Ryan Ross Hernandez Live at the Universal Music Awards 2026
Los Angeles, California
February 8, 2026



Seconds after his name is announced the lights inside Crypto.com Arena soften. While the crowd noise fades a clinking of heels hitting the ground as if someone was leisurely walking emit from the overhead system followed by a series of lamps starting to be turned on one by one throughout the stage until a set built as an abstracted home is revealed. Exposed wooden beams outline the shape of a house without enclosing it. At center stage sits a living room; a worn vintage couch, a low coffee table scattered with books and handwritten pages, nearby a shelf with vinyl records and a player on top of it. Stage right extends into a porch, complete with railings and steps, full with a low hanging white-picket fence facing out toward the audience. The band riser resembles a den—layered rugs, wood paneling, practical lights instead of loud stage lights. Behind it all, a massive LED wall functions as the home's windows, opening onto a wide rural landscape at dusk. The screen fills with slow-moving countryside, complete with power lines humming as the sky deepens for both those in attendance and the fans watching from their own home.

RYAN ROSS HERNANDEZ appears in handwritten script and fades one letter at a time, as if it were being erased the same way it had been displayed.

The crowd cheers again when Hernandez is finally seen walking into the "living room" carrying an acoustic guitar already worn smooth by years of use. His clothing feels personal rather than curated — a suede jacket, white tee, dark denim jeans, boots that look broken in by real miles on them. He turns on one last standing lamp casting an amber light on himself before he settles to take a seat at the corner of the couch, adjusting the mic slightly downward, and exhaling before the first note. Hernandez begins with a gentle, thumb-led fingerpicking pattern, each note rounded and deliberate. The acoustic tone is warm and woody, intimate enough that the scrape of his fingers against the strings is audible as he plays the opening chords to "Permanence". His posture is relaxed but inward - shoulders slightly hunched, eyes focused on the guitar as if he really is truly sitting at home playing - avoiding looking up at the camera as it focuses on him.

I'll choose you over this music shit
'Cause for the first time in my life
I have something that means more to me
If I lose it all tomorrow on a bad bet
I know you'd still love me just the same

All our friends say we act like a married couple
Who have been together for fifteen years
'Cause in some ways that's me and you
Our souls have been intertwined since the very first day
The years apart sure brought me hell
I wouldn't trade them for anything
They led me back to you, baby
So what else could I ever pray for?

When the camera slowly backs away from Hernandez after calmly singing the first verse, the LED "windows" close-up imagery behind him replaces the open horizon: dust drifting through sunlight, a porch light flicking on, a screen door swaying. The song unfolds patiently, built on restraint rather than release. The band enters like common household sounds rather than performance cues - upright bass grounding the room, brushed drums whispering, pedal steel sighing gently between phrases. Two backup vocalists step into side light near the "porch", their harmonies low and blended, never overpowering, more like memory than melody even as Ryan's own voice picks up for the chorus and his stoic expression breaks away with a grin.

If you had gone ahead and ended up with the wrong guy
We would have had a clandestine affair
'Til I stole you away for good at the dead of night
The world tore us apart once
We won't let it happen again
In this lifetime or the next
Left behind all the girls who said I was damaged goods
You made me whole without even trying
Tell me do you feel this permanence too?

Hernandez's playing is precise but un-showy. He lets chords ring fully, often allowing silence to stretch just a breath longer than expected. His voice is steady, reflective, carrying an almost joyful tone to it as the music picks up around him and the chorus opens slightly—wider chords, fuller harmonies - but always returning to a soft stillness during the verses. In the stance between the second chorus and the bridge, Ryan stands up from his seat and walks to a microphone stand at the center of the living room/stage, the camera following in front of him to capture when he looks up smiling to acknowledge the actual setting before him.

It used to be lonely at the top
All the solo flights on a private jet
Now I got the finest by my side
The most perfect being in this world
I've always had doubts about a higher power
But how the puzzle pieces fell in place for us
It almost makes me a believer
When every night I worship
At the altar between your thighs

He delivers the final line of the bridge with a not-so-subtle lick of his lips to play into the lyric for a split second before jumping into the final chorus - the lights remaining soft the entire time even as its performed as a loud singalong by everyone on stage. The LED horizon outside the makeshift window begins to move forward, the road slowly pulling away from the house. While the instruments slowly fade out one by one, Hernandez becomes the focal point once more as he never stops playing, simply changing the progression almost invisibly. The tempo stretches, the picking pattern broadens, and the lighting that has followed him all along cools from amber to blue. Hernandez, stepping away from the mic stand and the hue above it, the living room suddenly feeling larger and lonelier - as he transitions to the somer start of "What I Would've Missed".



A translucent scrim lifts to his left to reveal a full string section arranged behind the den, like another room opening at the back of the house. Violins creep in first, then violas and cellos, swelling beneath his acoustic. The song begins already deep in memory. The LED visuals fracture now to display handwritten notes on a kitchen counter and dissolve into rain-streaked windows; headlights sweep across empty rooms. Hernandez’s strumming grows heavier, shifting from gentle picking to full, emotional downstrokes. The acoustic starts to rasp slightly under the pressure, adding texture and urgency.

If I had killed myself
That late September night
I lied about it being passive or accidental
I knew I wanted to end the noise
If I died that night
Who would've missed me anyways?
Thrown into an "In Memoriam" tribute video
Maybe some friends would've played a song of mine
My house with only material things
Sold off to the highest bidder
The will was a blank page
'Cause I had nobody

No wife, no kids, no family
Nobody to carry on my legacy
It would've died with me
If I had killed myself
No wife, no kids, no family
Nobody to carry on my legacy
It would've died with me
If I had killed myself

The band expands with intention. The near 14-minute song is condensed from its recording, but it still has enough room to evolve and invoke its powerful emotions. Piano chords land like punctuation marks, an electric rhythm guitar adds tension without drawing focus. The drums grow heavier and more deliberate, each hit measured, never rushed. Backup vocals rise gradually, moving from hushed harmonies to aching, full-bodied chords. Hernandez’s body language shifts with the song's arc. He leans into the mic during verses, then pulls back during instrumental breaks, pacing the edge of the “living room” as if replaying moments he can’t sit with anymore. Each verse adds detail, specificity, weight - until the house feels filled with everything now on the table.

What I would've missed?
I would've missed you
Coming back into my life like some newfound divinity
I swear nobody's ever seen me quite like you do
With those eyes shining brighter than a clear blue sky
Took all the broken pieces and made me whole
Again, or for the first time in my life
I'm not quite sure, and I don't care now
You leave me bewildered
I used to want to die
Now I wish I could live forever
As long as its with you by my side
I'm not leaving this world before it's my time
And when I part that won't be the end of us
I'll be waiting for you on the other side

I'll have a wife, have some kids, have a family
Someone to carry my legacy
I'm thankful that I didn't die that day
'Cause if I had
I would've missed all of these beautiful moments
I'll have a wife, have some kids, have a family
Someone to carry my legacy
I'm thankful that I didn't die that day
'Cause if I had
I would've missed all of these beautiful moments

As the song reaches its peak, the lighting turns deep red, the strings climbing high, the band fully engaged. Then, suddenly, it all falls away. The arrangement strips back to just voice and guitar for the final rendition of its outro, which lands and echoes into silence until a single electric note breaks it seconds later. Once Hernandez is seen again he's swapped the acoustic guitar for a sunburst electric, and even changing out of his jacket and tee shirt to a denim shirt with the sleeves raised and only half buttoned up to showcase the tattoos on his forearms and chest respectively. The lighting warms again - purples, golds, and soft whites washing over the stage. The LED wall opens wide into a night highway stretching endlessly forward beneath a star-heavy sky.



The house transforms as the sound shifts to "Tennessee Daydream" - the living room dimming into the background while the porch to the side becomes dominant, symbolizing the step outside. Ryan joins his bandmates and other performers, as they fill the stage like familiar faces arriving late but welcomed with many sitting on the stage steps as if they were all friends gathering at home. As Hernandez settles into a steady strum of his guitar, he looks out into the audience with a wide grin tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he were taking it all in for the first time.

"UMAs! I know we're in Los Angeles, but do you mind if we take a road trip out east? Perhaps towards Nashville?"

His grin grows to a full smile as the crowd on hand responds positively and loudly. "This one's for my Ellie-Grace," he remarks softly yet loud enough for the mic to catch it, obviously referring to his girlfriend Ellie-Grace Summers. The small gesture marking the first time in his career he has acknowledged and dedicated a song to a romantic partner openly while on stage - much less on a worldwide televised awards ceremony - adding weight to how serious their relationship is. When he takes a small step back just before singing, the camera returns to him to catch him mouthing an "I love you" in Ellie-Grace's direction in the audience.

You take me back to your parents'
The same house that built you
Sharing every anecdote that comes to mind
Everyone loves Mantra
But I heard all those sayings from your mouth first
Your voice is sweet like honeydew
Your eyes are electric blue
With a hint of mystery for only me to uncover
I told your mother not to worry
Your heart is safe with me now
I'll put my own life on the line if I have to

You're a Tennessee daydream
A true blessing in living color
Down to your core, full of beauty and grace
You'll forever hold that Southern charm
No wonder that you're the only one for me
Would you give me this dance?
We can share the same bed
My chest can serve as your pillow
While your arms feel like home



The groove settles into motion. Drums roll steadily, bass hums low and constant. Hernandez’s electric guitar tone is clean and expressive, favoring melody over volume as the vocals of himself and the backup singers rise. He plays with patience, letting notes bloom and bend rather than rush toward resolution. The visuals show passing neon signs, a rowdy cityscape, distant towns glowing briefly before disappearing. It feels like movement without urgency—leaving without severing ties. As the bridge comes and goes, the band gradually steps back, leaving space. Hernandez moves to the edge of the porch, spotlight narrowing. The guitar solo begins quietly, almost conversational—short phrases, restrained bends, notes allowed to linger on. Gradually, the phrases lengthen - as do his infamous "guitar face" expressions. Hernandez climbs the neck, bending higher, holding notes until they tremble. The LED sky darkens, stars sharpening as the sound swells. His eyes close, jaw tightens, body leaning fully into the instrument just as the band returns for the last chorus.

One final note rises and sustains full thereafter, hovering above the arena until the guitar's reverb finally fades completely. For the split second Hernandez is still visible before the lights cut to black, he points toward where Ellie-Grace is sitting and blows her a kiss. For a moment, the house goes dark. Then the crowd erupts as THANK YOU FOR STAYING appears across the screen, the highway dissolving into night - leaving the sense that home isn't something you forget, but something you carry forward, even if it's not held between four walls. When the arena's house lights come up again, Ryan and the rest of the performers are already gone from the stage, leaving the once lively "home" setting vacant, despite the audience still giving him a warm reception. The ominous end to Hernandez's performance, and the Universal Music Awards themselves, will surely raise more suspicions that the legendary artist is reaching the tail-end of his career - and that last chapter may have begun tonight at the 2026 UMAs.

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RRH UMA 2026 SETLIST
Definition of Home Medley
(Permanence > What I Would've Missed > Tennessee Daydream)