Jess Nelson On July 3, 2026, Myles Smith headlined the Gerald R. Ford Amphitheater in Vail, Colorado, the night before opening for Ed Sheeran in Denver. I made the drive up to the mountains specifically to catch his headline set (because a headline set and an opening slot are such different experiences) and I didn’t want to cut my time with him short. That decision turned out to matter more than I realized at the time: the next night, opening for Ed Sheeran, rain rolled in and knocked out his band’s equipment, cutting his set down to an acoustic one. Vail itself was clear, no weather issues at all, but I’m so glad I chose the show I did and got to see him with the full set intact.
Vail Village
I’ll admit I’ve always had a bit of a snobby attitude about Vail, writing it off as too polished, too rich for my taste. This show cracked that open. Getting out to the venue meant walking through more of Vail Village than I’d ever really taken in before, past trails that wind right up into the mountains and a huge lawn stretching out ahead of the amphitheater. Nestled the way it is between the peaks, the whole setting was genuinely gorgeous, easily one of the most beautiful venues I’ve covered (nothing can top Red Rocks though).
Hazlett
Hazlett was actually a big part of why I was excited for this lineup. I’d never managed to catch one of his headline sets, and his music got me through a breakup in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve been there. It’s the kind of sad that doesn’t wallow, it just sits with you, and somewhere along the way it also became my go-to background music for getting through a work day, which says a lot about how versatile it is. So finally hearing those songs live felt like closing a loop I’d been waiting to close.
He clearly knows exactly what kind of artist he is, and he leans into it. At one point he joked about how sad his catalog is before launching into a track with noticeably more energy, only to stop and clarify, only half joking, that the lyrics were still sad underneath the upbeat delivery. It got a real laugh out of the crowd, and it’s the kind of self-awareness that makes an artist easy to love. If I’m being honest, his songs run slower than what I usually gravitate toward live, but that’s a personal taste thing and not a knock on him. Getting to finally hear the songs that carried me through something hard, in person, made all the waiting worth it.
Myles Smith
Watching Myles Smith live is a genuinely different experience than just streaming his music, and I felt that the second he walked out on stage. There’s a warmth to him, an ease, like he’s not performing at the crowd so much as inviting everyone into something with him. His voice carried differently out there under the mountains than it does through headphones, fuller somehow, and it set the tone for a set that felt less like a show and more like being let into something deeply personal.
That presence carried into little moments throughout the set, including one that’s stuck with me since. He noticed someone holding up a sign marking their first concert ever, and without missing a beat, he had merch sent out to them on the spot. It’s a small gesture, but it’s the kind that stays with you, proof that he’s actually clocking the people in front of him and not just performing at them.
That same generosity shows up in how openly he talks about what’s underneath the music. He’s never shied away from being open about his mental health, from the pressure of finally reaching a place he’s dreamed about for years, or, as a Black artist, from the fucked up racism that comes tangled up in that success. He holds both truths at once without flinching: that living the dream and struggling under its weight aren’t mutually exclusive. Lately, without going into specifics, he’s also opened up about a hard stretch with his family back home in the UK, which makes it that much harder to be starting / on tour for few months, an ocean away.
All of that vulnerability came to a head near the end of the set, and it’s a moment I don’t think I’ll forget anytime soon. The crowd was cheering him on, giving him everything they had. Myles broke down crying onstage. It didn’t feel like a performer soaking up applause. It felt raw and mutual, like the whole room was finally giving something back for everything his music has given us. He said something into the mic that’s stuck with me since: “You guys make me feel so wanted.” There’s a whole world of quiet sadness sitting underneath a line like that, and I felt my chest tighten the second he said it. I was tearing up right along with him, and honestly not trying very hard to hide it. He posted about the moment the next day, saying how much it meant to him, and it’s a good reminder that the line between artist and fan isn’t nearly as wide as it’s sometimes made out to be. In a moment like that, everyone in the room is just there together, holding the same feeling at the same time.
One of the biggest highlights for me came earlier in the set with “Grandma’s Place,” one of the songs off his upcoming album, which digs into complicated family dynamics and the kind of home that holds love and hard memories in the same breath. I’m currently working through grief for parents who are still alive, and hearing that song live landed somewhere very specific in me. It’s proof of how healing music can be, and it’s exactly why Myles Smith is one of my favorite artists today.
If any information in this coverage is incorrect or needs to be fixed, please email PCD Editor at jessica@postconcertdepression.com. Thank you!
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