MORRISON, Colo. _ It was a half-cloudy night at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, with boulders looming and distant lightning in the eastern sky. Singer Colin Meloy was on stage with the Decemberists, chatting up the audience.
"There are very few places to play in the world that still make me nervous, and this is one of them," said Meloy, who has been touring for close to 20 years. "It feels like we should be giving a talk on grizzly bear management."
Red Rocks, 16 miles southwest of downtown Denver, is an American outdoor music venue like no other.
The stage and audience areas are sheltered between a pair of 300-foot monoliths, Ship Rock and Creation Rock, with another boulder anchored behind the stage, bouncing sound forward. Whether you're in the audience or on stage, occupying Red Rocks is like being held in the palm of a vast sandstone hand.
I recently caught two shows here and spent several more hours exploring the trails, slopes and meadows of Red Rocks Park, which covers 966 acres.
If you are a sonic purist, this might not be your place _ too many visual distractions. But for the rest of us, it's a double thrill. In the rocks you see nature improvising over the slow click-track of the long geological clock. On stage, there's a human invention every moment.
And every once in a while, human and natural events align in startling ways.
In a video at the venue visitor center, Widespread Panic bassist Dave Schools recalls the day Red Rocks audience members roared their approval when he was in the middle of a song. Just as he was congratulating himself, he glanced up and realized that the fans were cheering a double rainbow overhead.
