Outside Festival 2025

Written by Ali DeLambo

Photos by Outside Festival

Denver’s 2025 Outside Festival was a true immersion into music, movement, and meaning, all set beneath Colorado’s vast May/June skies. The weekend pulsed with a blend of lush soundscapes and bold storytelling, anchored by performances that spanned psychedelic grooves to stripped-back folk, and punctuated by appearances from some of the most iconic voices in adventure culture. The layout kept things intimate, with just one main stage for touring acts, creating built-in pauses between sets that gave attendees time to wander the sprawling grounds—a maze of hammocks, art, shaded lounges, sponsor activations, and seemingly infinite food.

Saturday opened with an unhurried charm. After Brothers of Brass, whom I unfortunately missed due to the lines getting in, Squeaky Feet, a local jam-fusion band, set the tone with exploratory riffs and jazz-rock flourishes that kept early crowds locked in. They were followed by Husbands, an Oklahoma City indie-pop outfit whose breezy, beach-tinged melodies and bright guitar lines delivered an unexpectedly transportive set. Frontman Danny Davis’ smooth vocals soared cleanly above the sparkling arrangements, creating one of the weekend’s most effortlessly pretty sets.

Neal Francis picked up the tempo next with a rollicking, keys-forward blend of retro funk and R&B. Moving like a mad scientist of groove, Francis led his band through extended, soulful jams that felt equal parts ‘70s throwback and modern psych revival. His charisma behind the mic and the keys was undeniable—a crowd-pleaser with substance.

Then came Sylvan Esso, who brought the crowd to life in the golden light of early evening. Amelia Meath’s whimsical dancing and soaring voice, matched with Nick Sanborn’s sharp live production, made for a fully immersive experience. The duo’s bass-heavy set shook Civic Center Park to its foundations with hits like “Die Young” and “Coffee.” Meath’s sincere encouragements to care for each other, paired with Sanborn’s “ceasefire now” shirt, underscored the emotional weight of the performance without detracting from its kinetic joy.

As the sky dimmed, Khruangbin emerged to close the night with a 19-song journey through their kaleidoscopic sonic universe. Their sound, a hypnotic blend of Iranian pop, surf rock, and soul, washed over the audience in waves. Bassist Laura Lee Ochoa and guitarist Mark Speer glided across the stage in coordinated slow motion, trading riffs and rhythms like old friends finishing each other’s sentences. Tracks like “Maria También” and “Evan Finds the Third Room” reminded everyone why this trio commands such devoted love. Their vibe—cool but unpretentious—blended perfectly with the message repeated throughout the day: look out for one another.

Saturday also featured a compelling appearance by Diana Nyad, who spoke alongside illusionist David Blaine. Their shared focus on mental endurance and physical extremes was oddly complementary—Nyad sharp-edged and fiery, Blaine cerebral and elusive. The crowd, fresh off a dance-fueled Sylvan Esso high, leaned in for every word.

Sunday brought a softer start, led by Denver’s own Cole Scheifele, whose acoustic, folk-forward set created a gentle welcome. The Copper Children followed, weaving gospel, reggae, and Americana into a sun-dappled patchwork of sound that got early arrivals swaying. By the time Hazlett took the stage mid-afternoon, the skies had darkened and so had the mood, ever so slightly. The Australian-born, Sweden-based singer delivered a tender, introspective set of pop-folk, highlighted by the presence of his parents in the crowd—a sweet reminder of the human scale of music. But just as Hazlett finished, the sky cracked open. Torrential rain sent festivalgoers scattering as LED screens directed everyone to evacuate calmly. I waited it out in my car, watching ponchoed silhouettes sprint across soaked pavement.

When the storm passed, Waxahatchee emerged like a balm. Katie Crutchfield’s band was delayed but undeterred, and after a heroic effort from stagehands clearing puddles and peeling off plastic tarps, the show resumed. The set leaned into Tiger’s Blood-era rock-tinged Americana, with Crutchfield’s voice warm and commanding over soulful guitar and piano textures. The best moment? When she stopped mid-song to ensure someone in the pit could exit safely—an act of care that matched the emotional generosity of her music.

Unfortunately, I didn’t make it close enough to see Trampled by Turtles, but their sound carried beautifully across the grounds. Their high-octane bluegrass and airtight harmonies were unmistakable even from a distance—fast-picking and fiddle-led refrains that conjured mountain passes and whiskey-fueled nights, all with a sense of easy joy.

And then: Lord Huron. After two sold-out Red Rocks shows celebrating Strange Trails' tenth anniversary, they took the Outside stage to roaring applause. The set was cinematic, emotionally loaded, and laced with the otherworldly swagger that frontman Ben Schneider has made his signature. He sang into a payphone receiver, gestured like a stage magician, and brought theatricality to each song without once slipping into parody. “Meet Me in the Woods” hit like a fever dream, “The Night We Met” brought hushed awe, and a three-song encore ended with Schneider’s parting wish: “May you live until you die.”

While Saturday’s crowd swore they were there for Alex Honnold, by Sunday, the tide had turned—almost everyone I spoke to was there for Lord Huron. That flip was telling. Outside Festival is finding its balance, drawing both dirtbag climbers and indie rock romantics, and offering them space to coexist under the Colorado sun. The future feels wide open for this still-young gathering.

What set the 2025 Outside Festival apart wasn’t just its stellar music lineup, but the unique alchemy of sound and storytelling— where the visceral, immediate energy of live music met the quiet power of lived experience. Between performances, attendees were treated to talks from icons like Diana Nyad, Alex Honnold, and John John Florence, whose presence added unexpected depth to the weekend. Nyad, appearing alongside David Blaine, spoke with fiery intensity about endurance, failure, and the sheer will it takes to cross oceans—while Blaine, ever the enigma, framed human limits through a more surreal, psychological lens. On Saturday, nearly every person in line said they were there for Honnold, and the buzz felt almost reverent; his unflashy storytelling about fear, obsession, and calculated risk drew a full crowd and palpable silence. Then on Sunday, as the crowd swelled with anticipation for Lord Huron, John John Florence offered a gentler counterpoint—discussing the rhythms of the ocean, the artistry of movement, and how surfing can feel like a form of meditation. Together, the speakers acted as spiritual anchors for the festival—reminders that behind every extraordinary feat or transcendent song is a human being wrestling with doubt, meaning, and purpose. Their presence didn’t detract from the music; it elevated it, creating a space where adrenaline and introspection could share the same stage.