Review | Omar Apollo Raptures His Audience at the Santa Barbara Bowl

Omar Apollo led his crowd in worship at the Santa Barbara Bowl on Tuesday, October 8. Over the course of a sensual setlist, he preached his sonic religion to a more than receptive audience.

It was the third to last show in his God Said No world tour, and Apollo did not miss a beat. Appearing on stage in a cloud of fog, the 27-year-old singer resembled an angel, with a voice to match. He slipped off the large, fuzzy coat as seen on his God Said No album cover, revealing an all-white ensemble with “Apollo” and a cross printed on his back.

Then the lights hit, like a flash bang. From my seat, it was blinding. Was I being raptured? If so, my fellow attendees and I were ready to follow this prophet to the heavens.

Underneath the residual fog and strobe lights, Apollo — a professional dancer before he was a singer — and his backup dancers launched into an insanely well-choreographed routine that set the high-octane mood for the night.

His first song, “Be Careful With Me,” featured soft textures and a lyrical declaration of vulnerability, punctuated with a bass drum synced to the performers’ movements. After the song’s final, riff-sticky guitar solo fully sputtered out, the stage went dark.

Moments later, Apollo re-appeared under a single spotlight with his Fender in hand, singing the beginning verse of the heart-wrenching “Useless”: “Cause I’m useless when you’re stuck in my mind/I’ve been foolish, think of you all the time.”

Much of the Grammy-nominated singer’s discography features similarly cynical storytelling, especially tracks from God Said No. But a careful listen reveals a palpable sincerity, demonstrating his ability to translate his pain into writing. Still, those contemplative lyrics are delivered by such sweet melodies they are sure to give listeners a toothache.

“I am so grateful,” he told the crowd, who responded with a roar of cheers. “This album changed me in a lot of ways. We’re in this bitch making music, making art, and putting it out in the world.”

If I had to describe Apollo, it would be as the flamboyant, Mexican love-child of Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson. His suave vocal trills and fills, and sometimes blues-inspired sound, invoked Presley, while his movement — full of pops, locks, twirls, and hip thrusts — and 80s-pop-reminiscent tracks, reminded me of Jackson. His early comparisons to other pop legends Frank Ocean and Prince also shone through during his show.

But make no mistake: this artist is cut from his own musical cloth.

Apollo’s songs are a simultaneous reincarnation of the past, ode to the present, and prophecy of the future. His voice praises, seduces, avows, breaks, dips, builds, melts, and calls out to God. It could make angels cry — or, at least, the girls sitting in the row behind me.

The accompanying, liquid melodies rippled and flowed, matching the shadows and lights that often danced across the stage and its curtain like the reflective surface of a lake at night.

It was a mixture of soft and hard, aggressive and gentle. It was subtly autotuned and energetically authentic. He moved between high-pitched heartbreak ballads — like the candid, love-struck “Dispose of Me” — and deep, explosive, intimate testimonies — like the direct, sexually explicit “Tamagotchi.”

All in all, Apollo delivered a perfect, two-hour embodiment of his musical repertoire: Blending together funk, soul, pop, and blues, while often paying tribute to his roots with a mix of English and Spanish lyrics and traditional Mexican mariachi corridos. At one point in his set, he even had the crowd participate in a grito competition, belting out their best laugh-cry shouts like true mariachis.

This cross-genre, cross-era sonic display and lustful performance culminated into a gripping romance between Apollo, his backup dancers, his band, and the Bowl. His presence was addictive. And the production was incredible — as though I was watching a live music video.

After holding his audience’s hand through his tender-turned-angry 2024 single “Evergreen,” there was a supernova of light and sound, which exploded into silent darkness … only for Apollo to come out a minute later for one more song. It was a second coming of intoxicating proportions.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m drunk,” he told us.

No one could tell.

P.S. I’d be remiss if I didn’t give a nod to the show’s lively opener, Kevin Abstract, best known for leading the boy band Brockhampton. Through his enthusiastic crowd work and mix of nostalgic renditions of Brockhampton hits and his newer, solo tracks, he had the audience barking — literally. At one point, he warned: “I won’t play the next song unless everyone in this bitch barks.” And bark they did.