Jessie Murph // World Wide Hysteria Tour at Leader Bank Pavilion
Jessie Murph turned Boston’s waterfront into a confession booth on August 28th, delivering a lean, high-impact set that proved why her rise has been so swift. Touring behind Sex Hysteria, she’s built a show that fuses pop, trap, and a streak of country grit then frames it with choreography and slick visuals that punch up the drama rather than distract from it. Apple Music’s preview promised “dancers and stunts” and Boston got exactly that energy: a performer moving with precision while singing like she’s telling you a secret you’re not supposed to hear.
Rapper-singer Jorjiana opened and did more than warm the room, she set a tone. Confident and melodic, her set felt like a baton pass rather than a preamble, and the crowd treated it that way.
Murph’s pacing was sharp from the jump. Early entries like “Gucci Mane” and “1965” hit fast and clean, collapsing the space between streaming favorites and live-show singalongs. She slid into “Touch Me Like a Gangster,” then stitched older material (“While You’re at It,” “Drunk in the Bathtub”) to the new record without breaking momentum. Which is an arrangement that’s been consistent on this tour and works because it mirrors her catalog: messy feelings, tidy hooks.
Mid-set, the mood tilted darker. “Heroin” and “It Ain’t Right” landed like throat-punches, her voice cutting through sub-heavy production as LED panels flashed moody, saturated color instead of the usual pop-neon optimism. It’s where Murph is most compelling live: when the production holds a pose and the lyric has to carry the room. From there, the set widened back out. “Bad as the Rest,” “Sip,” and “How Could You” loosening shoulders before she aimed straight at the heart again with “Cowboys and Angels.” If you followed the tour setlists, Boston tracked closely to the run’s backbone while still feeling spontaneous at the edges.
Crowd energy never dipped. The Pavilion can sometimes swallow intimacy, but Murph worked the apron, locked eyes with the pit, and let the back half bloom into a cathartic, everybody-sings finale. “Son of a Bitch” and “Best Behavior” were built for that moment; phones were up, voices were loud, and the beat drops felt bigger under the harbor breeze. A punchy sprint through closers like “Couldn’t Be Worse” and “Blue Strips” sealed it—twenty-something songs in under ninety minutes, no bloat, no dead air.
Bottom line: Jessie Murph didn’t just scale up to an amphitheater. She owned the format. The show is choreographed without feeling canned, glossy without sanding down the rawness that made her blow up in the first place. If Sex Hysteria is the thesis, Boston got the live-action footnotes: desire, damage, and defiance delivered with pop instincts and country steel. Consider the waterfront converted.
