If you pulled into the parking lot of the Medina Ballroom on April 10th, you might have forgotten for a moment that you were in Minnesota.
Before the first note was even played, the tailgating was in full swing. There’s something about a Hawaiian shirt that acts as a universal permit to relax. We saw it in the rows of cars and felt it the moment we stepped inside. In a world that often moves too fast, this was a collective decision to slow down, put on some leis, and search for that lost shaker of salt.
The Medina Ballroom/Entertainment Center has a way of holding onto history. It’s a place where the floorboards have seen decades of polkas and wedding dances, but tonight, they were ready for something a little more tropical.
We found ourselves at a reserved table right on the edge of the dance floor. We were the first table—the kind of “front row” seat that makes you feel like you’re part of the horn section. A quick tip for next time: maybe move back a table or two to catch the full scope of the stage, but there’s no denying the energy when you’re that close to the pulse of the music.
The room was a sea of color. Most of the crowd fell into that sweet spot of 50 to 65 years old decked out in vibrant costumes and some of the craziest outfits you’ve ever seen. But the real “golden nugget” was a group of tables nearby. These folks had to be in their 80s, It was a reminder that “growing older” and “growing up” are two very different things.
The unmistakable sound of the islands. This steel drum player was the real deal.
When the band started, the room transformed. The audio was crisp—better than most arena shows—and they didn’t just stick to the radio hits. Sure, they played the anthems we all know by heart, but they threw in those “B-side” deep cuts for the die-hards who know every lyric of every album.
The standout? The steel drum player. There is a specific kind of magic in those metallic notes; they carry the weight of a tropical breeze. It didn’t matter that our “island” was a ballroom in Minnesota or that a Coors Light tall boy was running $8. For $45—a bit more than the old days at Alpine Valley, sure—we weren’t just buying a concert ticket. We were buying a three-hour vacation.
Under the lights, everybody finds their rhythm.
As the night wore on, the dance floor stayed packed. There is a special kind of joy in watching people let go of their worries and just move. Eventually, the music got to Mike, too. He stood up and gave us his best “Caddyshack gopher” dance—a legendary mix of rhythm and pure, unadulterated fun.
We didn’t stop at Robert’s for dinner this time, though we’ve shared many great meals there in the past. Tonight was purely about the music, the community, and the reminder that paradise isn’t always a destination on a map. Sometimes, it’s just a reserved table, a great band, and the person sitting next to you.
It was, in every sense of the word, Fabulous.
Leave a Reply