A hush falls over the crowd the moment the opening chord strikes—this isn’t celebration, it’s recognition.
Above & Beyond’s Bigger Than All of Us isn’t just a return—it’s a reckoning. After seven years, the trio emerges with an album that isn’t about flash or fame; it’s about the weight of responsibility, connection, and endurance in a scene that never stops spinning.
The Anatomy of “Bigger”
When Tony McGuinness explains the title he leans into paradox: it means both the global “Anjunafamily” and the collective heartbeat behind the music. “We’ve always been fan‑focused… everything we do affects everybody else,” he tells Zane Lowe—a statement that implies art is no longer solitary, but shared destiny. These aren’t hollow platitudes; they’re core principles crystallized in song.
The album’s collaborators—Richard Bedford, Zoë Johnston, Justine Suissa—aren’t guests; they’re essential voices, decades‑long partners. That continuity isn’t comfort—it’s insistence. It asks: what does it mean to belong when the world demands reinvention?
Burnout, Rebirth, and Resonance
Above & Beyond confess fatigue—touring for a quarter-century risks disillusionment. They candidly admit needing a pause to honor creativity and mental health. Yet the decision to reemerge with this album and a 16-date amphitheater tour feels less like a comeback and more like claiming a promise: that music can heal not only audience hearts, but artist souls too.
Tracks like “Blood From A Stone” push their sound into drum & bass territory—far from nostalgic trance. The flourish feels calculated, fresh. Each track ripples with choreographed emotion, a testament to evolving while holding fast.
In that moment we first gathered in stadium light, the question hung palpable: is this a revival, or a new beginning? Bigger Than All of Us refuses to settle for comfort. It’s a manifesto demanding we consider not just what we listen to—but who we become when we share that listening.
Above & Beyond began this journey twenty-five years ago. Tonight, as the first chords fade, one question remains: will the future remember the music—or the community that carried it?
The lights dim—and the story goes on…waiting to be lived.
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