In 1985, “We Built This City” by Starship was all over the airwaves. The San-Fran rockers had struck gold; the band formerly known as Jefferson Starship, and before that, Jefferson Airplane, was in critical condition, desperately needing a hit to justify their recent rebrand. Two weeks at number one did just that, with “Sara” and “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” following. Yes, Starship was supreme then, and the group’s future was bright.
In 2025, Starship’s Saturday night gig is at the bingo hall of the WinneVegas Casino and Resort in Sloan, Iowa, and I have tickets. Just 20 bucks to rub shoulders with presumed rock legends seems like the deal of the century, especially on a sleepy Orange City afternoon.
With my reluctant roommate, Kara, in the passenger seat, I headed towards Sloan, with Starship’s discography pumping through my speakers.
Upon arrival, it was clear that this would be an intimate show. The bingo hall was about the size of my high school gymnasium and smelled of smoke. There was no merchandise stand, a massive oversight on the part of Starship’s management. There was no opening act either.
We took our seats in the very back row and observed the crowd that was beginning to pile in. It was clear this crowd was not too occupied with the main attraction, and each interaction my roommate and I had was more similar to a church service or community barbeque than a star-studded rock event.
I was beginning to wonder if we were at the wrong venue—this was Starship! How could the creators of a behemoth like “We Built This City” fall so far from grace? Where was the excitement from loyal fans, eager to dance the night away to synth-pop?
The concert began about eight minutes later than scheduled, but the group’s opening number was delightful. Kara and I began to dance, a bit from disbelief that we were the youngest people in attendance by a good 30 years. I give the band credit—they sound alright considering there is only one original band member still touring.
As they continued to play, I was baffled by where I had chosen to spend my Saturday night. The group was playing one of their biggest hits, “Sara,” and the peanut gallery below them was sitting motionless as though this was Sunday Mass. This was rock-and-roll! It was not just age that kept the crowd at bay, though. Their faces were almost morose watching the lead guitarist solo, and each song got polite but meager applause.
One hour and 10 minutes later, Starship took their final bows. I had a wonderful time, as did Kara, but I could not shake the mood of those in attendance. Why WinneVegas casino? Is that the biggest venue they could book on a Saturday night these days? In an era where nostalgia reigns supreme, I found it puzzling that a band like Starship had such a modest tour.
With a new reboot, reimagining or reunion announced seemingly every day, I stopped to think about who my kids might see at WinneVegas. Is anyone safe from their ultimate demise in popularity, particularly with the speed of today’s trend cycle? I pictured Alloree Jr. attending Post Malone’s comeback tour in 2055 and shuddered.
Let Starship remind us of a valuable lesson: even nostalgia can get old. All roads lead to WinneVegas, and I can appreciate the fact that my favorite artists will likely stop there down the road. I can also applaud Starship’s courage as they continue to tour, with lead singer Mickey Thomas at 75. Sometimes, though, it is best to hang it up before a city built on rock and roll is bulldozed.
