On the longest day of the year, I found myself sandwiched in a sea of middle-aged concert-goers buzzing with excitement for the Uline headliner of the night, Rick Springfield.

I know what I was thinking – what am I doing here? Springfield is not my usual music pick. I am a usual attendee at all things indie, pop, folk, etc., and my favorite artists are not usually overwhelmingly popular, over-the-top 80’s heartthrobs.

For this concert review, we need to go back to a memory of mine. I am probably around 9-years-old, sitting in the back of my mother’s black SUV on my way home from a long day at Catholic grade school. It’s a warm, late spring day, similar to the one on Friday night, and my mom has her favorite CD in. It is, of course, “Working Class Dog,” Rick Springfield’s fifth studio album, and arguably his most popular. Me and my mom are taking turns screaming the worlds to Springfield’s cover of “I’ve Done Everything for You,” which I have known all the words to for quite some time. After, she tears up, telling me about how Springfield was her first concert when she was 12, how she had spent most of her money after on a poster of his, about how much she loved the music.

This is what I got from the crowd. Fiery passion, and diehard, cult-like fandom. At times, I was met with animosity (god forbid my five-foot tall mother stand on the bleachers at a Summerfest headliner so she can see better), but this raging need to catch every one of 75-year-old Springfield’s movements is indicative of his generational hold on his fanbase.

Springfield’s performance was full of his classics, his signature moves. Many bouquets of roses were smashed on his guitar. He did a medley containing almost all of his popular songs, to make sure eager fans received the hit of nostalgia they so desperately craved. The visuals were nods to Springfield’s fame, references to his name in pop culture, on late-night talk shows, etc. His closing performance of his best-known track “Jessie’s Girl” featured clips of the song referenced on TV and in movies. The whole show was a lengthy tribute to a lengthy career.

What struck me was Springfield’s display of humbleness. He was honest in his dialogue about his struggles with mental health. He seemed genuinely grateful to the crowd. During his second-last song, “Human Touch,” he climbed into the crowd and clambered across the bleachers all the way to the sound booth and back. Personally, if I was him, I would be concerned that the sea of adoring fans might eat me. I saw someone kiss his sweatband. It was a brave move and a sweet moment with fans that went very well, all things considered.

The show was everything one might expect from an 80’s popstar’s 2025 concert, and the crowd was also pretty on par. It was over the top. It was aggressively themed. Sing-a-longs encouraged. Springfield’s talent on the guitar was a focus of many of his songs, his lengthy riffs. It was sentimental, and it was cheesy, but it was an impressive display of musicianship.

And for a moment, my mother was 12 again. I saw in her eyes what I know in myself, an unreasonable and unrelenting love for the music that saved her. I was able to understand where my complete lack of calm and restraint in the face of the music I love came from, where my fangirl tendencies that have manifested into a career in music journalism might have originated. I don’t know if we’ve all experienced a concert as a pre-teen that set the trajectory for the rest of our lives, but every person I know has some art that shifted their personhood. To love something so much that it aches in your bones is, to me, the feeling that is most worth chasing, and this is why I braved the Springfield crowd. It is one thing to know it lives in me, but it was a beautiful moment to see it in her.