I just got home from one of those nights that feels stitched directly into your nervous system.
Tonight, Adam and I were front row at a completely sold-out, deeply immersive, soul-connecting concert: Madison Violet’s final show of their farewell tour. After travelling across Canada, Europe, Germany, Switzerland — they chose to end it all in London, Ontario. Not Toronto. London. Which already felt poetic.
But here’s the part that still has my chest buzzing: I’ve been waiting 22 years to hear them sing Haight-Ashbury live.
In 2003, I was 21, working at 680 News in Toronto. The music reporter, Rudy Blair, handed me their debut CD — Worry the Jury. That’s when I first heard Haight-Ashbury. The very first song they ever wrote. I played it endlessly on my portable CD player (yes, portable CD player), usually lying in a hammock, belting it out with my eyes closed, convinced that one day I’d hear it live.
I just never imagined that day would come 22 years later, at their final show, with me sitting in the front row.
As the concert unfolded, I was quietly, nervously waiting. Would they play it? Would this be the night? Near the end, Brenley and Lisa sat on the edge of the stage, and I walked up and said, “So… are you singing Haight-Ashbury, or do I have to beg?”
Lisa smiled and said, “You can take a big breath and a sigh of relief — it’s the next song.”
Reader, I almost left my body.
They ended the night with it. I sang along, eyes closed, suddenly back in my 21-year-old self — headphones on, heart wide open — and then I had to force myself to open my eyes and see them right there in front of me. Singing their song. Me singing with them. Past and present collapsing into one moment.
Magical. Surreal. Overwhelmingly grateful.
At one point earlier in the show, I laughed out loud — one of those unfiltered, from-the-gut laughs — and Lisa pointed at me and said, “Oh, I love that girl’s laugh.” Later, a man behind me tapped my shoulder to say I had a beautiful singing voice. A woman a few seats down echoed the same thing. Which floored me, because I don’t think of myself as a good singer — I just sing with feeling. And apparently Haight-Ashbury lives somewhere deep enough in me that it pours out whether I’m thinking about it or not.
Aeolian Hall is a perfect venue for this kind of night — intimate, warm, incredible acoustics. Every note felt close.
I loved hearing their stories: the early years, the first decade of Madison Violet. How they were a couple, how the industry advised them not to come out, how they lived this expensive two-bedroom charade in Toronto. How they eventually came out, later broke up — but stayed bandmates. Twenty-five years together. Lisa shared that their first live performance together was February 2000, back when they were called Mad Violet.
There were moments of raw vulnerability. Lisa breaking down mid-song, openly bearing her soul. Brenley speaking about her brother who passed away, and singing Time to Right the Wrong — a moment that cracked the room open. Tears everywhere, including mine.
There was also joy and surprise. Brenley mentioned The Jeffersons, and without thinking I yelled, “MOVIN’ ON UP!” (which, incidentally, is my actual ringtone). Turns out her dad reminded people of George Jefferson, so she sang the theme song. I nearly lost it. I’ve never seen them sing that anywhere online — it felt like a gift dropped straight into my lap.
During one song, Brenley’s friends from Kincardine — and her brother — came down to the front to sing along. Eventually, her brother joined her on stage. Watching him sing along to a song he’s known for 30 years beside his sister? Unforgettable.
At intermission, a woman asked me if I was Annette’s granddaughter — because yes, my Meme was there. Her first Madison Violet show. My first Madison Violet show. Also in attendance? One of my former high school teachers. Proof that their music spans generations and somehow meets everyone exactly where they are.
Lisa’s fiddle playing touched my soul. Brenley’s harmonica felt like a quiet nod to Neil Young (whom she said she discovered at age 11). Every detail felt intentional, earned, and deeply human.
They may be going their separate ways musically now — though they hinted a reunion tour isn’t impossible — but what they’ve built over 25 years is extraordinary. I’m so grateful they chose this life, shared their music, and let it weave itself into so many people’s stories — including mine.
And finally, because no review is complete without the important details: the wine was decent. But what truly elevated it? Kirkland mini chocolate chip cookie bags. Old-school. McDonald’s-nostalgia-level good. Honestly, the perfect encore.
What a night. What a gift. What a beautiful way to say goodbye — and somehow, not really goodbye at all.
You Gotta Eat This 