Paul Simon and Mary J. Blige Lead a Star-Studded Love Rocks NYC Showdown

Mia Reynolds, 2/10/2026Celebrate the tenth anniversary of Love Rocks NYC at the Beacon Theatre, where legends like Paul Simon and Mary J. Blige unite for a soulful cause. This heartfelt concert not only showcases musical talent but also supports community nourishment through God’s Love We Deliver.

A lineup like this can't help but dazzle. The very mention of Paul Simon returning home to serenade Manhattan, or Mary J. Blige igniting a Broadway block with her voice, is enough to stop traffic. There’s Elvis Costello, Hozier, Goo Goo Dolls—talents that aren’t often found gathered under one chandeliered roof. Throw in Jon Batiste, Billy F. Gibbons, and Linda Perry, who can fill a room with sound or silence, depending on the need. And still, somehow, the roster keeps growing by the hour. A New York mixtape in real time; that’s as close as words can come.

But if the names on the billing sheet start the tune, it’s the cause that gives it resonance. Love Rocks NYC is inseparable from the work of God’s Love We Deliver. Few charities have weathered the decades with such grit or grace. Born in the maelstrom of the AIDS epidemic, now woven into forty years of city life, the organization quietly threads compassion through the most ordinary acts: a home-cooked meal, a warm hand at the door. Over forty million times, in fact—not that anyone’s counting (well, maybe a few volunteers are).

Every March, those stories of nourishment and resilience are retold in guitar solos and gospel harmonies. The concert is more parade than performance. Picture Will Lee’s house band—old hands at turning three chords into a Broadway overture. Add Eric Krasno and Ivan Neville, familiar faces in any self-respecting soundcheck; Steve Gadd with a drum fill sharp enough to wake up even the weekday commuters.

Yet, it isn’t only music that threads these nights together. Whoopi Goldberg casually upstages the front row; Julianne Moore brings the sort of easy elegance that makes everyone sit up straighter. And J.B. Smoove? Blink, and he’ll have you laughing and tearing up at the same time. There’s a kind of generosity in the air, the kind that leaves people slightly lighter as they exit onto Amsterdam Avenue.

Anniversaries have a way of adding heft; ten years in, the concert just feels more lived-in. Co-executive producer Greg Williamson—who’s New York through and through—mentions how building this event has been “an incredible journey.” That phrase gets tossed around in press releases all the time, but here it seems apt. The $65 million raised since 2017 (and 6.5 million meals delivered as a result) is staggering, yet the mood inside Beacon stays oddly intimate. Maybe because the cause never settles into the background; the mission statement lingers, gently urgent, behind every note.

Tickets? As expected, they’ll become rare creatures the minute the clock strikes ten on Friday—presales likely to vanish even faster. But grabbing a spot in the crowd isn’t just about a selfie with a living legend (though no one is stopping you); it’s more about joining the current of something bigger, maybe even healing—if only for a song or two. It’s rare these days for a benefit concert not to feel overproduced, yet this one keeps its soul. At least so far. Come 2025, who knows how much bigger—or even wilder—it could become.

There’s no small irony in a city built on hustle coming together for a cause so profoundly gentle: feeding neighbors, hands and hearts wide open. Perhaps that’s what makes Love Rocks NYC so distinct. Yes, it’s glitzy. Yes, the odd celebrity cameo feels somewhat inevitable. Still, at its core, the applause translates into something real and nourishing—quite literally.

When the lights dip and the final chorus swells, the crowd isn’t really a crowd anymore. For a few hours, it turns into a patchwork family, the differences between strangers softened. The feeling hangs around long after the amps cool, a reminder that music, especially in a city this size, still knows how to gather and give in equal measure.

So, to the volunteers clattering pans at sunrise, and the artists who lend their lungpower year after year—a toast. Here’s to another ten. And to anyone lucky enough to make it through those theater doors, if only for a night, it’s hard not to think: maybe this is what hope, in action, actually sounds like.

There are certain nights in New York when the city seems to lean in, heart thrumming in sync with the stage lights. This March, the Beacon Theatre throws open its doors for one of those evenings—Love Rocks NYC’s tenth anniversary bash. Not just any music gathering, but one that feels more like an embrace than a spectacle; a place where hope isn’t just a lyric, but the underlying melody.A lineup like this can't help but dazzle. The very mention of Paul Simon returning home to serenade Manhattan, or Mary J. Blige igniting a Broadway block with her voice, is enough to stop traffic. There’s Elvis Costello, Hozier, Goo Goo Dolls—talents that aren’t often found gathered under one chandeliered roof. Throw in Jon Batiste, Billy F. Gibbons, and Linda Perry, who can fill a room with sound or silence, depending on the need. And still, somehow, the roster keeps growing by the hour. A New York mixtape in real time; that’s as close as words can come.But if the names on the billing sheet start the tune, it’s the cause that gives it resonance. Love Rocks NYC is inseparable from the work of God’s Love We Deliver. Few charities have weathered the decades with such grit or grace. Born in the maelstrom of the AIDS epidemic, now woven into forty years of city life, the organization quietly threads compassion through the most ordinary acts: a home-cooked meal, a warm hand at the door. Over forty million times, in fact—not that anyone’s counting (well, maybe a few volunteers are).Every March, those stories of nourishment and resilience are retold in guitar solos and gospel harmonies. The concert is more parade than performance. Picture Will Lee’s house band—old hands at turning three chords into a Broadway overture. Add Eric Krasno and Ivan Neville, familiar faces in any self-respecting soundcheck; Steve Gadd with a drum fill sharp enough to wake up even the weekday commuters.Yet, it isn’t only music that threads these nights together. Whoopi Goldberg casually upstages the front row; Julianne Moore brings the sort of easy elegance that makes everyone sit up straighter. And J.B. Smoove? Blink, and he’ll have you laughing and tearing up at the same time. There’s a kind of generosity in the air, the kind that leaves people slightly lighter as they exit onto Amsterdam Avenue.Anniversaries have a way of adding heft; ten years in, the concert just feels more lived-in. Co-executive producer Greg Williamson—who’s New York through and through—mentions how building this event has been “an incredible journey.” That phrase gets tossed around in press releases all the time, but here it seems apt. The $65 million raised since 2017 (and 6.5 million meals delivered as a result) is staggering, yet the mood inside Beacon stays oddly intimate. Maybe because the cause never settles into the background; the mission statement lingers, gently urgent, behind every note.Tickets? As expected, they’ll become rare creatures the minute the clock strikes ten on Friday—presales likely to vanish even faster. But grabbing a spot in the crowd isn’t just about a selfie with a living legend (though no one is stopping you); it’s more about joining the current of something bigger, maybe even healing—if only for a song or two. It’s rare these days for a benefit concert not to feel overproduced, yet this one keeps its soul. At least so far. Come 2025, who knows how much bigger—or even wilder—it could become.There’s no small irony in a city built on hustle coming together for a cause so profoundly gentle: feeding neighbors, hands and hearts wide open. Perhaps that’s what makes Love Rocks NYC so distinct. Yes, it’s glitzy. Yes, the odd celebrity cameo feels somewhat inevitable. Still, at its core, the applause translates into something real and nourishing—quite literally.When the lights dip and the final chorus swells, the crowd isn’t really a crowd anymore. For a few hours, it turns into a patchwork family, the differences between strangers softened. The feeling hangs around long after the amps cool, a reminder that music, especially in a city this size, still knows how to gather and give in equal measure.So, to the volunteers clattering pans at sunrise, and the artists who lend their lungpower year after year—a toast. Here’s to another ten. And to anyone lucky enough to make it through those theater doors, if only for a night, it’s hard not to think: maybe this is what hope, in action, actually sounds like.