Portugal. The Man Return to First Ave with La Luna in Tow
As the nights get longer and colder, I’m once again happy to find myself once again stepping into the warmth of Minneapolis’ First Ave. Maybe it’s the legend of the venue that proceeds me, but I always feel a touch of magic in the air there. La Luz opened the night, marking their first stop on Portugal. The Man’s Denali Tour. They took the stage with the cool ease that has shaped their signature surf-noir sound. The Seattle-based four-piece leans into reverb-soaked guitar riffs, hypnotic melodies, and vocal harmonies that feel like they’re floating just above the crowd. Their influences are woven clearly into the fabric of their music: front woman Shana Cleveland cites Japanese guitar legend Takeshi Terauchi, instrumental icons The Ventures and Dick Dale, and classic girl groups like The Shirelles as touchstones for their musical influences.
Despite it being night one, La Luz played with a quiet confidence, locked into their set with barely a pause between songs. While the near total absence of onstage chatter left me wanting a bit more direct connection, especially from an opener with a room full of listeners ready for a new discovery. Their focus and flow created an immersive start to the evening. Cleveland, dressed with understated glamor, seemed to loosen more with each track, her movement growing freer as the set progressed and her guitar lines carving out their own little universe inside First Ave.
It felt like watching the spark of something that will only grow stronger as the tour unfolds. By the end of their set, it was easy to imagine how electric they’ll be once they hit their stride later in the run—a band on the edge of something special, just beginning to ignite.
Before Portugal. The Man even appeared, the night took an unexpected—and deeply human—turn. Rapper Tall Paul stepped out for a brief two-song moment that instantly united the room. Hands in the air, the crowd matched his energy as he recorded a video for his father, who he shared is currently battling cancer. A spontaneous, full-venue “F*** cancer” chant rose up, followed by an audience selfie. It was raw, emotional, fleeting—and exactly the kind of communal spark that reminds you why live music matters.
When the house finally went dark, the LED screen flared to life with imagery and a slow-building monologue about light—the beginning of life, the wisdom of a grandmother urging us to seek brightness and resist the pull of darkness. I personally was fresh off a retreat in Mexico themed around radiance, I couldn’t help but feel the universe tapping twice. It set the tone: this wasn’t just a show; it was an invocation.
Then came the blackout. One by one, band members slipped into place like shadows finding their rhythm. What followed was a burst of organized chaos—flashing LED visuals, a deconstructed car tucked into the back corner, a rough-hewn wooden table anchoring three musicians, the drummer perched on a small riser, and two to four members weaving fluidly across the stage. It felt less like a traditional setup and more like a curated art installation in motion.
My entry point into Portugal. The Man was the 2017 megahit “Feel It Still,” the hook that pulled countless listeners into their orbit. Their sonic DNA—genre-bending, off-kilter, unmistakably them—still holds, but the edge has sharpened. Their latest album, Shish, leans into their Alaskan roots with heavier textures and raw, distorted tones. The album cover visuals alone, a man dragging two bloodied seals across snow, foreshadows the grit and mythology laced through the project. They tore through nearly the entire record with intensity and precision, barely pausing for crowd interaction. Like their openers, they stayed locked in their zone, letting the music speak louder than any banter could.
