Gold in the Rearview: Rilo Kiley Returns to Red Rocks with a Night of Ghosts, Grace, and Glorious Noise

Written by Ali DeLambo

Image courtesy of Rolling Stone

You never forget your first Red Rocks show. For me, it was Death Cab for Cutie—rain slicking the wooden seats, Ben Gibbard’s voice carrying across the canyon like a secret. So when I returned for Rilo Kiley’s long-awaited reunion tour and saw Gibbard standing in for both Julien Baker and Torres, who had bowed out of the opening slot, it felt like a kind of full-circle cosmic gift. He honored Baker’s absence with a haunting cover of “Sprained Ankle,” sparse and reverent, like he was singing directly into the wind. His solo set moved like a tide—quiet, tender, devastating. Songs like “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” and “Such Great Heights” weren’t just nostalgia fodder—they were prayers, whispered into the blood-red walls of the amphitheater.

And then came Rilo Kiley.

No pyrotechnics, no smoke. Just Jenny Lewis walking onto the stage like she never left, glittering in gold fringe, guitar slung low. The crowd’s reaction was seismic—screams layered with something deeper, older. Relief. Gratitude. Longing. It’s been over a decade since Rilo Kiley played together, and even longer since they last toured. For fans of early 2000s indie rock, their music feels tattooed into our coming-of-age stories—part heartbreak diary, part soundtrack to bad decisions and unshakeable friendships. This reunion tour isn’t just about playing the hits. It’s about resurrection.

They opened with “The Execution of All Things.” The band sounded tight but loose, confident but unafraid to crack open. Blake Sennett’s guitar snarled just the way we remembered it, and Jenny’s voice—holy hell—has only ripened. The years have turned her sharpness into something richer, like amber with a spark still trapped inside. She made “Portions for Foxes” feel like both a warning and a dare, and “Does He Love You?” nearly broke the venue in half. You could hear the crowd holding its collective breath through the final lines.

The setlist (which leaned heavily into More Adventurous and The Execution of All Things) was a careful blend of greatest hits and deep cuts—each song a time capsule. “The Moneymaker” roared like a song that knew it was never meant to stay buried. “Close Call” felt like a benediction. During “With Arms Outstretched,” the entire amphitheater turned into a choir, singing “It’s sixteen miles to the promised land…” into the night like a shared secret.

What was most remarkable, though, wasn’t just the songs. It was the way Rilo Kiley played them—with zero irony, no “wink wink we’re back” energy. This wasn’t a nostalgia cash-in. This was a reclamation. Jenny Lewis shouted out the Colorado crowd between songs with genuine warmth, remembering the band's early gigs at the Ogden, marveling at how far they'd come. And maybe that’s the magic of Rilo Kiley: they never tried to be bigger than they were, but somehow they got mythic anyway.

By the time the group closed with “Pictures of Success,” a soft breeze moved through the crowd like punctuation. Phones dropped. Voices rose. It was the kind of ending you don’t get in real life—only in great fiction or rare shows like this one.

It’s hard to describe what it feels like to watch a band you thought was gone forever rise back up under a Colorado sky. But maybe that’s the point. Some reunions aren’t just shows. They’re awakenings. And for a couple hours, Red Rocks became a memory made new—lit by old wounds, golden guitars, and the stubborn kind of joy that only shows up when you need it most.