Big Ideas, Bigger Stage: Remi Wolf Rocks the Rocks

Written by Ali DeLambo

Remi Wolf’s technicolor brand of chaos-pop may have started in the quiet hills of Palo Alto, where she trained as a competitive skier and later studied at USC’s Thornton School of Music, but on a cool spring night at Red Rocks, she arrived like she was born to command that sandstone stage.

The evening of April 14 unfolded with all the texture and unpredictability of a Colorado spring—fleeting clouds, a warm breeze, and the lingering glow of a just-past-sunset moonrise. It was the kind of night that begged for something raw and joyfully weird, and Wolf delivered exactly that.

After a rich, jammy opening set from jazz-funk duo Dana and Alden, who made the giant amphitheater feel more like a living room session with friends, and a luminous, sunset-soaked performance by Alice Phoebe Lou—whose voice hovered like mist over the glowing rocks—it was Remi’s turn. And she didn’t just take the stage. She tore into it.

Wearing a rainbow crop top, tutu skirt, and boots built for stomping, Wolf launched into “Cherries and Cream” and “Cinderella,” two songs from her latest record, Big Ideas, with the kind of kinetic energy that leaves no room for stillness. It was a thrilling contrast to Alice Phoebe Lou’s hushed tenderness, but not jarring—more like a story unfolding in acts, from introspective to ecstatic.

Wolf’s voice is a contradiction in the best way: elastic, gritty, cartoonish one moment, and heartbreakingly sincere the next. Her set heavily drew inspiration from Big Ideas, and the songs translated with even more depth live. “Toro” and “Soup” bounced with wild, danceable grooves, but it was “Alone in Miami” that cut the deepest—an undercurrent of longing pulsing beneath the upbeat melodies. Her ability to balance infectious absurdity with emotional gravity mirrors what so many young artists are mastering right now: letting pop be weird, but also be honest.

There was also plenty of classic Remi Wolf chaos. At one point, she opened the floor to audience suggestions and ended up improvising a funk jam based on the words “lipstick” and “honeybun.” It was ridiculous and arguably brilliant, and her band—locked in and clearly having a blast—backed her like the impromptu song was part of the setlist all along.

What lingered more than the humor or high notes was a moment of quiet. During “Liquor Store,” the whole amphitheater sang back every word. Wolf stood still, smiling wide, visibly taking it all in. In a time when genre lines are dissolving and indie artists are turning country ballads or punk confessions into chart-toppers, Remi Wolf is carving out her own kaleidoscopic path. Her Red Rocks debut wasn’t just a concert—it was a joyful spectacle, a sweaty love letter to chaos, and a reminder that sometimes, pop music can be the most earnest thing in the world. It also marked the largest sold-out headlining show of her career, a milestone she wore with visible pride. I was content and thrilled to be in attendance, soaking in every colorful, unpredictable moment.