A Magical Night at an Impossible Venue: Jacob Collier Live at Royal Center Bogota

By: Val Hernández

Jacob Collier is one of the most brilliant minds in contemporary music, and seeing him live only confirms it. His ability to build entire sonic worlds from the ground up, harmony by harmony, feels like witnessing magic in real time. It’s musical genius, yes , but it’s also joy, play, and connection. That was the energy I walked in expecting.

But before I could even think about the music, I had to survive the venue.

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​Let’s talk about the Royal Center in Bogotá. Despite being “renovated” into a modern events centre a few years ago, it still feels like a leftover from the 1970s. The excuse that “it’s just old” doesn’t cut it when the space isn’t actually upgraded for accessibility. There’s no proper seating unless you grab one of those sad mini-stairs in the pit. The “disabled zone” is technically there: right at the front, but totally blocked by crowds. You can’t bring your own bottles (which I get), but the only drinks were overpriced water, soda, or Gatorade… and no food whatsoever, not even small snacks. People were vaping despite a ban. I was overwhelmed in under 15 minutes: spinning, overheated, overstimulated, and still hadn’t even moved.

After almost an hour, I’d had enough. I left the pit. I had to. Then I headed up to the second floor and found a friend. Sitting on the floor with a semi-decent view? Game-changer.
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Accessibility isn’t a bonus, it’s essential. The Royal Center has no lifts or ramps. Nothing. The second floor is slightly more breathable, but only accessible by stairs. If you use a wheelchair, deal with chronic illness, or get overwhelmed in crowds, this venue was not built for you. Period.
Don’t get me started on the press area. Photographers had barely any space on the first floor: squeezed between tech boxes and speaker rigs, unable to move freely. Disabled photographers? Not even a possibility. Even the second floor’s photo area, while slightly better, is still only accessible via stairs. It’s 2025. This is embarrassing.

But then, the lights dimmed. And Jacob jumped on stage. *Almost* everything shifted.

This man is unreal. He leapt on stage like a burst of colour, weird chords, and melodic mischief. He opened with layered vocals, instant crowd interaction, and beatboxing craziness. He harmonised our “olé olé olé” chant. He spoke about Bogotá—we sang the city’s name with him. He even said “my name is Jacobo” while joking around in Spanish. Cue melted hearts.

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One of my favourite moments was “Mi Corazón”, his collab with Colombian singer Camilo. Hearing it live in its home country hit hard, to be honest. After playing it, Jacob explained his philosophy for choosing collaborators, such as Camilo: “The one thing I ask is — do they make me smile? If yes, then let’s make music together.” Simple, honest, perfect.

Later, he told us: “The world doesn’t need any more good musicians. It needs more good people.” That might’ve been the line of the night. The screams were so loud I had to cover my ears… wear earplugs for safety, my friends, I learned my lesson.

He even learned “La Tierra del Olvido” by Carlos Vives that same day, just for us, and delivered a full-on arrangement, harmonies and all, from memory; while his logo lit up in the colours of the Colombian flag. He apologised for mistakes that literally didn’t exist. It was flawless. We lost our minds.
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There were even covers of Queen’s Somebody to Love and Can’t Help Falling in Love. I missed hearing his collabs with Tori Kelly or Lindsey Lomis, but the pre-show playlist did throw ‘Bad News / Good News’ at us, and as a diehard Lindsey fan, I lost it… maybe I was the only one, but it still counts. 

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The band? Unreal. Tight with drums, bass, guitar, synths; and Jacob used literally everything: keyboards, loops, a ten‑string guitar (because apparently six weren’t enough!), plus crazy vocals from his backing singers who rapped one moment and harmonised and riffed the next.

Actually, the entire show felt like a choir. Call-and-response melodies, spontaneous singing, swirling harmonies. I found myself singing three-part harmonies with strangers, and I realised I wasn’t thinking about my body anymore. My dizziness was still there, but Jacob’s music had become something else: a buffer, a balm, a soft place to land. I came for the choir moment, but I stayed because somehow, even from the second floor, I felt included.

Lights and visuals were intense: lasers, strobes, flashes everywhere. If you’re light-sensitive, heads up. Sound was… decent, though there were moments Jacob got lost in the mix, but his presence was so strong it barely mattered.

The show went on for around two hours. It ended with Earth, Wind & Fire’s September and a makeshift dance party. Upstairs, people had room to move; downstairs, the pit finally cleared out enough for excited dancing to begin. It was a sweet release after all the chaos. The show was stunning. And I don’t use that word lightly.
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Leaving was a mess though. The lobby turned into another hurdle with lines and confusion. I didn’t finally get out until well after 11:30pm.

​But I still left with mixed feelings, because as someone who cried in the first half from overstimulation and joy in the second, I shouldn’t have had to choose between seeing the music and surviving the space.

So here’s the truth: Jacob Collier gave Bogotá one of the most brilliant, heart-expanding concerts I’ve ever witnessed. He gets an infinite out of ten. Royal Center? A generous 4.

This show was everything: breathtaking, communal, emotional. Jacob doesn’t just play, he invites. He doesn’t just perform, he builds with us. I came for the harmonies and left with something much bigger: a reminder of what live music should feel like.

But none of that should come at the cost of comfort, health, or basic accessibility. Music can’t truly bring people together if the venue leaves half of us behind.

So yes, I’ll remember the magic. But I’ll also remember that the most soulful night of the year happened in a venue that wasn’t built with love — or people— in mind.