Tate McRae
CHI Health Center, Omaha, Nebraska
Miss Possessive Tour
October 9, 2025
When style outshines substance, the result looks great on TikTok and nowhere else.
Tate McRae rolled into Omaha this week with a show that promised popstar spectacle and delivered it, technically. The problem? It felt like watching a very expensive music video on mute. Tate McRae’s Omaha stop was the kind of show that looks amazing in photos; lasers, dancers, fog, and a pop star in full control of the spotlight. Unfortunately, it was also the kind of show that felt better on Instagram than it did in real life.
From the moment the lights hit and McRae strutted out in a haze of fog and backup dancers, the production screamed “big budget.” Unfortunately, the performance whispered “rehearsal.” Every step, every hair flip, every perfectly timed smirk felt choreographed down to the millisecond and not in a good way. There’s a difference between polished and robotic, and this show lived squarely in the latter. From the jump, McRae delivered every move with military precision. The choreography was tight, the visuals were flawless, and yet… there wasn’t much soul behind it. For all the talk about her being pop’s next big thing, this concert played more like an overproduced rehearsal. It was technically impressive, yet emotionally vacant.
“It looked like a pop concert, sounded like one, but somehow felt like nothing at all.”
The setlist leaned on her hits (“you broke me first,” “greedy,” “exes”) — songs that sound massive on streaming but landed flat in the cavernous CHI Health Center. McRae’s voice, when you could actually hear it over the backing tracks, was fine. Not thrilling, not terrible, just fine. A few big notes hinted at what she could do live if she wasn’t constantly dancing for her life. But most of the time, it felt like she was lip-syncing for cardio. Between songs, she tried to engage the crowd or at least read the required fan-service script. “Omaha, you guys are CRAZY!” she yelled, to an audience that mostly… wasn’t. It’s not that the crowd wasn’t supportive; they were just waiting for something real to happen.
Her other hits, “Sports car,” “TIT FOR TAT,” came and went without much variation. The sound mix didn’t help; backing tracks more often then not drowned out her vocals, leaving the audience to wonder how much was live. A few fans up front didn’t seem to care, phones out capturing every flick of her hair, but the rest of the arena looked… politely amused.
Visually, it was all there: sharp lights, flawless dancers, endless smoke effects. But after a while, it all blurred together like an endless TikTok loop of the same moves and poses, recycled until the finale. The pacing dragged, the energy never built, and by the end, even the front row looked a little tired of pretending to scream. The saddest part? McRae has the talent. She’s charismatic in interviews, clearly ambitious, and can write a solid hook. But in Omaha, that spark got buried under layers of production gloss. The result was a performance that looked like a pop concert, sounded like one, but somehow felt like nothing at all. Even McRae’s attempts at crowd interaction fell flat. “Omaha, you guys are insane!” she shouted, to a crowd that was, at best, mildly caffeinated. It was the kind of scripted popstar banter that feels less spontaneous and more like a stage direction.
“McRae has the moves, the hits, and the look — now she just needs a pulse.”
Visually, the production couldn’t be faulted, it was slick, saturated, and undeniably professional. But without emotional range or genuine connection, the constant spectacle became numbing. After a while, one dance break blended into another, until the whole show felt like an endless loop of the same song and lighting cue.
By the end of the set, some of the crowd had already started trickling out, maybe to beat traffic, maybe to chase a performance that never really materialized. Tate McRae is a talented performer, no question. If Tate wants to ascend to pop’s top tier, she’ll need to loosen her grip, and maybe her choreography, long enough to remind people there’s an actual human behind all the LED screens. But in Omaha, her show was all frosting, no cake, an aesthetic triumph that left a surprisingly bland aftertaste.
