Seventeen. Out on bail in Warrington for theft I didn’t commit—but that’s another story.

Curfew hanging over me. Supposed to be home by 7pm. I didn’t care. I wanted freedom. I wanted the world. Flight paid. Fuck it. I wanted bigger than my street. Bigger than Warrington pubs.

So I blagged it. I flew to Canada. First plane journey. First taste of life outside Europe.

Three weeks in Edmonton. Walking the streets like I belonged. My girlfriend’s mates suggested a Supertramp gig.

Then it happened. 15 July 1977, Northlands Coliseum. My first stadium gig. Tens of thousands pressed together. Heat rising. Smoke thick. Lights slicing through it all. My ears were already ringing.

The Music Took Over
Then they came on. Supertramp.

School hit me like a fist to the chest. Give a Little Bit—crowd roared. Arms around strangers. Voices crashing.

Thousands of lighters flickered like stolen stars. Tiny flames swayed with the music. I froze. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Just drank it in.

Seventeen. On the run. Mesmerised.

Dreamer floated soft. Then Crime of the Century smashed in. Every note rattled my bones. I sang in my head—“Take a look at my girlfriend, she’s the only one I got.”

Cheeky. Bitter. Perfect. Hungry. Dreaming. Stolen lives.

Breakfast in America wasn’t out yet, but it was in the air. Sharp. Ironic. Untouchable. Everything I wanted. Everything I could never hold.

The crowd roared. Heat, smoke, voices, music—one living thing. Lifting me above Warrington’s grey streets. Above the curfew. Free. Untouchable. Alive.

Back in Warrington
Then it ended. Edmonton swallowed me. Three weeks later, back in Warrington. Grey streets. Drizzle. Same cracked pavements. Police sniffed around. Court waited.

October. Warrington Crown Court. I pleaded guilty. Recalled to Borstal. Fuck—I thought I’d walk free.

Walls pressed in. Doors slammed. Routine crushed me. Reality bit. The system thought it had me pinned. Done.

But it hadn’t. The Coliseum stayed in my chest. The sound. The lighters. The sweat. The heat. The voices crashing together. Mine. Every chord. Every flame. Every grin. Locked up? They could try. But that freedom? Nobody could touch it.

Why That Night Mattered
That night wasn’t just a concert. It was rebellion. Proof I could slip the leash, taste the world outside Warrington, survive.

Music, fire, danger—all rolled into one. Shaped me. Made me realise life wasn’t about following rules. It was about knowing when to break them. And feeling alive while doing it.

One day, I knew I’d leave for good. Until then, I served my time. Back to Borstal for another Christmas dinner—the bastards.

That night—the Supertramp 1977 concert, Northlands Coliseum, first stadium gig, stolen freedom—lives in my chest every time I think about who I was and who I wanted to be.

Remembering Rick Davies
Rick Davies, gone. September 2025. Age 81. Co-founder, lead singer, keyboardist. Voice and soul of Supertramp.

Hits like Goodbye Stranger, Bloody Well Right, The Logical Song—anthems for a generation.

Reflecting on that night in Edmonton, I realise the music meant more than sound. It was a lifeline. A connection to something greater. Rick Davies and Supertramp gave me that. Forever grateful.

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