Above & Beyond Turn Fiddler’s Green Into a Celestial Sanctuary of Sound and Connection
September 30, 2025Photos: Gerardo Federico
A Reunion, Not Just a Show
If I remember right, I just reviewed these guys last year — at Red Rocks, under the stars — when I barely knew their music. I went in curious and came out hooked. Since then, I’ve been neck-deep in their world: the endless pulse of Anjunabeats, those gorgeous harmonies floating over four-on-the-floor beats, and that weekly “Group Therapy” session that’s somehow both meditative and euphoric. Somewhere in there, Above & Beyond got their hooks into me for good.
So walking into Fiddler’s Green this time felt different — not like discovering something new, but like showing up for a reunion with old friends who speak the same emotional language. You can feel that with this band; “fans” doesn’t even sound right. It’s more like a community of hearts synced to one BPM.
A Stage Like a Spaceship and a Crowd Ready for Launch
When the trio — Paavo Siljamäki, Jono Grant, and Tony McGuinness — took the stage, Fiddler’s was glowing. The setup looked like something out of a dream or a sci-fi film: a half-circle platform elevated behind the decks, lined with monitors that wrapped around the top and bottom like a luminous halo. It felt like the bridge of a ship — and we were all passengers.
The massive LED screen behind them flashed with familiar imagery — lovers spinning, friends hugging, dancers lost in slow motion. Above & Beyond have a way of turning those images into emotional triggers, little reflections of everyone in the crowd. We weren’t just watching the visuals; we were in them.
When the first notes hit — that crisp, steady “trouse” rhythm blending melody and muscle — the place erupted. It’s trance, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s catharsis disguised as a dance party.
Hana Lights the Fuse
The night kicked off with Hana, one of my favorites from the Group Therapy radio rotation. Just one “n,” but plenty of power. She floated onstage in deep red boots and a kind of quiet confidence, launching into a set that built slowly and deliberately. Her beats were smooth and unhurried, her voice weaving in and out of the mix like a pulse you didn’t know you needed until it was gone.
Hana’s performance was more than an opening act — it felt like a warm invitation. She blurred the line between DJ and storyteller, using subtle vocal lines to pull the crowd inward before handing us over to the main event. The amphitheater lights flickered like fireflies across the lawn, and by the time her last track faded, Fiddler’s was already humming with anticipation.
Then came Sultan + Shepard, veterans of the Anjunabeats family and no strangers to crafting long, emotional arcs. Their set was layered — the kind of steady climb that teases euphoria but never quite gives it away until you’re ready. You could feel the whole amphitheater rise and fall in sync.
“Push the Button” — and Let Go
Above & Beyond’s arrival was quiet at first — a soft wash of synths, a faint hum under the chatter — and then suddenly everything lifted.
The crowd exploded as the trio appeared behind the decks, silhouetted against a glowing blue-white backdrop that made them look almost mythic. They smiled, waved, and then leaned into the first drop — a heartbeat-level thump that made the air itself vibrate.
And, of course, “Push the Button.”
It’s more than a gimmick at this point — it’s a ritual. Somewhere in the sea of fans, a sign goes up: “Let me push the button!” The guys spot it, wave the person up, and suddenly someone from the audience is up there with them, standing in front of tens of thousands, trembling and grinning, about to drop the next track live. When the beat hits, the whole amphitheater goes insane — strangers hugging, eyes wide, every arm in the air.
That moment — letting a fan literally launch the next phase of the show — is what makes Above & Beyond so special. They blur the line between artist and audience. Their whole ethos is connection: to self, to others, to the music.
“Group Therapy,” in Real Time
It’s easy to forget how emotional their sets can be. Between the pounding bass and shimmering lights, they sneak in songs that hit straight at the heart. “Sun & Moon,” “Thing Called Love,” “Blue Sky Action” — tracks that make people laugh, cry, or both in the span of a verse.
Looking around during those songs, I saw couples holding each other tight, friends wiping tears, strangers just swaying with their eyes closed. It’s not your typical EDM show where everyone’s just raging. This is therapy — literally what they call it — wrapped in lasers and melody.
That sense of communal healing is what keeps me coming back. It’s a space where vulnerability isn’t just allowed — it’s amplified. You feel it in the way the crowd sings every word, in how people dance not to show off but to let go.
A Sonic and Emotional Journey
The visuals were stunning, but it’s the sound that defines an Above & Beyond night. Each track flows into the next like chapters in a story — transitions so seamless you almost don’t realize you’ve been dancing for an hour straight.
Still, Fiddler’s Green has its quirks. I’ve been to a million shows there, and while I love the venue’s open air and skyline view, the sound system can be brutal. When Excision came through earlier this year, it was punishingly loud — even with earplugs, it felt like a test of endurance.
Tonight, with Above & Beyond, I noticed it again. On some of my videos from the crowd, the bass occasionally swallowed the melody — that delicate balance between power and clarity just slipped away for a few moments. I’m all for feeling the music in your bones, but there’s a fine line between immersive and overwhelming.
So here’s my gentle plea: Fiddler’s, let’s turn it down just a hair.
Not because we don’t love it loud — we do — but because the heart of trance music lives in the harmony, not just the thump. Let the emotion breathe. Let the melodies soar without distortion. The experience doesn’t need to be painful to be transcendent.
Afterglow
When the final track faded and the trio waved their goodbyes, the crowd stood there for a moment, suspended between euphoria and disbelief. It wasn’t just another night out; it was a shared emotional reset.
Walking out under the crisp Colorado night, you could hear people still humming melodies, still smiling. That’s the real magic of Above & Beyond — they don’t just throw a show; they hold space for joy, reflection, and connection.
A year ago, I barely knew what “Group Therapy” meant. Now I get it. It’s not a slogan — it’s a way of being. And on nights like this, under the lights at Fiddler’s Green, it feels like the world might just heal itself one drop, one hug, one beat at a time.
