Greensky Bluegrass at Red Rocks Amphitheater

Written by Ali DeLambo

Bluegrass has always been my place of ease, the music I return to when I want joy without complication. Greensky Bluegrass embodies that spirit best, their jams loose yet intentional, their shows built on a sense of community more than performance. Paired with Margo Price at Red Rocks Amphitheater, the night carried that same balance of ease and energy. Under the glow of the sandstone walls, it felt less like a high-pressure event and more like a gathering of people ready to share in music that lifts the weight off your shoulders.

The storm clouds that had lingered over Denver most of the afternoon broke just in time for the music, and by the time Margo Price walked onstage the sky above Morrison was opening up. She set the tone for the night with a sharp, soulful set that pulled from her new record Hard Headed Woman, but did not shy away from crowd-pleasing detours. Covers of Woody Guthrie, Andrew Combs, and Dylan made her set feel like a journey through Americana’s lineage, while songs like “Don’t Let the Bastards Get You Down” and the rowdy closer “Hurtin’ (On the Bottle)” reminded everyone how deeply she can command both vulnerability and celebration. Price brought a looseness that fit perfectly with the night’s bluegrass spirit, a reminder that even as the storms pass the music rolls on without a hitch.

What struck me most about Margo Price’s set was the way she brings you in, not with spectacle but with presence. There is something unvarnished and homey about the way she performs, like she is inviting the crowd into her living room rather than standing above them on a stage. Even when the songs cut deep, she delivers them with a warmth that makes you feel included in the story. At Red Rocks, that intimacy stretched across the vast space, turning the amphitheater into something smaller, softer, and shared.

After 8 p.m., Greensky Bluegrass took the stage without any frills, no backdrop or decoration, just five guys and their instruments. What they lacked in stage dressing, they more than made up for in atmosphere, with a light show that transformed the amphitheater into something closer to an EDM spectacle than a traditional bluegrass concert. The beams pulsed and swirled in rhythm with their jams, wrapping the crowd in color and energy that felt at once surprising and perfectly fitting for the freewheeling spirit of their music.

This Red Rocks appearance marked Greensky Bluegrass’s 25th year together as a band and their 20th show at the storied venue, a milestone that gave the night an added sense of celebration. Mandolinist Paul Hoffman carried most of the lead vocals, his tone warm, unpolished, and unpretentious, cutting through the amphitheater with an unaffected sincerity. Guitarist Dave Bruzza stepped forward for “Streetlight,” his delivery raw, rugged, and slightly weathered, bringing a grittier edge that lit up the crowd. Throughout the set, the band radiated an earnest, homegrown spirit, their sound at once rootsy and expansive, both rustic and electrifying. It was a performance that felt lived-in yet adventurous, the mark of musicians who have built something authentic over decades and still find new ways to surprise.

The second set opened with their 2006 track “The Radio Blues,” a tune that immediately grounded the crowd in Greensky’s rootsy, unpolished energy. It flowed seamlessly into “Past My Prime,” carrying that same lived-in warmth, before building into the rollicking momentum of “Can’t Stop Now,” which had the amphitheater buzzing with kinetic, almost electric energy. Even in these early moments of the set, the band’s interplay felt effortless and organic, each note resonating with the kind of honest, weathered joy that comes only from decades of playing together.

By the time the final notes echoed across Red Rocks, the sky had taken on a heavy, low-hanging weight, a quiet reminder that just three days earlier, tragedy had struck nearby at Evergreen High School, only minutes from Morrison. Margo Price had acknowledged it during her set, urging listeners to think about gun safety, and Paul Hoffman later shared that his own child attends school in the same district, grounding the night in an unflinching reality. Yet even in that somber frame, the styling of bluegrass offered a kind of solace, a raw, honest music that carries both grief and hope, authentic and deeply human. In its lively rhythms and communal spirit, the genre itself felt like a call to action, a reminder that care, attention, and reform are necessary not just in song but in life, and that joy and responsibility can coexist in the same genuine, heartfelt moment.