There was something fitting about the way Three Pianos came to an end. The sun was setting behind the stage. Palm trees lined the horizon. The Queen Mary sat illuminated in the distance. And for the final time, three pianos waited onstage, each representing a different chapter of Andrew McMahon’s career.

Just over a year after McMahon first brought the concept to life at Red Rocks, Three Pianos had made its way across the country, growing from a once-in-a-lifetime event into a three-city celebration. Philadelphia had kicked off the final run, Chicago followed, and now Long Beach would have the last word.

I had already experienced the show twice. I knew what was coming. And yet, as I watched the sun disappear over the newest amphitheater in Long Beach, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was going to be different.

On August 22, 2026, McMahon brought “Three Pianos: An Evening With Something Corporate, Jack’s Mannequin, and Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness” to the brand-new F & M Bank Amphitheater in Long Beach, closing out three weekends of shows that had taken the production from Philadelphia to Chicago and finally to Southern California. With the Queen Mary visible behind the stage throughout the night and the summer sky stretching overhead, the setting could hardly have been more different from the towering red rocks of Colorado. But as the evening unfolded, it became clear that the magic of Three Pianos was never really about the venue. It was about the history.

I have spent nearly 25 years following McMahon’s music, and his songs have become intertwined with so many chapters of my own life that this show has always felt like something more than a concert. I have watched these songs evolve from the soundtrack of my teenage years into something that has followed me through adulthood. I have watched bandmates become fathers, watched children grow up alongside the music, and somehow found myself on the other side of the camera documenting a career that has had such a profound influence on my own life.

I have seen McMahon and his various projects live more than 100 times. That number still sounds a little insane when I say it out loud, but there is something fitting about having watched so much of this journey and then getting the opportunity to photograph a show that is essentially a living history of it.

And Long Beach felt different. Maybe it was because this was the end. Maybe it was because I knew exactly how much this night meant to me. Or maybe it was simply the accumulation of everything that had happened since I first pressed play on those songs at that Virgin Megastore listening station all those years ago. Whatever the reason, I found myself getting emotional throughout the night in a way I hadn’t expected.

The show began, as it had in Red Rocks and Philadelphia, with Jack’s Mannequin. The familiar cinematic introduction unfolded on the screens, McMahon’s love letter to the piano that carried him through one of the most difficult and transformative chapters of his life. As the band took the stage and the first notes of “The Resolution” rang out, the atmosphere immediately felt celebratory. The set moved through Jack’s Mannequin favorites, with Zac Clark and Josh Partington — two longtime friends and collaborators from other chapters of McMahon’s career — joining them onstage along the way. While introducing “Spinning,” McMahon reflected on a strange period when he thought everything would eventually return to normal, only to realize that some of the things we go through take time to work their way out of our systems. He described finding himself “just spinning trying to figure out how to get out on the other side.” The Jack’s Mannequin set also included a particularly fun surprise as McMahon mashed up “Kill the Messenger” with The Police’s “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic,” before bringing both Brian and Josh from Something Corporate onto the stage for “Bloodshot.”

But even during a set filled with nostalgia, the setting itself kept reminding us that this was the final Three Pianos night. Shortly after the Jack’s Mannequin set began, McMahon looked toward the palm trees silhouetted against the setting sun and said, “Watching the sunset on the palm trees feels just about right for the occasion here.” He was right. The Long Beach setting gave the show something entirely its own. The Queen Mary sat in the distance behind the stage, visible throughout the night, while the newly opened amphitheater provided a striking backdrop for a show that has now become one of the most ambitious productions of McMahon’s career.

The second chapter of the evening belonged to Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness. This portion of the show has always carried a different energy, with McMahon spending much of the set moving beyond the stage and into the crowd. Long Beach was no exception. “Canyon Moon” once again proved to be the perfect outdoor song, with McMahon making his way into the audience and dancing beneath the moonlight.

During “Island Radio,” Zac Clark helped with vocals as McMahon climbed aboard his now-infamous inflatable duck and rode it through the general admission pit. At this point, the sight of Andrew McMahon singing while being carried through a crowd on an inflatable duck has become so unmistakably part of his live show that it almost feels normal. Almost.

With “Synesthesia,” McMahon once again abandoned the traditional stage, this time finding himself in the middle of the crowd beneath a parachute as colors moved overhead and fans danced around him. It was one of those moments that perfectly captures why these shows are so special. The production is massive, but McMahon continually finds ways to make it feel intimate.

And then, suddenly, we were back where it all began.

The Something Corporate portion of the night has always been the most emotionally complicated for me. I love all three of McMahon’s projects deeply, but Something Corporate holds a place in my life that nothing else quite does. It is where this entire journey began for me, and hearing those songs now carries the weight of everything that has happened since.

McMahon took his place behind the upright piano as Something Corporate joined him onstage. The set moved through songs that have lived with me for more than two decades, tracks like “Cavanaugh Park,” “I Want to Save You,” “Fall,” “She Paints Me Blue,” “Me and the Moon,” “I Woke Up in a Car,” and “Hurricane.” But this time, “Me and the Moon” carried a particularly beautiful moment. Looking up at the night sky, McMahon said he had been waiting for this moment since he saw the moon hanging above them. It had been a minute since they had been able to play the song beneath its light.

For me, though, the most powerful moment came before the first note was even played.

The Something Corporate piano monologue returned, telling the story of the instrument that had been there from the earliest days of the band. McMahon spoke of the stickers, the sweat-filled rooms, the uncertainty, and the years spent trying to figure out what exactly this band was supposed to become.

Then came the final line: “Don’t tell the others, but you were always my favorite.”

It gets me every time. I knew the words were coming. I had heard them at Red Rocks. I had heard them again in Philadelphia. And still, standing there in Long Beach, I felt that familiar lump in my throat. Maybe it is because I know what that piano represents to him. Maybe it is because of what Something Corporate represents to me. Or maybe it is because, as the final Three Pianos show reached the end of its run, there was an unavoidable question hanging over the entire set: When will we get to see these six people share a stage like this again? There is no easy answer. So I tried to simply be present for it.

After “Hurricane,” the band left the stage, and the 10-minute intermission began. When it ended, William Tell and Brian Ireland appeared to “get serious one last time,” performing a stripped-back version of the “Thong Song,” followed by “I’ll Love You Always Forever.” It remained every bit as ridiculous and joyful as it has been throughout the Three Pianos run.

Then Andrew, Zac, Bobby, and Josh took the B-stage for “The Astronaut” and “Swim.” There was a brief moment of déjà vu when Bobby encountered technical issues again at the beginning of “Swim.” McMahon laughed and said, “We’ve been here before,” a nod to the similar hiccup that had occurred in Philadelphia two weeks earlier. This time, though, the issue was resolved before the musicians had to completely change course, allowing them to settle into the song without the scramble that had defined the Philadelphia version.

From there, the boundaries between the three projects disappeared. The Super Jam returned, with members of Something Corporate, Jack’s Mannequin, and Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness sharing the stage and trading instruments and roles throughout the final stretch of the night.

But before continuing, McMahon paused to reflect on a milestone that put the entire night into perspective. The following day would mark 21 years since the stem cell transplant that saved his life. Twenty-one years earlier, there was no guarantee that he would get to experience any of the moments that filled the stage that night — no guarantee of another album, another tour, another song, or the chance to stand in front of thousands of people surrounded by the friends and family who had helped him get there. He not only survived cancer, but went on to build a life and a career that have allowed him to use his experience to help others, including through the Dear Jack Foundation, the nonprofit he founded to support adolescents and young adults affected by cancer.

Standing onstage with the people who have been part of that journey, 21 years removed from the transplant that made the night possible, McMahon dedicated “Stars” to his wife, Kelly, who had been there through all the songs and had been the heart of them all.

The Super Jam featured tracks like “Dark Blue,” “Punk Rock Princess,” “I’m Ready,” and “Fire Escape,” building toward the moment everyone knew was coming. “Fire Escape” ended with McMahon jumping off his piano before dropping back onto his stool.

“Yep, we’re doing it.” The crowd erupted, and “Konstantine” began. As the song reached the line, “You’re restless, and I’m naked,” a few enthusiastic “woos!” came from the audience. McMahon stopped, laughing, and looked out at the crowd. “That’s the first time anyone has done that in a long time.”

Then came “If You C Jordan.” McMahon paused for a moment and said, “I’ve never apologized for this song. I thought about doing it tonight…” He took another long pause before exclaiming, “NOPE!” The crowd exploded. There are few better ways to close a three-hour celebration of Andrew McMahon’s career than thousands of people screaming that song together.

After a brief break, McMahon returned for the encore and immediately joked about his recurring nightmare in which he walks offstage and nobody makes any noise, forcing him to return anyway. He thanked the audience for their “moderate level of noise” before inviting his daughter, Cecilia, onto the stage. For longtime fans, watching Cecilia grow up alongside McMahon’s career has become its own kind of timeline. She has appeared onstage with him many times, but there was something especially meaningful about this performance because of the way she and her father shared the song.

Before beginning “Cecilia And The Satellite,” McMahon explained that the song had originally been called “If I Could Fly.” His manager thought the title sounded too much like a Disney song and suggested putting a girl’s name into it. Cecilia had just been born, and McMahon knew exactly whose name belonged in the song.

The pride on his face as he watched his daughter sing was impossible to miss. Cecilia sang every other lyric alongside her dad, turning the song into a genuine duet. At the end, they hugged, and the crowd erupted.

The set came to a close with “La La Lie.” Friends and family joined them onstage as the Three Pianos journey finally reached its conclusion. Throughout the night, their children could be seen side stage, dancing, singing, and taking in the chaos around them. Now they were all part of the finale, filling the stage as McMahon’s three musical worlds converged one final time. It was a fitting ending for a show that has always been about more than the music.

Standing in Long Beach with a camera in my hand, I found myself thinking about how strange it is that music I discovered as a teenager could eventually become such a meaningful part of my adult life. I couldn’t have known where those songs would take me. I couldn’t have known they would become part of so many chapters of my life, that the people I met through this music would become some of my closest friends, or that more than two decades later, I would be standing in front of the barricade documenting an artist whose music had shaped so much of who I became. By this point, it is difficult to separate the songs from the memories. Some take me back to specific people or places, while others remind me of versions of myself I haven’t been in years.

And I couldn’t have known how much I would need this night. The past several months have brought an enormous amount of stress into my life, and I found myself feeling unexpectedly cathartic throughout the evening. Photographing this show was a privilege in itself, but photographing it at this particular moment in my life made it mean something even bigger. For three hours, I got to step outside of everything else and simply be there — to experience songs that have been part of my life for years, surrounded by people who understand exactly why they matter.

That is the strange thing about Three Pianos. I have now experienced this show three times, and each performance has been different. Red Rocks felt like witnessing a dream become reality. Philadelphia felt like discovering that the dream could grow beyond its original boundaries. Long Beach felt like saying goodbye. But I don’t think the magic ever came from the surprise of what would happen next. By the third time, I knew the setlist. I knew the monologues. I knew the jokes. I knew the duck was coming. I knew Cecilia would join her dad. I knew the three bands would eventually stand together onstage.

And somehow, I still cried. Because Three Pianos has never really been about what’s going to happen next. It is about what has already happened. It is about the kids who wrote these songs and the adults who grew up with them. It is about bandmates who became brothers, wives who carried their families through the hardest years, children who now stand onstage beside their parents, and fans who have spent decades building their own lives around the music. It is about the fact that the songs we loved when we were teenagers can still find us decades later.

And for me, it is about Something Corporate. I don’t know when I will see those six people onstage together again. Maybe it will be soon. Maybe it won’t. There is no promise of another show, another tour, another Three Pianos. That uncertainty made every second of their set in Long Beach feel even more precious. So when McMahon sat behind that upright piano and quietly told it, “Don’t tell the others, but you were always my favorite,” I let myself feel it.

Three Pianos began as a celebration of three chapters in one artist’s career. In Red Rocks, it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime event. By Philadelphia, it had become something bigger. And in Long Beach, it became a farewell to a show that somehow managed to make the past feel present again.

The Three Pianos era may be over, but McMahon’s story certainly isn’t. And perhaps that is the most fitting takeaway from a show built around three different chapters of his life. There is always another chapter. For those of us who have been following him for more than two decades, there will always be another song, another piano, another stage, another memory.

But there will only ever be one first time. One first listen in a Virgin Megastore. One first Something Corporate show you spend years wishing you could have seen. One first Red Rocks. And one final Three Pianos show in Long Beach beneath the palm trees and the moon, with the Queen Mary glowing behind the stage and an artist who has spent more than 20 years turning his life into songs standing in front of us, surrounded by the people who helped him get here.

It was a dream come true. Three times over.

While Three Pianos came to a close in Long Beach, McMahon is hardly slowing down. McMahon is set to hit the road this fall for “An Evening with Andrew McMahon and His Piano,” a special solo tour with support from Ivory Layne. Most of the dates sold out almost immediately, which comes as little surprise; after spending three hours celebrating every corner of his career, there is something especially appealing about seeing McMahon strip everything back to his piano, his songs, and the stories behind them.

He also has several special performances on the horizon, including orchestral appearances at this year’s Dear Jack Benefit in Denver, as well as in Atlanta, Kansas City, St. Louis, and Seattle. In January, he will join The Maine’s 8123 Fest lineup for a special performance as Andrew McMahon and the Strings Attached Quartet.

For more information about upcoming tour dates and how to purchase tickets, visit: https://andrewmcmahon.com/pages/tour-dates.

Donate to the Dear Jack Foundation here.

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