Of Monsters and Men Bring the Mouse Parade to Miami Beach, Transforming the Fillmore into a Dreamlike Gathering of Fog, Folk and Pure Emotion.

September 30th, 2026

There are concerts that make you dance. There are concerts that make you scream. Then there are those rare performances where, for a couple of hours, you almost forget you are standing in a room full of strangers.

Of Monsters and Men managed the latter at the Fillmore Miami Beach.

Peaceful. Beautiful. Invigorating. At times, almost spiritual.

That may sound like an odd collection of adjectives for a rock show, but this was never an evening built around nonstop movement or manufactured spectacle. Instead, the Icelandic group gradually pulled the room into its world, surrounding the audience with sweeping instrumentation, alternating vocals, thick rolling fog and neon light that seemed to float through it.

And once they had us, they never really let go.

Before the Mouse Parade began, August Ponthier established exactly the right atmosphere.

Armed primarily with acoustic guitars, Ponthier delivered a set that was less about dancing and more about settling in, swaying and listening. Songs including “Handsome” and “Everywhere Isn’t Texas” showcased an artist whose storytelling felt particularly suited to the intimacy of the Fillmore.

August Ponthier performs at The Fillmore Miami Beach at The Jackie Gleason Theater. © South Florida Insider

There is also a compelling chapter behind the music. After being dropped by Interscope, Ponthier ultimately arrived at their first full-length album, Everywhere Isn’t Texas. The record includes “Handsome” and “Bloodline,” along with the title track, and represents a significant step forward for an artist carving out a path on their own terms.

That context made “Bloodline,” introduced as a song about family, carry a little more weight. There was vulnerability in Ponthier’s performance without it ever becoming overly heavy. It was personal, relaxed and remarkably well matched to what would follow.

Then the fog rolled in.

Of Monsters and Men didn’t so much burst onto the stage as seemingly materialize inside it.

Of Monsters & Men performs at The Fillmore Miami Beach at The Jackie Gleason Theater. © South Florida Insider

Beams of faded reds, blues, purples and other neon hues sliced through a haze that continually engulfed the musicians. At different points, the lighting seemed less like something illuminating the performance and more like another member of the band.

That visual atmosphere complemented where Of Monsters and Men are musically today. Their latest album, All Is Love and Pain in the Mouse Parade, arrived in 2025 after a six-year gap between full-length records. The themes surrounding the album include love, pain and community, all of which suddenly made a whole lot of sense inside the Fillmore.

With an expansive ensemble filling the stage, the music could become enormous without becoming overwhelming. And regardless of whether Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir or Ragnar Þórhallsson carried the vocals, the connection remained intact.

There is simply something spiritual about this band live.

During quieter stretches, the audience could become almost hypnotically still, only for spontaneous eruptions of cheers to suddenly shoot through the room. It occasionally felt less like applause and more like a congregation ready to praise.

Not praise in the religious sense. Rather, it was that involuntary reaction when a room full of people collectively feels something and apparently decides silence is no longer an option.

The set moved through newer material such as “Television Love,” “Dream Team,” “Tuna in a Can,” “Styrofoam Cathedral” and “The Actor,” while comfortably reaching backward for longtime favorites including “King and Lionheart,” “Dirty Paws,” “Crystals” and, of course, “Little Talks.”

A little South Florida flavor worked its way into the show as well. After “Alligator,” the band shared that they had recently taken an airboat ride through the Everglades. The timing couldn’t have been much better. Nothing quite says welcome to South Florida like playing “Alligator” after venturing into the place where you might actually meet one.

As the night progressed, the physical distance between band and audience began disappearing as well.

During “Ordinary Creature,” Ragnar ventured to the very edge of the stage, arms spread toward the audience. Another up-close moment came during “Visitor.” For a performance so heavily defined by atmosphere, those gestures mattered. The musicians weren’t hiding behind the fog. They were inviting everyone further into it.

Then the Fillmore decided it had been well behaved long enough.

“Crystals” brought a noticeably feistier response, with the audience gleefully echoing the song’s soaring “oh” vocal refrain back toward the stage.

But “Little Talks” was another animal entirely.

The place exploded.

After spending much of the night swaying, absorbing and occasionally erupting, the audience finally unleashed everything at once. The instantly recognizable track transformed the room, with voices rising everywhere and the energy hitting another level.

Yet it never felt disconnected from the show that preceded it. That might have been the night’s greatest trick.

Of Monsters and Men proved they could mesmerize a room in near-tranquility and then send that same room into a frenzy without breaking the spell.

Following “Visitor,” the fog once again swept across the stage, gradually swallowing the musicians as they disappeared from view. It was about as appropriate an exit as this show could have produced.

Of course, nobody was buying it.

The band returned for an encore of “Love Love Love” and “Fruit Bat,” providing one final trip into the strange, beautiful world they had constructed over the course of the evening.

I’ve been won over by Of Monsters and Men since the first time I listened to them, and nothing they’ve produced since has given me much reason to reconsider. Seeing these songs performed live only strengthened that connection.

Perhaps that’s ultimately what separates this band.

They don’t need to beat you over the head with volume or spend two hours desperately demanding your attention. At the Fillmore, they created an atmosphere compelling enough that attention came naturally.

For one night in Miami Beach, we swayed. We sang. We cheered. We disappeared into the fog.

And somewhere between the monsters, the men and the Mouse Parade, the Fillmore found a little magic.