaney Matriano, a senior on the squad, gave voice to the excitement, saying, “It was so awesome meeting an amazing artist who also shared a huge love for soccer. He was so kind and had a great energy about him; it was such an honor!”
As the meet-and-greet wrapped up, something small but significant caught our eye. Among the gifts and jerseys handed to Dermot, only one didn’t go to his manager: the GAA jersey. He slung it over his shoulder and walked away with it still in hand, a quiet but unmistakable nod to the pride he carries for where he comes from.
Then, the moment everyone had been waiting for: Zach Bryan entered the stage. Bryan didn’t say much at first, he just played. And we sang with him, thousands of voices belting lyrics like gospel.
From the opening chords of “Overtime” to the sunset-soaked strumming of “Pink Skies,” Bryan held the crowd in the palm of his hand. Between songs, he spoke with visible awe of how much it meant to perform at Notre Dame, a longtime dream of his. He even tweaked his lyrics to include “Notre Dame” and “South Bend,” drawing cheers that echoed across the stands.
Bryan’s unreleased track “Dry Deserts” gave fans a preview of his next album, while his 20-minute encore performance of “Revival” closed the night with pure energy.
But one of the most talked-about moments came in the middle of the set, when Dermot Kennedy returned to the stage for a surprise duet. The two artists, who became friends several years ago, stood side-by-side, one from Oklahoma, the other from Dublin. They shared a mic and a moment.
“For me, being able to experience a concert at the Notre Dame stadium was something both unexpected and unforgettable,” said sophomore Veronica Walkin. “The vibrancy of the Notre Dame community was in full effect, especially during the song ‘Revival’.” That same energy pulsed through the duet, "Hey Driver", a rare collaboration that felt less like a performance and more like a celebration of connection across backgrounds, rooted not just in music but in something tangible.
Zach Bryan offered the kind of emotional outpouring that felt both deeply personal and communal. It marked the stadium’s first concert since Billy Joel played in 2022, and the significance wasn’t lost on anyone.
Sophomore Norah Youssef echoed this sentiment, reflecting on how the evening stood out among her experiences at Notre Dame.
“I felt that this concert was one of the most beautiful experiences I’ve had in my time at Notre Dame so far,” Youssef said. “Being able to share in Zach Bryan’s amazing music with my friends and all of the people around me was so special, and I really felt like a part of something larger than myself. My friends and I were able to get to know the women sitting in front of us, who were Dermot Kennedy superfans. When he came out to sing ‘Hey Driver’ with Zach, we shared in their excitement, and it made the night even more fun. I am so grateful that the university gave the Notre Dame community this opportunity, and I hope that they continue to create memorable experiences like this concert.”
Music has always had a unique ability to bring people together, even when they come from vastly different walks of life. And that’s what happened here. But this time, it wasn’t on the football field or in the stands. It was something different. The sense of connection wasn’t driven by school spirit or competition, but by a shared emotional experience that only music could create.
As sophomore Stephen Perenich put it, “I felt an overwhelming sense of emotion as the Notre Dame student body was unified.”
Rather than shy away from the contrasts between genres, generations or even values, Notre Dame leaned into them. In doing so, we reminded ourselves that you don’t have to fit one mold to belong. There’s room on this stage, and in this stadium, for many voices, many stories and many songs.
Bryan built his audience by writing songs that felt lived-in and true. Dermot Kennedy reached hearts not by chasing trends, but by holding tight to his roots in poetry and classical music.
Each of them, in their own way, showed that music reminds us that belonging isn’t a place, it’s a feeling shared. And in a place like Notre Dame, where tradition runs deep, that kind of authenticity resonates. Because at its best, music doesn’t just entertain, it gathers. It creates common ground, even when we don’t all see the world the same way. In that stadium, as voices rose and rhythms pulsed, it wasn’t about differences. It was about the feeling of being part of something shared, fleeting, loud and truly unforgettable.
That night, music became more than entertainment. A shared experience that dissolved the boundaries between freshman and alum, athlete and artist. It didn’t flatten our differences; it held them in harmony. And in a world that so often fractures along every dividing line, that harmony felt holy.