Ain't no rest for The Anthem: Cage the Elephant plays D.C.

Cage the Elephant doesn’t ease into a show. They strike a match and watch it burn.

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On Sunday night at The Anthem, the all-star rock band came out into a wall of flame for the opening riff of “Broken Boy,” setting the tone for a set that was equal parts spectacle and soul.

The night began with Bec Lauder and the Noise, a new trio fronted by a powerhouse vocalist, brought punchy, punk energy that leaned somewhere between indie and pop.

Hey, Nothing followed with a softer hand but the same emotional punch. Their sound balanced bright indie rock with the ache that lives beneath it. “Okay, we’re gonna stop playing sad songs now,” Harlow Phillips joked, though the melancholy was part of what made them so magnetic. Just weeks earlier, they had played D.C.’s All Things Go Festival.

When the house lights dropped again, the room burst with energy. In parallel, Cage the Elephant hit the stage like they’d been waiting all day to let something loose. Flames burst along the front row as Matt Shultz bounded across the stage in constant motion, launching off the mic stand one second and leaning over the crowd the next. He’s one of the few frontmen left who performs like the show could combust at any second.

While the show may have been a continuation of support for the band's latest, Neon Pill, the setlist felt more like a Cage the Elephant greatest hits album. The night stretched across their whole discography, pulling heavy-hitters from each era.

The rhythm bending of “Cry Baby,” the wiry tension of “Spiderhead,” and the looming darkness of “Cold Cold Cold” set a volatile pace early in the set.

“Neon Pill” hit with new-album grit, while “Ain't No Rest for the Wicked” transported fans back to 2009, when Cage the Elephant was yet to be a household name.

The stage design matched the discography's emotion: pyrotechnics, lasers, and a flood of neon light that seemed to breathe along with the songs. Even during slower moments like “Trouble” or “Skin and Bones,” the swell never disappeared, it only simmered.

Shultz’s stage banter oscillated between chaos and confession. “If you’re connecting with [the music] the way I think you are, you’re just as fucked up as me,” he said mid-set. “[We’re all] broken pieces of pottery just clangin’ around.” Later, he softened, thanking the crowd: “It means the world that you’ve made space for our music in your lives.”

By the encore break—an unusually long one that had fans chanting for minutes—the air in the room was heavy and buzzing. When the band returned, it was with purpose. “Back Against the Wall” bled into “Shake Me Down,” then the crowd took over “Cigarette Daydreams,” singing every line loud enough to drown out Matt’s mic.

Outside, the air was cold, cold, cold. But inside, The Anthem had just hosted a rarity that felt both chaotic and precise, reckless and deeply human. Matt had joked earlier that “outside of the concert arena, I think we’d all be friends.” Judging by the way the room moved with him, he might be right.