LOS ANGELES, CA- There was a moment, about halfway through Jesse Welles’ set at The Troubadour, where I realized the room had fallen into a kind of reverent stillness. No one was talking. Everyone, from the parents holding their kids in the back to the teenagers leaning against the stage in flannels and band tees, was held in rapture. Jesse was standing at the microphone, eyes closed, harmonica strapped around his neck, pouring his whole chest into a song about war and greed.
Welles is on the road for his Fear Is the Mind Killer tour, and this Los Angeles stop was a sell-out—the room packed to the gills with fans who clearly knew what they were walking into. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe some of them were like me, longtime followers of Welles from his earlier pseudonyms, eager to see how this new chapter would land. What I do know is that by the time he stepped offstage, anyone in that room who didn’t know his name before definitely wouldn’t forget it.
There was no opener. No theatrics. At exactly 8:30 PM, Jesse walked out onto The Troubadour stage. A small wave, a soft smile, and then he picked up his guitar and started to play. No flashy entrance, no big speech. Just the music. And in a venue like The Troubadour—intimate, legendary, humming with history—that kind of stripped-down honesty fits perfectly.
The first half of the night was all Jesse. Acoustic guitar, harmonica, and his voice, raspy and worn, but warm. A voice that sounds like it’s lived through everything it’s singing about. For over an hour, he played solo, barely pausing to speak, letting songs like “War Isn’t Murder,” “Walmart,” and “Cancer” do all the talking. These indictments, sharp and vivid critiques of the systems we’ve all become too used to, have become incredibly popular. Welles doesn’t preach, but he doesn’t pull punches either. He just lays it all out, and trusts the audience to meet him halfway.And we did.
Concerts are often loud and full of fans singing at the top of their lungs, donating their own energy to the performance. At Welles’ performance it was different, people still yelled out between songs, to tell him they loved him, or to echo lines that had just been sung. But there was a quiet awe in the space, everyone knew they were witnessing something a little bigger than just a concert and let their energy meld in different ways.
After that long acoustic stretch, Jesse finally brought out his band. They rolled into songs. The contrast between the first and second halves of the set worked beautifully. The energy lifted, but the intimacy never left. Tracks from The Middle felt like natural evolutions of his earlier acoustic work, and the live arrangements gave them even more room to breathe.
A surprise cover of “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” by Creedence Clearwater Revival added another layer of texture. It was a nod to the kind of timeless, rootsy rock that clearly shaped his songwriting. I think this was particularly meaningful considering John Flogerty played that same song at his set there in 2015.
Jesse Welles is not a performer who seeks the spotlight, but he doesn’t shy away from it either. He walks a line between humility and presence. His movement on stage is minimal. His banter is nearly nonexistent. But the way he delivers a lyric, the way he holds space with just a guitar and a story—it says more than a monologue ever could.
And when it was over, it ended the way it began. No encore. No big gestures. Just a wave, a smile, and a quiet exit. It felt right. Like everything that needed to be said had already been sung.
I’ve followed Jesse Welles for a few years, and seeing him now, with a sold-out crowd in one of LA’s most iconic venues was quite special. Although he is selling out venues across the country, he still carries himself like the guy playing folk songs in a dive bar, singing the truth whether anyone’s listening or not. You need to check out his work, whether it be his new album, his older work, or live in concert.
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