The Prof Show: A Velvet Bass and a Purple Devil’s Farewell
Val Air Ballroom, West Des Moines, Iowa, USA
The cold hit like a slap when we reached the short line outside, but it didn’t matter. The temperature was in the forties, and everyone’s breath turned to fog in the November air, but anticipation burned hot enough to melt through it. We were about to see PROF, and the crowd knew it.
Inside, PROF’s DJ, Willy Wonka, played ringmaster to the night, warming up the room with remixes that jumped from Snoop Dogg to Ghostbusters. The crowd swayed like a single heartbeat. The vibe wasn’t chaos yet — it was ignition.
Reeves Junya
Then Reeves Junya stormed the stage. No warning. No breath between sets. He didn’t walk onto that stage — he appeared. One blink and he was everywhere. The crowd, pent-up from the cold, erupted like they’d just chugged espresso and pure adrenaline. Reeves wasn’t just performing — he was feeding the audience something spiritual, something kinetic.
Snotty Nose Rez Kids-SNRK
If Reeves Junya lit the fuse, SNRK detonated the dynamite. Yung Trybez, nursing a broken ankle, sat onstage in what looked like a roadside antique chair — an odd throne for a man whose voice could command an army. The crowd lost control, like some Ozzy Osbourne fever dream come to life. The bass hit with a velvet weight, thick enough to feel in your bones. Despite the injury, they moved like they owned the place. Confidence poured off them, but it wasn’t arrogance — it was human. Defiant. Alive.
The Main Event
When PROF emerged, the building went feral. The crowd screamed every lyric like their lives depended on it. His voice was rough, cracked by the miles of tour and late nights, but he made that rasp work like a badge of honor. He wasn’t trying to be perfect. He was trying to connect. Every track became a spark, and the fire just wouldn’t quit. Somewhere in the middle, a small mosh pit formed — chaotic, joyous, inevitable.
Then Darkness
The lights dropped. Willy Wonka wandered over to a lawn chair. A voice filled the room, detached and echoing, talking about darkness and isolation. PROF had vanished behind the stage. It felt eerie, honest. Then the sound of an engine — a beat-up car onstage sputtering to life — and the lights burst back on. Smoke, laughter, music. It was resurrection, PROF-style.
The final songs hit harder than the first. The crowd shouted until their throats were gone, danced until they forgot the cold outside. By the end, my ears buzzed like I’d been living in a speaker for an hour. PROF, in his signature purple devil mask, took a long look at the crowd before walking off — a mix of exhaustion, sadness, and quiet satisfaction. The man looked like he was saying goodbye to a chapter of himself.
The Ending
The show was bittersweet. For a first PROF concert, it felt like both an ending and a beginning. He’s heading off to rest, to rebuild, to make something new — and the crowd knows it.
And in between all the lights and lyrics, there’s a reminder hidden in the merch line and ticket price: artists are out there hustling for survival. Touring’s a grind that’s only getting tougher. Buying a T-shirt — yeah, even one that costs sixty bucks — might just be a tiny lifeline keeping their dream alive. PROF said it himself. A broken ankle or a bad stretch of luck could end a tour, even a career.
That night wasn’t just a concert. It was a momentary rebellion against the cold, the cost, the chaos. And for those two hours, it felt like everyone in that room was exactly where they were meant to be — singing, sweating, and losing their minds beneath a purple devil’s grin.
 | A guest post by
|