Stevie Nicks: A Spellbinding Journey
Last night at TD Garden felt like stepping straight into Stevie Nicks’ spellbook. Pages glowing, candles flickering, moon hanging low. The witch herself standing at the center of it all, ready to guide us through decades of stories and songs. Someone behind me whispered, “She is the witch,” and honestly… they weren’t just right, they were speaking facts.
From “Runnin’ Down a Dream” to the final soft echo of “Landslide,” the entire arena moved like one enchanted tide. I danced. I sang. I cried. And everywhere around me, thousands of faces reflected the same wonder. Stevie doesn’t just hit notes, she casts them.
Her voice? Still warm, smoky, storm-kissed magic. Her band? Absolutely unreal, like a living wall of energy. Stevie herself? Ethereal. Legendary. Untouchable. A whole vibe and a half.
But something happened last night that I didn’t expect: With every song she sang, time unfolded.
I was 5, dancing around the living room with my aunt, spinning to “Gypsy,” sun pouring through the blinds, both of us laughing like the world belonged to us.
I was 6, in the back of my parents station wagon, windows down, wind knotting my hair, Stevie’s voice swirling around me as the sun warmed my face.
I was 10, singing along on the bus to school, tiny headphones blasting “Edge of Seventeen” like it was the soundtrack to my entire personality.
I was 16, bonding with a coworker over our shared obsession with Stevie. This was the first time I realized loving her was almost its own language.
And then suddenly, I was 30, standing in TD Garden living one of my lifelong dreams… seeing the legend herself right in front of me.
It was nostalgic in a way that hit me straight in the chest, like every version of me from 5 to 30 linked arms for a moment, all of us staring at the same magical woman twirling in the spotlight.
She told stories the way only Stevie can. Soft. Nostalgic. Like we were old friends. When she talked about recording “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” with Tom Petty, she lit up. Laughing with the excitement of walking into his studio and meeting him for the first time. Then she shifted to “The Lighthouse,” explaining how powerful the song is to her and why she calls it an anthem. Hearing her describe bringing that song to life and then hearing her sing it, felt like watching her hold a flame steady in the wind.
Behind her, the LED screens shimmered like live paintings; glittering gold, jeweled textures, and sparking backdrops that made the entire stage look dipped in stardust. Sprinkled in between were slideshows: Tom Petty, Janis Joplin, and the people she’s loved and lost. It felt like being invited to flip through a scrapbook of her most cherished memories.
She brought out all of her shawls. Her living relics. Her spell-casting fabrics. First, the black and gold shawl from the “Stand Back” music video, shimmering under the stage lights like it still held the electricity of the 80s. Then she draped herself in the deep blue shawl from her 1981 Bella Donna solo tour, a piece of history that felt like it carried every twirl she’s ever given us. And when she brought out the shawl from “Gold Dust Woman,” the entire arena erupted. Only Stevie can make fabric legendary. We can’t forget the twirl that comes with these fabrics, you know the one. The one fans wait their whole lives to see, and it felt like watching history spin right in front of me.
Then came the songs that absolutely undid me: “Free Fallin’” — tears. “Landslide,” dedicated to her vocal coaches son for his birthday — instant emotional collapse.
She sang “Landslide” like a confession, like a prayer, like she was offering a blessing to every version of ourselves we’ve ever been.
Stevie doesn’t just perform concerts. She creates moments that stay with you, the kind that settle in your ribs and glow there for the rest of your life. She doesn’t just still have it. She has all of it. The mystery, the magic, the wisdom, the fire, the softness.
Last night wasn’t something I simply wanted, it was something I needed.
If Stevie Nicks comes anywhere near you, go. Let her cast her spell. Let her remind you who you were, who you are, and who you’re still becoming. Because last night in Boston, Stevie didn’t just sing, she stitched memories, moonlight, and music together into something truly unforgettable.
