Magic Power, Memories, and a Full Circle Moment: Triumph & April Wine at Freedom Hill (Michigan Lottery Amphitheater)

There are concerts, and then there are moments in time that become part of who you are.

The sold-out Triumph and April Wine show at the Michigan Lottery Amphitheatre at Freedom Hill was one of those moments.

The day was perfect for a road trip and a concert. The kind of Michigan day that reminds you why summer concert season is sacred. As we pulled into the parking lot, I couldn’t help but smile. Everywhere I looked were waves of gray hair. Gen X had arrived, with a light dusting of Boomers mixed in and only a scattering of younger generations.

Standing there taking it all in, I found myself having flashbacks.

There was a time when being gray was never a thought. Growing old wasn’t something we considered. Back then, life was about blasting music, piling into cars, and hanging out with fellow fans. We lived for concerts, records, road trips, and late nights. Music wasn’t just entertainment, it was part of our identity.

What struck me most looking around that parking lot was how little some things had changed.

People were tailgating, laughing, sharing stories, and making new friends. Just like back then, it didn’t matter what color your skin was, what your background was, or what your gender was. What mattered was the music. We all shared a love for something bigger than ourselves.

Our generation lived it.

We earned it.

We fought like hell, worked hard, saved our money, and showed up to sing every word of the songs that helped shape our lives.

I know I wasn’t the only one looking around thinking, “Wow… we’re still here.”

We’re still doing it.

And for those who aren’t with us anymore, the ones who once stood beside us in those parking lots and concert halls, they were there too. They live on through the music, the lyrics, and the memories.

As someone who carries the music scene deep within her soul, I needed this night more than I realized.

I needed to cry.

I needed to remember.

I needed to reconnect with who I am and everything I’ve survived.

Sometimes nostalgia isn’t about escaping the present. Sometimes it’s about remembering where your strength came from.

April Wine: A Soundtrack to Friendship and Loss

April Wine opened the show, and they sounded fantastic.

Tight. Powerful. Timeless.

The moment they walked on stage, I was transported back to the early 1990s when I saw them at Harpos Concert Theatre with my friend Jay and my dear friend Trevor.

I don’t know where Jay is these days or even if he’s still with us.

Trevor passed away around 2001.

Trevor was one of those rare friends who always had your back. No matter what was happening in life, he was there.

When April Wine started playing “Just Between You and Me,” I was instantly taken back to that night at Harpos. I was going through a difficult time, and Trevor looked at me, smiled, and simply said:

“Shall we?”

He grabbed my hand, and we danced.

Thirty-plus years later, standing in Freedom Hill, the tears started rolling down my cheeks.

I looked up toward the sky and quietly whispered:

“Shall we?”

Then I sang every word alongside thousands of other fans.

For a few minutes, Trevor was there again.

The song became a tribute to a friend I’ll never forget.

April Wine’s entire set was outstanding. Hearing songs like “I Like to Rock,” “Anything You Want, You Got It,” “Enough Is Enough,” “You Could’ve Been a Lady,” “Sign of the Gypsy Queen,” and “Roller” reminded everyone in attendance why the band has remained such a beloved part of rock history.

To make it even more special, my cousin Tammy was there. She bought her ticket and showed up because we’ve shared a lifelong love of April Wine dating back to our bar days. Some bonds are built on family. Others are built on music. Ours has always been both.

Triumph and a Story That Comes Full Circle

If April Wine brought back memories, Triumph brought back history.

The connection runs deep.

In September of 1990, my cousin Tammy, several friends, my almost three-year-old son Justin, and I attended a free concert at Hart Plaza featuring Rik Emmett.

It started as a wonderful day.

Justin was probably the youngest kid there.

At one point, my friend Ed had Justin sitting on his shoulders while we enjoyed the show.

Then Justin turned to me and said:

“Mom, that guy has a boo-boo.”

We all looked.

A man standing near us had been stabbed.

The concert stopped immediately.

People rushed to help. Shirts came off as makeshift bandages while everyone worked to keep the victim alive until EMS arrived.

It was chaos.

Eventually, the concert resumed.

In an effort to lighten the mood and distract a frightened little boy who had witnessed something traumatic, Rik Emmett pointed toward Justin and asked what his name was.

Everyone around us yelled:

“JUSTIN!”

Rik smiled and said:

“This song is for you, Justin.”

Then he played “Magic Power.”

It became one of those moments that stays with you forever.

A special memory born out of a terrible situation.

Fast forward nearly thirty-six years.

Standing beside Tammy at Freedom Hill, watching Rik Emmett perform those same songs, we both found ourselves fighting back tears.

The memories came flooding back.

Triumph’s set was everything fans could have hoped for. From “When the Lights Go Down,” “Somebody’s Out There,” “Spellbound,” “Hold On,” and “Lay It on the Line” to “Follow Your Heart,” “Magic Power,” “I Live for the Weekend,” and “Fight the Good Fight,” every song felt like a chapter from our youth coming alive once again.

Then came “Magic Power.”

This time, my little boy wasn’t sitting on someone’s shoulders.

He was 38 years old.

I pulled out my phone and FaceTimed Justin.

For a few brief minutes, Tammy, Justin, and I shared that memory together.

Three people connected across nearly four decades by one song and one unforgettable moment.

It felt like life had come full circle.

More Than a Concert

This night was never just about the music.

It was about memory.

It was about friendship.

It was about loss.

It was about survival.

It was about remembering who we were and appreciating who we became.

Concerts have always been different for me. I absorb the energy. I talk to strangers. I watch people. I collect moments.

Sometimes all it takes is closing your eyes for a few seconds, hearing a familiar song, and suddenly you’re standing in another time and place.

A place where you were smiling.

A place where you felt alive.

A place where the people you loved still stood beside you.

Before I wrap this up, I want to thank Damien for taking me to this concert and giving me the opportunity to experience something I didn’t even realize I needed so badly.

This wasn’t just a night of music for me. It was a chance to grieve, to smile, to sing at the top of my lungs, and to remember where I came from. It gave me the space to revisit memories of friends and family, some still here and some long gone, and to reconnect with pieces of myself that have been buried beneath the weight of everyday life.

The truth is, I needed this more than anyone knew.

More than I knew.

Sometimes life gets heavy. Sometimes we get so caught up in surviving that we forget to reconnect with the things that made us feel alive in the first place. For a few hours, those songs carried me back through decades of memories. Some brought tears. Some brought laughter. All of them reminded me that every chapter of my life, both the good and the painful, helped make me who I am today.

So thank you, Damien, for making this night possible.

It was more than a concert.

It was healing.

For a few hours on a beautiful Michigan evening, Triumph and April Wine gave me a gift I didn’t know I needed. They gave me a chance to remember. To honor old friends. To celebrate family. To share a full-circle moment with my son. To stand among a generation that still knows every word, every guitar riff, and every memory attached to these songs.

And they reminded me that while time marches on, music remains timeless.

The faces may be older. The hair may be grayer. Some of the people we once stood beside may now live only in our memories.

But we’re still here.

Still singing.

Still remembering.

Still finding pieces of ourselves in the songs that shaped our lives.

Still fighting the good fight.

I also put together a short video from the evening and have posted it below. Hopefully it captures even a small piece of the magic, memories, nostalgia, and emotion that made this one of the most meaningful concerts I’ve ever attended.

Peace, Love and Loud Music

Mickey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VtYdKS7FGU

Made this video