travis scott they could never make me like you i didn’t like you before the astroworld catastrophe and i didn’t like you even more after and i will continue to not like you until the day we both no longer breathe just like the ten victims from that night
Trainwreck: Inside the Astroworld Tragedy and Its Devastating Fallout
Netflix recently released a documentary that dives into the tragic events surrounding the Astroworld Festival disaster that took place on November 5th, 2021.
If you’re not familiar with Astroworld, here’s a quick breakdown.
Astroworld is a music festival founded by rapper Travis Scott, first launched in 2018. It’s held in Houston, Texas, and was inspired by the now-defunct Six Flags Astroworld theme park, which closed its doors in 2005. That park was a major part of Scott’s childhood, so he brought it back to life—at least in spirit—through this annual festival.
The event ran in 2018 and 2019, took a pause in 2020 due to the COVID-19 pandemic, and returned in 2021—setting the stage for the tragedy that followed.
I didn’t exactly want to watch the documentary. I lost a friend at that festival—Franco Patino—and the idea of reliving any part of that night was difficult. But I also wanted to understand what really went wrong, who was responsible, and how a tragedy like this could have been prevented.
This post will walk you through some of the key moments from the documentary as I rewatch it, for anyone who doesn’t feel ready—or able—to watch it themselves.
I know there are likely already posts out there recounting the documentary but I wanted to make my own.
Content warning: the documentary includes graphic, real-time footage of concertgoers being trampled, struggling to breathe, and being pulled over barricades for emergency CPR. Please take care before deciding to view it.
Before we dive into the details, I want to take a moment to honor the lives that were lost during the Astroworld tragedy. These individuals attended a concert and never made it home. They deserve to be remembered, not just as names in headlines, but as people whose lives were cut far too short.
Danish Baig, 27 🕊️
Rodolfo (Rudy) Peña, 23 🕊️
Madison Dubiski, 23 🕊️
Franco Patino, 21 🕊️
Jacob Jurinek, 20 🕊️
John Hilgert, 14 🕊️
Axel Acosta Avila, 21 🕊️
Brianna Rodriguez, 16 🕊️
Bharti Shahani, 22 🕊️
Ezra Blount, 9 🕊️
Their stories matter. Their lives mattered. May they rest in peace.
Several key individuals share their experiences throughout the documentary, offering firsthand insight into the chaos of that night. I may be missing some individuals, and I will add them later if I find that.
Kirby Gladstein – Hired photographer for Live Nation
Scott Davidson – Crowd safety expert
Jackson & Samuel Bush – Hired security guards
Mark Lentini – Former commander of the Houston Police Department
Sophia Santana – Registered nurse, concertgoer, and survivor
Jose Villegas – Onsite paramedic
Ayden Cruz – Concertgoer, survivor, and friend of Brianna Rodriguez
Kaia Redus – Concertgoer and witness
Arturo Sanchez – Concertgoer and survivor
Raul, Marcial, and Manuel – Concertgoers and close friends of Rodolfo "Rudy" Peña
Mark Elibert - Journalist and concertgoer
The documentary opens with a montage of the Astroworld Festival—vibrant, fast-paced, and full of energy. But that initial excitement quickly shifts into something darker, setting a clear tone of amusement unraveling into chaos.
“Folks are coming out, complaining of difficulty breathing.”
We’re then introduced to some of the key voices featured throughout the film that I listed, including photographer Kirby, and security guards Jackson and Samuel—individuals who witnessed the disaster unfold from the inside.
From there, the narrative rewinds to November 4, 2021, painting Travis Scott in a positive light. It highlights his community involvement, particularly through his Cactus Jack Charity Softball game, framing him as a hometown hero in Houston before the events of the festival take center stage.
A major red flag surfaces when security guards reveal they were hired less than 24 hours before the festival began.
They state they were in communication until 1-2 am, and were told to be there by 5:30 AM.
Jackson admits they were given “zero security instructions,” and had to rely solely on guidance from other workers on-site—most of whom were just as unprepared.
This lack of training and organization becomes glaringly obvious in the next scene. Crowds surge past formal entrances, trampling fellow attendees and climbing over fences at unsecured checkpoints with little to no resistance.
Mark Lentini, former Houston Police Department (HPD) commander acknowledges the chaos and the crowd’s desperation—but also points out a critical issue: while the festival paid HPD to be present for law enforcement, the police had no role in the event’s planning or strategy.
“We were there for law enforcement. We had no control over how the event was structured or managed.”
We then hear from Scott Davidson, a crowd safety expert, who highlights Travis Scott’s long-standing reputation for inciting high-energy—and often dangerous—crowd behavior. He references several past incidents that raised red flags well before Astroworld: the 2015 Lollapalooza performance where Scott urged fans to jump barricades and rush the stage, leading to his arrest; the infamous Fraunfield clip from that same year where he encourages the crowd after someone steals his shoe; and the 2017 Birds Eye View tour moment where he persuaded a fan to leap from a balcony.
Davidson shares that he was brought in by Live Nation after the tragedy to assess what went wrong. His conclusion is chilling in its simplicity:
“This was a case of blaring warning sirens.”
As the documentary progresses to 4:30 PM on the day of the festival, we’re shown brief glimpses of fans enjoying themselves, capturing the excitement and anticipation in the air. It then shifts to explore the origins of Travis Scott’s vision for Astroworld—both the album and the festival—framing it as an immersive experience meant to reflect the nostalgia of the now-closed amusement park from his childhood, which I mentioned at the beginning of this post.
The timestamp jumps to 7:45 PM, just as SZA’s set wraps. Witnesses recall a noticeable—and alarming—change in the crowd’s energy. With Travis Scott’s performance approaching, the crowd begins surging forward en masse toward the main stage, packing in tighter by the minute.
Jose Villegas, an on-site paramedic, is introduced just as the countdown to Scott’s set begins. Tension builds. The crowd compresses so drastically that even before the music starts, one attendee, Ayden Cruz, describes struggling to breathe, his body forced forward with no control.
At 9:02 PM, Travis opens with ESCAPE PLAN. One witness likens the sensation to an earthquake—his body rising and falling with the swell of the crowd. Another, caught in what they describe as a human “wave,” says it felt like their body was being squeezed from all sides.
The focus then shifts to Sophia Santana, who recalls the moment panic set in—she couldn’t breathe. Her voice trembles as she describes the overwhelming fear and helplessness in the crowd.
Security guards stationed at center stage echo her account, confirming that signs of distress were immediate and widespread. People were visibly hyperventilating, their faces changing color, some crying out for help while others struggled to push their way out of the tightening mass. The crush was intensifying, and with every passing moment, it became harder to ignore that something was going terribly wrong.
Next, we hear from Kirby (Live Nation photographer), who shares a chilling detail: she was “told to lean into the chaos.” At first, she doesn’t grasp the full extent of what’s unfolding—until she sees people desperately trying to climb over the gate into the media area, a supposed safe zone. It’s in that moment that the severity of the crowd’s panic becomes clear to her.
Her account transitions into a 3D visual breakdown of the stage layout. Davidson points out a critical design flaw: while the T-shaped barricade system was intended to improve crowd flow and safety, it ultimately backfired. With only two entry and exit points—one on each side—the layout created a trap with no real escape route once the crowd packed in.
Witnesses describe the unbearable compression, saying there was no space to move, their bodies being shoved left and right with no control. The screen cuts between footage of the live show and clips of attendees visibly struggling to breathe—faces strained, arms raised, some barely staying upright in the crush.
We then hear from Cruz again as he recounts the terrifying moment a “wave” of people slammed into him and his friend, knocking them to the ground. He describes the feeling as being “underwater,” as more and more bodies collapsed on top of him. Panic set in as he realized he was wasting energy trying to fight it—there was no space, no air, no way out.
The documentary cuts to disturbing, real-time footage: people screaming for help, faces contorted in fear, some with arms raised in the crowd like flares. Overlaying this are audio clips of desperate 911 calls, the urgency in their voices impossible to ignore.
We then see Cruz in a moment of sheer desperation—climbing a ladder attached to the Apple Music live broadcast platform, waving his arms, pleading with the crew to “stop the show.” But the music blares on, and the crowd continues to surge.
The focus shifts back to paramedic Jose Villegas, who recalls performing CPR amid the chaos and urgently relaying updates to medical command—who, he says, sounded shocked by what was unfolding. The documentary overlays more distressing footage of the crowd and audio of EMTs communicating back and forth, voices strained as they call for backup and continue resuscitation efforts in the field.
Meanwhile, Santana, having managed to escape the dense crowd, spots an unconscious body lying on the ground. Acting quickly, she checks the person’s pulse and performs sternum rubs—a painful stimulus used to assess consciousness. Miraculously, the man regains consciousness.
That man, it turns out, is also one of the documentary’s witnesses, Arturo Sanchez. He later reveals that after receiving medical care, doctors confirmed he had suffered a heart attack during the crowd surge.
The film cuts to 9:42 PM. Travis Scott is mid-performance of 90210 when he briefly halts the music after noticing someone in the crowd passing out. He asks the audience to make way for emergency responders.
As EMTs carry the unconscious body through the crowd, Travis continues to harmonize softly to 90210, blending seamlessly into a few murmured lines from SKELETONS. Then, as if on autopilot, he finishes the song and begins doing a robotic dance—eerily detached from the urgency unfolding just feet away.
Mark Elibert who was near the front of the stage, reflects on the moment. He suggests Travis didn’t fully comprehend the severity of the situation, saying he looked like he was “trying to figure out what to do next” as the body was being removed.
Clips cut to the back of the crowd, where attendees are seen yelling and motioning with their arms to stop the show. Kaia Redus, another witness, questions why the performance continued. She recalls thinking Travis had to have heard the screams and seen the desperate signals from the crowd.
And yet, after the brief pause, he continues the set.
Davidson emphasizes that the show should have been stopped midway through the set—but reveals a crucial barrier: only two individuals had the delegated authority to make that call, and both were representatives from Live Nation.
Lentini follows up, stating that police were actively searching for one of those two key decision-makers—the Live Nation manager—but he was nowhere to be found during the critical moments.
The documentary then cuts to a chilling clip of the front crowd, arms raised, voices unified in desperation as they plead with Scott to “stop the show.” Instead, he continues, pausing only to speak briefly about Pop Smoke before launching into GATTI.
Kirby expresses disbelief. Having photographed countless shows, she’s seen artists stop mid-performance for far less. Given the severity of what she was witnessing firsthand, she couldn’t understand why no one had pulled the plug yet.
Back at the medical tent, Villegas recalls performing CPR on one individual and managing to regain a pulse. But as he looks up, he realizes the horror is far from over—other EMTs around him are also performing CPR, each on a different unresponsive person.
By 9:51 PM, the Live Nation manager finally approaches the audio engineer to initiate a show shutdown. Davidson then reads aloud a chilling transcript of the conversation that followed, beginning at 9:52 PM:
“We have four active CPRs going on. Two are most likely dead. It is very, very bad. There are more crush victims than I have ever seen in my 25-year career. We have to have a discussion in [Travis’] ears letting him know what’s going on. We need to shut this thing down in eight minutes at 10 o’clock.”
Davidson notes that it’s unclear what—if anything—was communicated directly to Travis after that point. However, a separate conversation reportedly takes place between Live Nation and the Houston Police Department, ultimately allowing the concert to continue for several more minutes.
Despite this urgent plea, the show continues—and then Drake appears. Davidson explains that once Drake took the stage, police and organizers were reluctant to pull the plug out of fear of triggering mass panic within the already chaotic crowd.
And so, the music continued… even as people were dying.
Davidson after that, sits for a moment and says:
"The idea of a performance continuing while even one CPR in progress is underway is insane. Unprecedented. Not to mention, multiple." [...] "Of all the things that trouble me about this case...That's one thing I can't get past. How could they make that decision?"
By 10:13 PM, the show finally ends—marking the conclusion of day one of the festival. But for many, the nightmare is just beginning. Marcial recalls the surreal aftermath: flashing lights from a flood of medical vehicles—ambulances, EMT vans, even air units—surrounding the venue in a grim, chaotic scene.
All of the witnesses interviewed in the documentary had either friends or family members who were hospitalized that night—some of whom would later be confirmed among the eight victims who tragically lost their lives.
The first witness, Manuel, describes it as “the worst day of his life.”
In the aftermath, Day 2 of Astroworld 2021 is officially canceled. The Houston Police Department declares the venue an active crime scene, as Lentini recounts the scope of the investigation beginning to unfold.
Meanwhile, Live Nation holds a private meeting with the contracted media. Photographer Kirby recalls that the tone of the meeting was unsettling.
“They didn’t touch on what happened,” she says. Instead, she was instructed “not to post, not to make any sort of public comment on [the festival].”
It’s clear that silence—not accountability—was the priority in the hours following the tragedy.
As media coverage intensifies, rumors begin to circulate—claims that festivalgoers were being injected with drugs, a narrative that quickly gains traction online and in news reports.
But Kaia shuts that down immediately.
“That’s not why what happened happened.”
She criticizes the media for chasing sensational headlines instead of actually listening to the firsthand accounts of those who were there—those who lived it.
The scene then shifts to the now-infamous greyscale Instagram story—Travis Scott’s public apology. Shot in dim lighting with his hands pressed to his forehead, the video feels hollow to many.
Arturo calls the apology “a slap to the face,” saying it looked like something he only posted because he “had to.”
The documentary then moves into an emotional gut-punch: audio recordings confirming the deaths of two more victims that night—including the youngest of them all, 9-year-old Ezra Blount.
The documentary then cuts to a rapid montage of online reactions—screenshots of tweets, commentary from critics, and clips from popular YouTube personalities like Anthony Fantano. Many directly criticize and blame Travis Scott, holding him accountable for the role he played in the tragedy.
The timestamp then shifts to Travis’s sit-down interview with Charlamagne tha God. The energy is tense as Charlamagne asks the crucial question: Was he ever told to stop the show?
Travis responds:
“After the guests [get] off the stage, we’re gonna end the show. And that’s what we did. No other communication.”
His words offer little closure—only raising more questions about accountability, awareness, and what could have—and should have—been done differently.
The scene shifts to Jackson, one of the security guards, offering a sobering perspective.
“Whoever had any part in organizing and putting [the festival] together should be accountable."
Another witness echoes that sentiment in the next scene, pointing directly at Live Nation, stating simply: “Live Nation was in charge.” The question then hangs in the air—where did the failure begin?
The documentary cuts to footage from the courtroom, where we learn that 49 lawsuits have been filed against Live Nation. On top of that, a $750 million lawsuit names not only Travis Scott, but also Epic Records and Apple Music.
Davidson states plainly that the Astroworld tragedy “wasn’t an accident,” but rather “an inevitability due to the lack of foresight.”
Throughout the documentary, several scenes highlight the severe lack of oversight—starting with the fact that only two individuals had the authority to stop the show as stated before.
At the 1:05:45 mark, Davidson takes a closer look at accountability, placing significant blame on Live Nation. He outlines a number of critical failures—most notably, that the plan accounted for only 35,000 attendees at Travis Scott’s set, while the actual number swelled to over 50,000.
Live Nation began selling tickets before the final venue design was even completed—which is where the initial estimate of 35,000 attendees originated. It quickly became clear that profit took priority over safety. Tickets were oversold, the crowd size ballooned beyond the original plan, and the final layout—despite being marketed as safe—proved dangerously inadequate for the volume of people it was meant to contain.
Add to that the complete breakdown of entry point control and the glaring gaps in security across the festival grounds, and the scale of negligence becomes undeniable. But even then, it’s hard to direct anger at the security guards themselves—many of whom were hired the day of the event and received no formal training, learning how to manage the chaos through secondhand guidance from other workers.
Davidson goes on to reference text messages exchanged between event organizers and concert producers—messages that make it clear people knew the venue couldn't safely accommodate the crowd size. One message even reads, chillingly:
“Someone is going to end up dead.”
I am going to include screenshots of these messages that are shown in the documentary.
This second one, being sent right as Travis Scott was getting onto stage.
As this last text message is shown, Davidson goes on to say:
"But they failed to act before it was too late."
The documentary closes with a series of emotional scenes—witnesses quietly honoring the friends and family members they lost that night. Each reflection is heavy, filled with grief and the weight of lives that should still be here.
We see the lead attorney addressing the media, directly calling out Live Nation for their failure to prevent a tragedy that so many now believe was avoidable. Davidson takes a moment to acknowledge the bravery of those in the crowd who tried to stop the show, calling their efforts “heroic.”
Finally, the documentary cuts to a summary of the legal aftermath. We see Live Nation’s official response to the lawsuits, essentially claiming that “everything was approved and checked out.” They insist the number of attendees “did not exceed the approved capacity,” and that both the Houston Police and Fire Departments were informed of the safety protocols and event plans. They also maintain that “an early show stop was executed in proper fashion.”
But as the final scenes fade, it’s clear the damage was already done—and that no statement can rewrite the reality of what unfolded that night.
It’s revealed that all ten wrongful death lawsuits filed against Live Nation, Travis Scott, and other named defendants have been quietly settled out of court—for undisclosed amounts.
And yet, just three years after the Astroworld tragedy, Travis Scott made headlines once again—this time for breaking records with the highest-grossing solo rap concert tour in history, generating over $210 million in revenue.
The tour was produced by none other than Live Nation.
I know there's still so much more to cover—much of the documentary focuses on the emotional testimonies of witnesses recounting what they felt and who they lost that night. Trainwreck: The Astroworld Tragedy is currently streaming on Netflix and runs for 1 hour and 20 minutes.
Special thanks to director Yemi Bamiro for creating a documentary that gives space to the voices that mattered most.
Does the documentary place 100% of the blame on Travis Scott? No. But it absolutely sheds light on the role he played and the choices he made.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. The loss of Franco has stayed with me—deeply. The details of this event still haunt me, even now. I remember being at work when tweets started flooding in about what was happening at the festival. I hadn’t heard from Franco, but I figured that was normal—he was at a concert, after all.
But as the night went on, and reports started confirming fatalities, I felt it in my gut. Something wasn’t right. And when I saw Franco’s name among the list of those who had passed… I can't even put that moment into words. That night changed everything for me. I promised myself I would never attend a festival this large, this unregulated, no matter who was performing.
I do not support Travis Scott. I understand that stage lighting makes it hard to see, and I get that in-ear monitors can drown out a lot—but there were multiple points where he paused. He could have done more. He should have done more.
Given his long history of encouraging reckless behavior at past shows, it’s hard for me to believe he truly cared about what was happening right in front of him. Maybe that’s my emotional heart speaking—but it’s how I feel, and I stand by it.
Watched the documentary about Astro world and I can’t even express my thoughts without getting absolutely pissed. Watching that was so hard, just thinking about the victims and everyone else who was hurt breaks my heart. Concerts are supposed to be fun wonderful experiences, not a death trap like live nation had set up. I don’t even know what else to say besides fuck live nation and fuck Travis
Crowd mentality, or mob mentality, is a psychological phenomenon in which group members adopt similar behaviors, beliefs, or emotions, often deviating from their individual tendencies. Many corresponding crowd theories can be compared to the devastating incident at Travis Scott's Astroworld festival.
The contagion theory proposes that behaviors, emotions, and ideas can spread rapidly and uncontrollably through a group, much like a disease. A crowd or group setting can be influenced by others, leading to a collective state of heightened emotion or action, sometimes deviating from their normal behavior. When we see people tearing down the fences or breaking through security checks, with people already being injured and trampled at 9AM, you can clearly see that mob mentality is on full display. A widespread panic manifests itself in selfishness, stepping on and pushing others. This state of mind might otherwise be uncharacteristic of them.
Travis Scott is well aware of this mob mentality; he feeds off it and encourages the chaos that comes with it. He weaponizes his power and influence over his teen fans, taking advantage of the parasocial relationship that many feel with Travis (in my opinion). It was a complete manipulation of their trust. He encourages violence towards security and officers. He encourages his fans to put themselves in potentially dangerous situations. He did nothing but encourage the crowd to keep pushing, which ultimately led to the devastating loss of many lives. Of course, I believe Live Nation is 100% to blame in this situation, but Travis Scott and the crowd should be held accountable too.
There's a level of social influence and conformity built around Travis Scott's fans, in which everybody is influenced by the behaviors and opinions of others. Travis Scott has built his live performances around "raging," where fans become hectic and out of control. It encourages others to give in to this chaos and potentially put the lives of others in danger.
In large crowds, individuals may experience a loss of self-awareness, potentially leading to impulsive and uninhibited behavior. People from SZA's set had come in through the left side entrance, hoping to catch Scott's performance, and had unintentionally packed the existing crowd into the right side barricades (from what I'm aware of). By wanting to be as close to Scott as possible, fans crushed the crowd into the barricade, though it's unlikely this was done intentionally.
Emotional contagion is when emotions can spread rapidly through a crowd and create a shared emotional state that influences individual actions. As Scott's performance began, a panic rapidly spread through the crowd as they realized they were being pushed and swayed uncontrollably. Screams and cries for help overwhelm the excitement that was previously felt. It directly contrasted the right side of the stage set-up, where people had no clue of the growing panic.
Social Proof, or looking to others for validation and guidance in uncertain situations, may lead to adopting popular choices or behaviors. Scott had full ability to control the performance, whether that have been stopping the show altogether or informing the crowds to keep calm. He had the power and influence to keep his fans from trampling among one another, and yet he continued his performance. It's Live Nations blatant ignorance and failure to guide the situation that ended in the injuries and deaths of so many.
Whilst mob mentality can be harmless, it often leads to negative consequences. Irrational decision-making and violence led to the devastation that night. Recognizing the factors that contribute to mob mentality can help organizations minimize negative effects and promote responsible behavior.
It's hard to hold one person accountable for all the things that happened that night. It wasn't entirely Travis Scott's fault, but the organizers for this event. After watching the documentary, my heart was broken for all the trauma these people suffered. My prayers go out to the victims families, because they were the ones who were most affected by all of this (not Travis).
