NEEDTOBREATHE holds the line between hope and heartache at York State Fair

York’s grandstand isn’t your typical rock venue.

“I’ve never played a show with this good of eyeline to a Ferris wheel,” Chris Renzema joked early on, warming up the crowd as the night’s opener. With a blend of earnest songwriting and laid‑back charm, he set the tone for an evening that balanced intimacy and energy.

Outside, the scent of funnel cakes hung in the humid air, the Ferris wheel spun slowly amid neon lights, and lemonade carts kept a steady line. Inside, it was pure Southern rock salvation.

NEEDTOBREATHE’s Bear Rinehart took the stage like someone who’d been storing up songs and stories. “We’ve been a band for 20‑something years and y’all still show up to see us play,” he told the crowd, grinning like a man who still can’t quite believe it. The truth was, they’d been home a while—only their second show of the year—and the week leading up to York had been spent not on the highway, but in the recording studio.

That recent time behind closed doors paid off in one of the night’s most striking moments: the debut of “Mama Loves Me.” Stripped of polish but heavy with lived‑in truth, beginning with what felt like a confession:

"Seems like every morning starts with me just counting up my sins / I got friends that I should call, but I don’t make the time for them / I ain’t sure of where I’m going, I ain’t proud of where I’ve been / But mama loves me, I’m still born again.”

The lines landed like something overheard in an unguarded moment, the kind of honesty that doesn’t care about image. It was a new song, but it carried the weight of an old prayer.

The rest of the setlist moved like a rollercoaster on the fairgrounds—sometimes slow and reflective, other times kicking into high gear. Onstage, Bear had a co‑conspirator in guitarist Tyler Burkum, whose playing threaded through the night like a second voice. The two traded glances and grins that spoke of trust built on the road. While it may have only been NEEDTOBREATHE's second show of the year, back in March, Rinehart toured as Wilder Woods, a more personal, soul‑leaning project.

The night’s mood shifted again with “Banks,” dedicated to drummer Randall Harris’ father, who had recently passed. The lyrics—“I wanna hold you close, but never hold you back / Just like the banks do the river”—felt like a quiet vow of remembrance, a gentle reminder of steady love in uncertain times.

By the time “West Texas Wind” rolled in, the fairground noise outside felt a world away. Rinehart grinned, calling it “a song I hope I get to play every night ’til I die and I hope that’s not soon,” before the band eased into its slow‑burn hush.

Outside, the Ferris wheel kept turning. Inside, a few thousand people walked away with something they didn’t have when they arrived — a little more truth, a little more light, and a melody they’ll carry long after the rides are packed away.