After years of wandering through the electrifying chaos of festivals—Hairfest, Flannel fest, Rock the Locks, and Penninsula blues festival—soaking in the pulse of rock and metal tribute bands that echoed the 70s and 80s, I thought I had seen it all. These Northwest festivals deliver spectacle, nostalgia, and crowds that roar to nostalgic rock bands. Yet nothing prepared me for the quiet magic I found in a small bar by the waterfront in Newport Oregon: the Bayhaven Inn.

That’s where I encountered Lisha Rose.

I’ve seen more than 50 bands in just the past few years. Big stages, big lights, big sound. But none left me as deeply moved as the three hours I spent watching Lisha Rose perform her heart on a small stage with nothing more than her voice, her soul, and a catalog of songs that transported everyone back to their youth.

From the moment she stepped up to the mic, you knew something special was about to happen. This wasn’t just music—it was memory come alive. Lisha didn’t just sing the hits from the 60s, 70s, and 80s—she became them. Her performance was more than a cover; it was a gift. She didn’t play songs. She relived them and invited us to relive them with her. Every lyric carried a pulse of lived experience, every note wrapped in emotion.

One of the most moving moments of the afternoon was when, at my best friend’s wife’s request, she dedicated a song to them. As she sang. At Last, by Etta James, they wrapped their arms around each other and danced, wholly lost in the moment. You could feel their connection, the way the music brought something deep and lasting to the surface. It wasn’t just a dance—a memory being created, a shared expression of their love captured forever in the soft sound of Lisha’s elegant voice. It was beautiful—not only for them but for everyone watching. And for Lisha, too, you could tell. It was a genuine moment of connection between the artist and the audience. And I thought to myself: Who does that?
Well, Lisha Rose does that.

The crowd is older, enjoying the twilight years of their lives.  And yet she moved with the fire of someone just getting started. Offstage, she hugged her audience like old friends. During breaks, people walked up to talk to her, and she warmly welcomed each one. She made everyone feel special. I asked for her name and told her I would write an article about her. I could see her eyes glow; she hugged me and thanked me.  Now I felt special.

If she’s not playing on Saturday, she sometimes  performs on Sunday during the Bay Haven Inn jam session. She plays up and down the Oregon coast and around Newport Or.

In a world of big concerts and bands, Lisha Rose reminded me what live music is about: connection, joy, and memory. She gives everything she has to every note—and we, the lucky few there, walked away not just entertained but lifted.

So here’s my thank you: Lisha, you gave us more than music. You gave us back a part of ourselves. You made us feel alive, young, and thoughts of times long ago. That afternoon at the Bayhaven wasn’t just a performance. It was a celebration of life.

If you ever get the chance to see her, don’t hesitate. You’ll walk out smiling, your heart full, your soul dancing. You will walking away with one of the songs you heard echoing in your head. With a smile, I couldn’t help but remember

At last
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song

For that brief afternoon, life was indeed a song and  time stood still as everyone gathered around Lisha Rose listening to old memories. And creating new ones in the warmth of an old bar.