Who: Florence + The Machine
Where: TD Garden
When: April 20, 2026
– Lindsay Gould, Staff Writer
A Buzzing City
Boston on Monday felt like a city trying to do everything, everywhere, all at once. It was Patriots’ Day, meaning the Boston Marathon had runners flooding the streets, the Boston Red Sox were drawing crowds to Fenway, and the general energy of the city was already reaching a boiling point. And yet, as if summoned by some higher power, Florence + The Machine took over TD Garden that night, adding one more ritual to an already overbooked day. Boston wasn’t just busy, it was bewitched.
Stunning Opener
Before Florence Welch took to the stage, the evening opened with a performance that felt less like a traditional set and more like stumbling upon a ritual already in progress. 21-year-old Sofia Isella emerged alone, a one-woman storm channeling the feminine rage of Alanis Morissette with the production that echoed Billie Eilish’s “WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?”
Dressed in an oversized Carhartt T-shirt, Isella looked deliberately undone. Eyeblack smeared beneath her eyes and across her cheeks gave her the appearance of someone who had either just survived battle or conjured something that didn’t quite leave her completely unscathed. Her set was messy and raw, completely untamed. Onstage sat a violin, banjo, and both acoustic and electric guitars, which she would rotate playing throughout her set. Her spiked eyebrows and wide, sometimes alarmingly expressive eyes gave her a haunted quality, like she was being possessed in real time. During her avant-garde performance, she writhed on the floor, dragged the mic stand across the stage, and even swung it around as she spun in chaotic circles. She was eerie, edgy, and deeply compelling.
An Enchanted Evening Begins
Then, at 8:40 p.m., the lights went black.
A hush fell over TD Garden as smoke began to roll across the stage, spilling over the edges like a potion bubbling over its cauldron. Suddenly, Florence Welch rose from the center of the runway, her infamous red hair catching the light like fire. From the very first note, it was clear: this wasn’t just a concert. It was a summoning.
Like a witch leading her coven, Welch commanded the space with a presence that somehow made a packed arena feel intimate and almost sacred. Her voice sang out, cutting through the cavernous venue and wrapping itself around every person in the room. Fans dressed in lace and flower crowns bounced on their feet like they had been waiting for this exact moment, like this was their ritual, too.
When she launched into “Shake it Out,” one of my favorites, the energy shifted into something purely cathartic. The song, with its themes of release and redemption, felt like a collective breath of fresh air: “Whatever you’ve been through, whatever you’re going through,” she told the crowd, “know that I am with you.”
The setlist treaded softly along the line between darkness and light. Songs like “Seven Devils” felt heavy and foreboding, thick with tension. While tracks like “Free” felt airy and liberating, like stepping into sunlight after the rain. The music wasn’t something you listened to; it was something you felt with your entire body, something that rearranged you from the inside out.
Behind her, Welch’s “Witch Choir” moved in jagged, contorted movements. They screamed and twisted under dramatic red lighting, embodying something visceral and primal. Dressed in layered black dresses with white underneath, pulled straight from Salem in another time, they were possessed by the spirit of music itself.
Audience In the Palm of Her Hands
And yet, between songs, Welch revealed a different side of herself. Soft-spoken, almost shy, she would address the crowd with bashful honesty that grounded the entire performance. At one point, she laughed and admitted, “I found it really embarrassing to still write songs about people not texting me back,” covering her mouth with a tattooed hand. It was a small, human moment that served as a reminder that despite the magic she seemed to wield, she was still tethered to the same emotions as everyone else.
That duality reached its peak during “Never Let Me Go,” a song she candidly shared she refused to perform for over a decade due to the painful memories attached to it, despite being a fan favorite. Introducing the track, she reflected on growth and survival, explaining that what once reminded her of sadness had transformed into a testament to resilience. As she sang the repeated closing line, “never let me go,” the band eventually fell silent. And then, all that remained was the audience; thousands of voices, unified and present. At that moment, it felt less like a concert and more like a congregation; Welch transformed TD Garden into a cathedral with nothing but her voice and the power of her lyrics.
She conducted the crowd like an orchestra, reaching out a delicate hand and receiving the crowd’s energy in return. There was a glint in her eye, a knowing smile. She understood exactly what she was creating, and the audience was more than willing to follow.
And then, after an incredible night of music, came the encore.
After briefly leaving the stage, she returned and opened with “One of the Greats.” It wasn’t until the opening notes of “Dog Days Are Over” rang out, that the arena truly erupted. It was the moment everyone had been waiting for, a burst of pure, unfiltered joy. Before the final verse and chorus she encouraged the crowd to put their phones down, jokingly acknowledging, “I know this is the one f***ing song you want to film.” But her reasoning hit me hard in that moment, and still lingers now: “If you’re watching through a screen, you’re not really living in this moment.”
And remarkably, everyone listened.
All around me, phones disappeared. Strangers danced like old friends. Welch, who spent the entire night floating across the stage in an emerald green dress like some ethereal being, suddenly felt less like an untouchable force and more like a giddy, redheaded child, spinning, and dancing barefoot, completely unburdened.
Unforgettable Evening
I didn’t record a single second of it.
But I remember everything. The sting in my hands from clapping, the ache in my feet from jumping, the sound of thousands of voices colliding in joy, the feeling of laughing and screaming the lyrics with my friend like we were kids again. For a moment, in a city that had been overwhelmingly alive all day, everything narrowed down to this one shared experience.
And maybe that was the real magic. Not the smoke, or the lighting, or even the angelic voice that could shake a room, but the reminder that sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is simply be there. No screen. No distractions, Just the moment.
And for once, that was more than enough.
