The mercury dipped into the low 30s as dusk settled over Midtown Manhattan on December 3, 2025, casting long shadows across the frost-kissed plaza of Rockefeller Center. The air crackled with anticipation, a cocktail of hot cocoa steam, distant taxi horns, and the muffled chatter of thousands bundled against the bite—families from the suburbs, tourists clutching maps like talismans, and locals weaving through with that New York blend of cynicism and secret wonder. At the heart of it all stood the unlit Norway spruce, a 75-foot behemoth hauled from the Russ family farm in East Greenbush, New York, its branches heavy with the ghosts of Christmases past. This wasn’t just any tree; it was a living monument to resilience, donated in memory of Dan Russ, the 32-year-old father whose widow, Judy, had whispered to NBC crews about how the evergreen had shaded their home through joys and griefs alike. Wrapped in five miles of wire and poised for 50,000 multicolored LED lights—eco-friendly orbs powered by rooftop solar panels that sip energy like a thrifty aunt at brunch—the giant waited, crowned by a 900-pound Swarovski star glittering with three million crystals. For 93 years, this ritual has marked the holiday’s dawn, but tonight felt charged, electric, like the city itself was holding its breath. And then, as the NBC cameras rolled for Christmas in Rockefeller Center, Reba McEntire kicked it all off with a blazing, joy-soaked performance of “Run Run Rudolph”—a festive, high-energy opener that electrified the crowd, lit up the plaza in spirit if not yet in bulbs, and set the tone for the entire night. Her powerhouse vocals bounced off the skyscrapers like pure holiday fireworks, instantly earning praise as one of the most unforgettable openings the iconic ceremony has seen in years.

Reba didn’t just step onto the stage; she claimed it, striding out in a vision of winter white—a fur-lined coat that swirled like fresh powder, snowflake earrings catching the spotlights, and boots that clicked with the confidence of a woman who’s headlined the Opry more times than most folks change socks. At 70, the Oklahoma cowgirl remains a force of nature: red hair flaming under the gels, eyes sparkling with that trademark mischief, her voice a velvet thunder that could hush a hurricane or rally a rodeo. “Y’all ready to run with Rudolph?” she hollered, her drawl slicing the chill like a shot of bourbon, drawing whoops from the throng packed shoulder-to-shoulder around the ice rink. The band— a crack ensemble of Nashville vets on guitars, drums, and brass—launched into the intro riff, that Chuck Berry rock ‘n’ roll gem from 1958 twisted into holiday haste. Reba leaned into the mic, her hips swaying like wind through wheat fields, belting, “Out of all the reindeers, you know you’re the mastermind / Run, run Rudolph, Randolf’s way too far behind!” The crowd ignited: fists pumping, scarves whipping, a sea of cellphones thrusting skyward like digital torches. Kids on dads’ shoulders bounced in rhythm, their mittens clapping off-beat; couples in beanies linked arms, grinning like they’d just unwrapped the best gift. Her vocals soared—gravelly lows dipping into that smoky alto, highs piercing clear as a church bell—bouncing off the art deco facades of 30 Rock, echoing down Sixth Avenue like an invitation to the world: the holidays had arrived, and they were gonna be a hoot.

What made it unforgettable wasn’t just the pipes; it was the pure, unfiltered Reba— that alchemy of grit and grace that’s carried her from dusty rodeo stages to Broadway’s footlights. Born Reba Nell Cartor in 1955, the third of four kids on a Chockie, Oklahoma ranch, she was saddling horses by five and crooning Hank Williams by seven, her voice a lifeline amid the isolation of those wide-open plains. A chance audition at the National Finals Rodeo in 1975 snagged her a Decca Records deal, and by 1977, “Sweet Dreams” had her storming the charts, a barrel-racing blonde upending Nashville’s boys’ club. Hits piled up like snowdrifts: “Whoever’s in New York” in 1988, a prophetic wink at this very night; the gut-wrenching “Fancy,” her 1990 cover of Bobbie Gentry’s tale of survival that became an anthem for every underdog; and duets like “Does He Love You” with Linda Davis that tugged heartstrings into knots. She’s sold 75 million records, snagged three Grammys, and etched her name into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2011, but Reba’s real superpower is reinvention— from ’90s TV queen in Reba to Vegas headliner, Broadway’s Annie Get Your Gun in 2001, and now, at 70, the sitcom Happy’s Place on ABC, where she plays a bar owner navigating love’s second acts with fiancé Rex Linn, her Young Sheldon co-star turned real-life partner since 2020.

This Rockefeller gig? A full-circle triumph. Reba had dreamed of it since her early tours bypassed the Big Apple for honky-tonks, and when NBC tapped her as the first country host since Dolly Parton’s 1987 stint, she dove in boots-first. Prep started weeks earlier: soundchecks in a heated 30 Rock studio, where she fine-tuned her take on “Run Run Rudolph,” a track she’d dropped as a single on November 28 alongside a velvet rendition of Vince Gill’s “Let There Be Peace on Earth.” “I wanted it jazzy, sassy—like Rudolph’s got places to be and elves to outrun,” she quipped in a pre-show interview with TODAY, her laugh booming over the line. She even joined the Radio City Rockettes for a kick-line rehearsal the day before, her legs—honed from decades of stage stomps—holding their own in a flurry of sequins and high steps. “Those girls are machines!” she marveled later, flexing a calf for the cameras. And Rex? He was there in spirit, FaceTiming from their Nashville nest with their pups, Pipo and Winnie, decked in tiny Santa hats. “He’s my anchor,” Reba shared backstage, her eyes softening. “Says hosting’s my destiny—after all, I’ve been corralling crowds since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

As the song built to its crescendo—”Run, run Rudolph, bring that sleigh tonight / Rock it, roll it, dash away, dash away all!”—Reba worked the stage like a revival preacher: pointing to fans in the front row, tossing winks to TODAY anchors Savannah Guthrie, Craig Melvin, and Al Roker perched rinkside, even leading a faux reindeer horn-honks that had the plaza erupting in laughter. The brass section punched like champagne corks, drums thundering underfoot, and her band—fiddle weaving in a country twang absent from Berry’s original—turned it into a hybrid hoedown. Snow flurries, courtesy of Mother Nature rather than machines, began to drift, catching the lights and swirling around her like confetti from a joy bomb. The crowd fed off her energy: a dad hoisted his toddler for a better view, the kid’s eyes wide as saucers; a group of teens, scarves askew, formed an impromptu conga line; even security guards cracked grins, tapping toes under their earpieces. By the fade-out, the plaza wasn’t just lit—it was alive, pulsing with that infectious Reba rhythm that says, “We’re in this merry mess together.”

The praise rolled in faster than the post-show eggnog. Social media lit up like the tree itself: #RebaRockefeller trended nationwide within minutes, X feeds flooding with clips of her strut, fans gushing, “That opener? Pure fire—Reba just reindeer-proofed Christmas!” TikTok edits layered her vocals over user dances, racking millions of views by midnight. Billboard called it “a turbo-charged tradition-twist that set the bar sky-high,” while Variety hailed her “commanding charisma, proving legends don’t dim—they dazzle.” Backstage, Guthrie pulled her into a hug: “You didn’t just open, darlin’—you owned it.” And Reba, flushed and beaming, shot back, “Honey, with this crowd? It’s a wrap already.” Her setlist didn’t stop there; she returned later for a soul-stirring “Let There Be Peace on Earth,” her voice dipping into gospel depths that hushed the masses, then teamed with Kristin Chenoweth—fellow Oklahoma firecracker—for a harmonious “Silver Bells,” their fur-collared coats twinning like winter sisters.

The night unfolded in a cascade of stars: Gwen Stefani shaking snow globes with “Hot Cocoa,” her fifth Rockefeller romp a pop confection; Michael Bublé and Carly Pearce’s tender “Maybe This Christmas,” a bilingual balm that misted eyes; Brad Paisley’s acoustic ache in “Counting Down the Days”; Marc Anthony’s salsa swirl on “Feliz Navidad”; New Edition’s velvet “Happy Holidays to You”; and the Rockettes’ centennial kicks that turned the rink into a precision parade. But Reba’s opener lingered like the afterglow of fireworks—the spark that ignited the two-hour sprint to the lighting. As the countdown hit—”Three, two, one!”—and 50,000 lights erupted in a symphony of reds, greens, and golds, the Swarovski star blazing overhead, her “Run Run Rudolph” echoed in every cheer. The tree, destined to glow till mid-January before Habitat for Humanity mills it into homes, stood as sentinel to the season’s kickoff.

As December 5, 2025, dawns with its post-glow hush—plaza crowds thinning, but the spruce still shimmering—Reba’s performance endures as the night’s north star. In a world spinning too fast, she reminded us: holidays aren’t about perfection; they’re about propulsion—that joyful run toward light, love, and a little reindeer rebellion. From Oklahoma dirt to New York dazzle, Reba McEntire didn’t just kick off Rockefeller. She revved it into overdrive, leaving the city—and the season—forever a little brighter, a little bolder. Merry indeed, y’all. The run’s just begun.