Bad Bunny Headlines Halftime—Music’s Biggest Names Clash at the Big Game

Mia Reynolds, 12/5/2025Join the electrifying Super Bowl weekend as music and sports collide! From Bad Bunny's groundbreaking halftime show to intimate performances by Post Malone and Fall Out Boy, this year’s celebration showcases cultural diversity and unity through rhythm and melody, blurring the lines of tradition and reinvention.

Anyone glancing over the schedule won’t have trouble finding a reason to tune in (or wander out, depending on proximity to the Bay). There’s Post Malone, for one—honestly, he treats the Bud Light stage less like a venue and more like the backyard barbecue everyone wishes they’d been invited to. He’s already hinted at surprises in store for 2025, effortlessly setting the tone with his usual mix of laidback flair and unpredictable energy. One could say he’s got that rare knack for making a crowd feel like it’s part of an inside joke.

Elsewhere, Fall Out Boy rolls up to San Francisco’s Regency Ballroom, apparently determined to make nostalgia cool again. Their music is still, somehow, as punchy as it was when fans first learned the words to “Sugar, We’re Goin Down”—and you can’t help but wonder if there’s a more fitting soundtrack for a room full of people who’ve clung to both punk rock and hope through a couple of decades. The band’s own words—about a “different kind of energy” before a major sports weekend—hit close to home. There’s something electrifying about a more intimate setting, the kind that sidesteps spectacle and lands somewhere between catharsis and community.

The local pride turns up a notch with Kehlani’s headlining slot at San Jose City Hall. That performance—anchored in R&B’s moody, confessional sweetness—feels like a necessary quiet in the storm, a chance to reflect before the main event jangles everyone’s nerves. There’s a rhythm to these lineups, almost as if someone’s threading together a playlist built for every kind of listener: stadium anthems meet smoky slow jams, reminiscing bumping up against right-this-moment beats.

And while nobody’s likely to overlook the blockbuster pairing of T-Pain and Sean Paul at the R&B and Ribs series near the pier, it wouldn’t be a Super Bowl weekend without a set or two designed purely to bring people to their feet—possibly to relive high school prom, but more likely, to sweat through a few well-worn favorites. Hardly a better way to remind everyone that music, like sport, relies on bodies in motion and hearts in sync.

Of course, all roads lead to that halftime spectacle—always controversial, rarely boring, and, at its best, a miniature cultural mirror. This year belongs to Bad Bunny. There’s something quietly subversive about seeing an artist who’s radically claimed space for reggaeton and Latin trap on the biggest global stage. His public statement—paying tribute to those who ran before him, declaring the moment for “my people, my culture, our history”—hits all the right notes. For many, this isn’t just another intermission, but a validation; a joy, really, that sidesteps politics and lands right on the pulse of shifting American pop consciousness. It’s not every year that abuelas and teenagers might be texting about the same show.

Even NFL commissioner Roger Goodell seems braced for blowback, noting there’s “never been an artist picked without criticism.” Maybe that’s as much a rite of passage as kickoff itself—or maybe, in 2025, this thread of unity is something people have been a bit starved for.

But there’s more to the tapestry. In the lead-up to the big game, Charlie Puth’s set to give the national anthem his signature, slightly aching twist. Will it draw tears? Puth’s got a reputation for turning three minutes into an emotional event. Brandi Carlile will inject “America the Beautiful” with her brand of honesty—a voice that’s felt as much as it’s heard. And Coco Jones, tasked with “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” feels like the kind of choice that’s both deliberate and overdue. Each act is a little nod to the broad, sometimes messy, always surprising patchwork of American life.

Zooming out, the whole event reads more like a love letter to collective experience than any single genre or anthem. There’s a sense—the kind that lingers well after the last confetti drop—that the boundaries between audience and performer, tradition and reinvention, are dissolving. Maybe it is still, technically, about the game. But who’s keeping score? Music weaves through the weekend like a thread through fabric—pulling together strangers over ribs, rallying lifelong fans in unison, and, every now and then, pressing pause on the world outside.

Looking ahead, if 2025’s approach to Super Bowl entertainment is any indicator, the division between the game and the show has all but vanished. What’s left is an unpredictable, electric celebration of culture in all its evolving forms—loud, layered, and, if we’re lucky, a bit unruly. Sometimes, watching all these moving parts, it’s hard not to wonder whether music has become the most honest scoreboard of all.

There’s a special sort of buzz that only crops up when the rhythms of music and roar of sport start mingling—this year’s Super Bowl weekend seems set to take that spark and run with it. Not just on the field either. On the streets, in the clubs, wherever the sound check lights flicker. Frankly, it’s difficult to recall another recent year where the entertainment rolled out as sprawling and genre-defiant.Anyone glancing over the schedule won’t have trouble finding a reason to tune in (or wander out, depending on proximity to the Bay). There’s Post Malone, for one—honestly, he treats the Bud Light stage less like a venue and more like the backyard barbecue everyone wishes they’d been invited to. He’s already hinted at surprises in store for 2025, effortlessly setting the tone with his usual mix of laidback flair and unpredictable energy. One could say he’s got that rare knack for making a crowd feel like it’s part of an inside joke.Elsewhere, Fall Out Boy rolls up to San Francisco’s Regency Ballroom, apparently determined to make nostalgia cool again. Their music is still, somehow, as punchy as it was when fans first learned the words to “Sugar, We’re Goin Down”—and you can’t help but wonder if there’s a more fitting soundtrack for a room full of people who’ve clung to both punk rock and hope through a couple of decades. The band’s own words—about a “different kind of energy” before a major sports weekend—hit close to home. There’s something electrifying about a more intimate setting, the kind that sidesteps spectacle and lands somewhere between catharsis and community.The local pride turns up a notch with Kehlani’s headlining slot at San Jose City Hall. That performance—anchored in R&B’s moody, confessional sweetness—feels like a necessary quiet in the storm, a chance to reflect before the main event jangles everyone’s nerves. There’s a rhythm to these lineups, almost as if someone’s threading together a playlist built for every kind of listener: stadium anthems meet smoky slow jams, reminiscing bumping up against right-this-moment beats.And while nobody’s likely to overlook the blockbuster pairing of T-Pain and Sean Paul at the R&B and Ribs series near the pier, it wouldn’t be a Super Bowl weekend without a set or two designed purely to bring people to their feet—possibly to relive high school prom, but more likely, to sweat through a few well-worn favorites. Hardly a better way to remind everyone that music, like sport, relies on bodies in motion and hearts in sync.Of course, all roads lead to that halftime spectacle—always controversial, rarely boring, and, at its best, a miniature cultural mirror. This year belongs to Bad Bunny. There’s something quietly subversive about seeing an artist who’s radically claimed space for reggaeton and Latin trap on the biggest global stage. His public statement—paying tribute to those who ran before him, declaring the moment for “my people, my culture, our history”—hits all the right notes. For many, this isn’t just another intermission, but a validation; a joy, really, that sidesteps politics and lands right on the pulse of shifting American pop consciousness. It’s not every year that abuelas and teenagers might be texting about the same show.Even NFL commissioner Roger Goodell seems braced for blowback, noting there’s “never been an artist picked without criticism.” Maybe that’s as much a rite of passage as kickoff itself—or maybe, in 2025, this thread of unity is something people have been a bit starved for.But there’s more to the tapestry. In the lead-up to the big game, Charlie Puth’s set to give the national anthem his signature, slightly aching twist. Will it draw tears? Puth’s got a reputation for turning three minutes into an emotional event. Brandi Carlile will inject “America the Beautiful” with her brand of honesty—a voice that’s felt as much as it’s heard. And Coco Jones, tasked with “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” feels like the kind of choice that’s both deliberate and overdue. Each act is a little nod to the broad, sometimes messy, always surprising patchwork of American life.Zooming out, the whole event reads more like a love letter to collective experience than any single genre or anthem. There’s a sense—the kind that lingers well after the last confetti drop—that the boundaries between audience and performer, tradition and reinvention, are dissolving. Maybe it is still, technically, about the game. But who’s keeping score? Music weaves through the weekend like a thread through fabric—pulling together strangers over ribs, rallying lifelong fans in unison, and, every now and then, pressing pause on the world outside.Looking ahead, if 2025’s approach to Super Bowl entertainment is any indicator, the division between the game and the show has all but vanished. What’s left is an unpredictable, electric celebration of culture in all its evolving forms—loud, layered, and, if we’re lucky, a bit unruly. Sometimes, watching all these moving parts, it’s hard not to wonder whether music has become the most honest scoreboard of all.