2012 Rock Concert - Story update

Story by Norm Richards

Those buddies I wrote about in my book 'Greening of a North Boy' are invited to re-group and entertain for the big Saturday night concert on the August long weekend 2012. Next summer is coming up fast. I bought new drums to commemorate the event. But, wow, each of us are rather long in the tooth by now. Although, my mind remains as if it was yesterday. I left The Pas as a full time resident in the fall of 1968. Our lead guitar player, although a phenomenal player is three years younger than me. That year he was under the stiff influence of his mother's rule. She played piano and her husband was an excellent fiddler. They both knew what it was to play public performances and the temptations that went with being the new sex objects of a generation and rock stars to boot. I had few illusions myself. Mom played in a family band for thirty six years. She accompanied several local band leaders while I was still a youth. So it was, we offspring would find each other in the fog and the storm of the sixties. We were melded together with the medal of music and passion for music like no other generation. We would be of the first rock bands of our century and there was no stopping us. God knew us and wouldn't let us go. We would be what we would be. It feels now like such a brief moment in our lives that we played in our town's most favorite rock band but why shouldn`t we be that which we became.

There were two groups then. There was the first and then there was us. I started with the first, largely in spirit. I wanted to drum more than any other sexual being of my time wanted sex. Sex was a backseat driver for me. Love and emotion came with the power of music for me. It was sex itself. I shared that with few others. Then, some young guys went through seasoning in garage bands and then we met. The Beatles had skiffle, we had them and everything else rock, such as it was in 1966 when we formed a group for the first time. The Symbols of Sound was heard first on CBC Radio which was our very first performance, although we were uncomfortable with the sound compression radio imposed on us. We did the show anyway. Parent heard us on the airwaves for the first time and local kids did too.

We spend the next few year after that performance getting louder and louder playing for dances. Amplification was what it was all about. Today, everything is mixed through a public address system. In 1967, we made a wall of sound with raw non mic'd amplifiers and man it felt good. The first group I started with had dreams and ambitions but they weren't mine. So, a new group, the Symbols of Sound made my day! We won! We felt that triumph together. We've often celebrated it in conversation over the years but never reformed to re-live it. A small jam with three of us in 1989 produced a recording and that in itself felt good but I think we collectively wondered if it would ever happen again. Well, maybe in the summer twenty months from now those yernings will become a reality again. Jack, Garry, Patrick and Norm will mount a very large stage under hot lights and do it again. Wish us luck and satisfaction. Much like Tom Jones and Rod Stewart today, we believe we're still sexy enough to perform a concert and hold our audience's attention. Get your tickets now! Better still bring a tent, it's probably the only accommodation you'll get!

Late Fall in the Peg

By Norm Richards

I'm amazed with temperatures in the city right now. It was 18 today. But it's November 9th. Odd, but going indoors, buildings are now heated. The air condition systems are inoperative. It was a sweat box in this building I was in today. It felt like July but inside the building. At this time of the year, I enjoy how the sun rises and scrapes across the surface of the earth and does the same in the evening. I know why filmmakers and photographers enjoy using the sun or light to shoot with. I want to improve my feel for the use of light. I plan do a series of urban photos here and you can see for yourself how I've done.

Ottawa on Thanksgiving Weekend 2010

By Norm Richards

It's sunny, warm as the plane climbs up through smoke. I notice stubble burning below. No ones gotten much of a crop off this year. The ground looks dark and even green and it's early October. I think, crop insurance and what that must do. Costs will rise, is my simple economics. I turn my attention to the people around me on the plane. The guy beside me wants to talk. We chat briefly and settle into what comes next, a book chapter and plug the ipod into my ears. Time to test the (pay by credit card only) food menu. Days before I learned cash will no longer be accepted. I'm not impressed. The front part of the order routine seems easy. She takes my order and I pay. Awhile later, a sandwich wrap appears in front of me from the rear of the cabin. As I look up she's drifted six seats forward. Actions up front have me assume since I'm in the third last row, it will be awhile before I get my drink.

True, I'm not going anywhere. When the drink arrives, it's not handed to me with a calm smile or apology for being late. Instead, since I'm now slow to notice, immersed in my book, I look up and remove the ear buds to respond. I'm met by a dead stare as if I'm the grade two delinquent about to be sent to the principal. She asks if I paid. The food is on my tray as if paid. I look up at the one who took my credit card but she's not engaged. I paid, I tell her but I resent the need to say so. I look for pleasant atmosphere but I get stiff service instead.

I'm met at the airport by my son-inlaw and granddaughter. Nice to be back in Ottawa and be greeted by family who care. We talk while waiting for my bags. I hand Scott an ipod dock and camera. He snaps a few pictures at random. I'm not sure about the settings but the camera is automatic. A large bronze statue of Sir John A. Macdonald sits on a park bench beside us. I grab a seat next to him and Scott hits the shutter button. I figure a ton of people before me have taken a photo on this same bench, why not me?

An hour ahead, it's a bit later by the time we get to their country home. My daughter greets me with a hug on arrival. She and the family are ready for bed. We'll visit next day and see the kids off to school. The next day is relaxed and we have a nice dinner. Friday night we attend the home opener for the Senators hockey team hosted by Dan Cheresna. He's rented a family box for his son George's 10th birthday. We arrive to hot food and full service. Very nice! I've never done a hockey game in such lavish style. The Senators are facing off against the visiting Buffalo Sabres. Dan points out Senator player Matt Carkner 39 is a local boy and friend of the family. The game is exciting but Ottawa's home team can't seem to mount an offence. They wind up losing the game 2 to 1 but it's only the first game. They have a lot to learn about winning with the rest of the season to prove themselves. Dan is owner of Euro Auto Paint Systems in Ottawa. Thanks to him we had a smashing time and I manage to take a few photographs as well.

Mother Bear and Three Cubs Shot Dead

by Norm Richards



A mother black bear and her three cubs were shot dead on Wednesday September 22, 2010 in Birch River, Manitoba, Canada. These bears had no chance. Dogs drove them up a tree. The town is situated adjacent bear country. Efforts to scare them off failed. These efforts are clearly questionable. The bears are dead. What else can I say? A resident with a rifle was left with making a decision on the lives of these bears. Conservation authorities were not properly prepared. What else could have been done? These bears might still be alive and free if locals were more properly prepared. Do humans living in bear country deserve this? Who should answer for it?

Found a New Place to Dwell

by Norm Richards

Have you researched failed marriage? No, of course you haven't and why? You don't care. It's never happened to you or you're simply not married. Why bother knowing about it? I have a great deal going on in my life. Finding time to care about things outside my sphere of interest is difficult, we all say. But why do people read books? Why do we jog besides exercise being good for us? We need to escape. We want to relax, ease our brain from the all information world we live in. We seek entertainment. We want distraction. Why not, I say. When my marriage failed I wanted to know why. I didn't cheat, she did. Why? Books seemed a slim source to find out although I spent hours flipping through volumes of printed matter, none of which seemed to apply to my marriage. If my name was mentioned I might have paid attention. But no one was there to say, "Man, you blew it." I read on, motivated but with growing discontent until I found a book describing infidelity. Author Alexander Theroux describes his characters from his novel. The male character speaks of his ex-wife by saying;



Whenever I see her, her voice is changed, she looks unusual. The radiance she once had for me is no longer there, it's forced. The spirit of the person I once knew and loved is gone, somehow lost in a cloud that will never fade.



I was started to read this; amazed that Theroux knew the experience. With Theroux, I had a barometer.

I met with my wife, now separated for ten months. By now, she was living full time with the other man. I know he did desparate things to assure his position with her. The thought of it incensed me but I was unable to do anything about it. I needed to be away in another city to maintain my career and stake my own ground. I needed courage to go on. Her career change and mine were a demarcation point. I refused to go to a small town where she was restarting her career. I had to remain in a city to be a writer - producer. Our children were grown. My son would finish high school and get his first job. He would move out on his own but before that he remained with his mother while she co-habited with the other man. My son, not amused, kept in touch each week during this period. I wanted to be sure he knew I cared about him. He knew.



So I met with my wife again in a nearby city while she was on business. I made a point of residing there as a stop off point to get to see her while I sought work as a producer. Besides the feeling of ultimate loss and estrangement, the Theroux view was accurate. I had a way to measure my thoughts and feelings. Yet, I needed closure. After we separated, I had to know that we would not be together again. I found closure in this stop off city. I moved forward, her life and mine, now different. We've each gone our own way. She's since admitted she lives with some discontent and dissolution. It took some time for me to mend a broken heart but today my spirit is high and my soul is at peace having had these insights.

Rock Musicians and Bedbugs Don't Mix

By Norm Richards

I read the other day that bedbugs are the new problem. I don't think so. They have always been around. They're pre-historic, I swear. Part of this story was about getting increased hits on the subject of bedbugs on marketing web sites. This story reminded me of my own rub with the bedbug. Perhaps touring musicians are more susceptible to bedbug problems. We spend more time in old hotels then most people while being on the road. I gave up renting an apartment since it was an unneeded expense once I went on the road. I became somewhat rootless. I took a room where we played if the establishment we were hired by paid for it or not. I enjoyed the freedom that went with travel and the feeling of not beholding to anyone. It was kind of free spirited to do this.

While on the road, one night after playing, I checked in like a hooker buying a two dollar room. I hit the pillow hard. I was suddenly awakened less than an hour into a deep sleep. I sprang out of bed and threw on the lights in search of what hit me. My skin was crawling and something bit my ass. When I looked down where the shape of my body formed an outline in the sheets I noticed these little red bugs. I was so disturbed I washed and left the hotel in the middle of the night. I walked along in the dark with my small suitcase in hand. I ended up at a local dinner to contemplate the rest of my day. This sobering experience had me booking better hotels thereafter and even then I checked under the covers before turning in. You never know.

Rock Group Memories

I wrote the introduction to Jack Hebert's book. It's remarkable how close one remains to musician buddies over anyone else while the years pass. The moment we make contact he says, "Yer Face!" It's an inside joke taken from a day we mounted the stage at the Elks Hall for sound check and rehearsal. I told the guys a story about a woman who frequented bars in The Pas and made fun of familiar faces in the crowd. Musicians are more kin than kin themselves. This is the way we still acknowledge each other.

Introduction

A life and future began for me behind a blue drum kit set with two twenty inch cymbals made of the finest brass money could buy. One sizzled and the other rang with the warmest tone and flare one could ask for. Before me stood three guys handpicked from the cream of the crop. On my far right I'm blessed to be on stage with a young phenomenal guitar player who would come to play lead guitar through thick and thin. Directly in front of me on Bass stood a rather baby faced fellow with an excited voice and feel for what he was doing. On my left stood a strawberry blonde curly haired friend from catholic school to now I'd never known played a pretty good keyboard. Here we stood with our catalogue ordered instruments barefaced and ready. Someone said count four. I counted. A thundererous sound bounced off the back wall of the narrow hall and returned passing through our bodies as waves of glory. It made me smile with sheer delight. No one noticed the pleasure I felt. I focused my ears on the total sound. We moved together as one. I looked down. I found comfort in what I was doing. At no other time in my life had I felt quite this way. Yet this is just a warm up for what is to come later in the evening when the doors swing open and our peers come to dance. So long as we could duplicate this warm up with the main show everything would be right we thought.

This is something that has never changed in all these years since our musical lives began. Every number, every performance is a search for the perfect moment in our lives.

I'm proud to have shared this with Jack Hebert, the author of this book. If an industry involving music was to begin in our home town and one man could be found to have something to do with it, it would have to be my lifelong friend and fellow musician Jack Hebert. He carried equipment to halls and set it up when no one else did it or would. Jack came to my house to rouse me from a deep and content sleep. When I looked up it was twelve noon. He stood over my bed laughing. "Come on, let's go. Drop your cock and grab your socks. It's morning in the swamp! We gotta haul equipment," he says. I hurt and all I want to do is sleep. He won't have any of it. He's ready to start the next phase of his musical day and I'm forced to be part of it. His was an early lesson in taking responsibility for what we did. Jack has always been that guy.

The aforementioned is the introduction to 'My Seventh Heaven' a memoir of northern Manitoba's musicians. The introduction written by Norm Richards.

A photo of this group Symbols of Sound is found below.