Of Monsters and Men • Arny Margret • November 22, 2025 • The Complex
Reviewed and Photographed by Nate Bonney
On November 22, 2025, the Rockwell room of The Complex in Salt Lake City transformed into something far more intimate than its industrial walls typically allow. The night marked a long-awaited return of Of Monsters and Men to Utah, and a first-ever visit for Icelandic singer-songwriter Arny Margret—an inspired pairing that unfolded with both quiet introspection and eruptive, communal energy. It was the kind of show that reminded a crowd why live music matters: the chance to be both hushed into stillness and swept into euphoria, sometimes within the same song.
Arny Margret
Arny Margret, soft-spoken yet instantly commanding, stepped onto the stage without fanfare, guitar in hand, letting the hum of expectation settle. In the dim, warm lighting, she opened with “In Tall Buildings,” the John Hartford cover that she’s made something of a signature. Her interpretation was delicate and haunting, her voice almost weightless but grounded by a gentle certainty. For many in the room, this was their introduction not only to her music but to her presence, and the realization that this was her first time performing in Utah drew an extra layer of attentiveness from the crowd. You could feel people leaning in.
Her original songs carried an aching purity that contrasted beautifully with the cavernous venue. “sometime” drifted out like a sigh, its restrained guitar work creating a spaciousness that made the room seem quieter than it had any right to be. “I Miss You, I Do” followed with a twinge of heartbreak woven into its soft melodies, her voice swelling with emotional honesty that never tipped into melodrama. It was an early highlight, earning a hush from the audience that felt like reverence.
The Icelandic-language “raddupptaka” added a layer of homespun intimacy to the set—Margret’s vocals blooming over the fingerpicked guitar lines with a serenity that didn’t require translation. “Crooked Teeth” shifted the tone slightly darker and more textured, its imagery evoking the rugged landscapes that inform much of her songwriting. When she eased into the more narrative-driven “Greyhound Station,” the storytelling felt cinematic: lonely, tender, and steeped in a stillness that traveled through the crowd like a passing thought everyone suddenly remembered.
As her set drew to a close, she treated the audience to “In a Dream”, an unreleased track that hinted at future musical directions—slightly more layered, a little dreamier, yet still anchored in her signature vulnerability. She ended to a swell of applause far louder than the quietude of her set would suggest. It was clear she had made a strong first impression in Utah, setting the emotional tone for the night with remarkable ease.
Of Monsters and Men
By the time the stage was reset for Of Monsters and Men, the room had begun to buzz with the kind of anticipation reserved for bands that have become inseparable from listeners’ personal histories. When the lights finally dimmed and the band emerged, Salt Lake City greeted them with a roar that reverberated off every beam and balcony of the Union Event Center.
They opened with “Television Love,” a shimmering, pulsating start that immediately pushed the crowd into motion. The track’s rhythmic lift acted like a switch—suddenly the room felt full, vibrant, and loud. From there, “Dream Team” kept the momentum going, its anthemic energy matched by an early-show confidence emanating from both Nanna and Ragnar, who seemed genuinely energized by the reception.
The emotional weight deepened with “King and Lionheart,” a favorite that elicited one of the most unified sing-alongs of the night. It was a reminder that, for many fans, Of Monsters and Men’s music is deeply intertwined with formative memories. As the chorus rang out, the venue felt almost cathedral-like in its sense of shared nostalgia.
The band shifted gears with “Tuna in a Can,” a newer entry that blended quirky charm with their more mature sonic evolution, before launching into “Alligator,” one of the show’s first full-throttle rock moments. Nanna’s vocals tore through the arrangement with electrifying intensity, her performance pushing the energy to a controlled chaos that the crowd embraced.
“Human” and “The Actor” followed, each steeped in the band’s familiar mix of mystery and melodic weight. There was a particular sharpness in their execution—tight, emotionally rich, and visually elevated by lighting that pulsed in sync with the songs’ dynamic shifts. “The Block” and “Mouse Parade” added atmospheric depth, their hypnotic grooves pulling the audience into the moody heart of the set.
When “Dirty Paws” began, it felt like the venue collectively lifted. The beloved early hit retained all its youthful magic, but with a maturity in the performance that somehow made it hit harder. Ragnar’s vocals carried a resonance that paired beautifully with the audience’s near-ecstatic participation, creating one of the night’s most joyful moments.
“Empire” and “Crystals” brought out the band’s cinematic side—sweeping, expansive, and emotionally charged. As crystalline lighting washed over the stage during “Crystals”, the space felt transformed into a surreal, icy dreamscape. “Styrofoam Cathedral” added an experimental edge, its dense textures and stirring crescendos pushing the show into more atmospheric territory.
With “Ordinary Creature,” the band introduced a contemplative interlude before ramping the energy back up for “Little Talks.” Unsurprisingly, this was the peak of collective euphoria. The trumpets, the shouts, the jubilant cadence—every element ignited the crowd. Fans who had been gently swaying suddenly jumped, moved, and sang with uninhibited joy. The chemistry between Nanna and Ragnar was especially vivid here; they seemed to feed off the crowd’s enthusiasm and return it tenfold.
The main set closed with “Visitor,” a track whose emotional swell made for a powerful finale. Its steady rise—both musically and emotionally—felt like a fitting culmination of the band’s evolving sound: still poetic, still dramatic, but sharpened with confidence and maturity.
After a brief exit, the band returned to a tidal wave of cheers for a two-song encore. “Love Love Love” was tender, stripped back, and warmly reminiscent—a moment of softness after an evening of emotional peaks. It gave space for reflection, and many in the room seemed to savor it quietly.
Finally, “Fruit Bat” closed the night with a burst of brightness and movement. It was playful and light, sending the crowd out the doors with an energy that lingered well past the final chord.
As fans spilled out into the cool November night, the consensus was clear: Of Monsters and Men delivered a show that honored their past while carving new pathways forward. And Arny Margret, with her understated brilliance, provided the perfect opening chapter. The evening showcased not only how far the band has come since their debut but how deeply their music continues to resonate. In a venue known for its volume and vigor, they created moments of both thunderous catharsis and delicate quiet—reminding Salt Lake City why they remain one of modern indie’s most beloved storytellers.
