Rockin the north

Mom played piano. Musicians dropped by to jam often during my formative years of the 50s and 60s. Once I was old enough to know and care, she told me about her family's orchestra that were together for thirty six years.

I remember, mom got excited when someone would come to jam with her. She had to feed them first. Then after, the music would fill our little house. Mom's dad, Grandpa Gaspard was a fiddle player. I watched him while he kept his feet tapping in time with the fast jig or reel. Mom's accompaniment was smooth. She always displayed a certain seriousness on her face when she played. She usually finished with a smile and a look like the song kept her thinking about it afterward. She always wanted to get it right and would explain when she didn't. It was part of her makeup even if it was embarrassing. She didn't care. She wanted it right. When it was, it was remarkable, heart-warming. Mom made waltzes sentimental. By the age of six or seven I knew what it was to feel sentimental even though my own style of music was yet to come.

By the late fifties, I was hearing Elvis Presley and other early rockers on 78 RPM records my sister and her girlfriends brought home. Once I learned to work the gramophone you couldn't stop me. Gene Vincent, Eddy Cochran, Jerry Lee Lewis and most of all Little Richard hit me like a ton of bricks. By now, I was accompanying mom when she played anything. I lined up two forks on the end of a tin tv table which made a snare drum sound when you struck the other side. I bought a pair of wire brushes from the local store for sticks and that's how I started. For a kick drum, I just pounded the floor hard enough with my shoes on, just as I'd seen my grandfather do years before.

My attention to recordings grew. When other kids were playing sports of just goofing around I was jiving on early rock and roll. When the Beatles played on Ed Sullivan in 1964, it might have been remarkable to the rest to the world but music had made a firm impression on me and others like me in my community long before. The sound of rock had progressed considerably once the guitar took the lead. I remember hearing The Ventures and The Shadows with those solid backbeats. I began to think more about being a full time drummer. I shared that ambition with another guy. He played Sandy Nelson for me on his record player. We were both enraptured by it. A few other guys in our town played guitar so we all got together although I didn't have drums, my buddy's parents bought him a kit we both got to play on. By the time The Beatles hit, we were playing dances in local halls and making our mark with the locals. It took me about three years before I could buy my own drum set. I had to break my arm working hard on an oil rig in Alberta before I could mail order a new set of drums. The day my blue Leedy drums arrived was a milestone in my life. My buddy and me immediately took them over to a church hall and set up both kits, his and mine. We spent the afternoon jamming together. How glorious that was. It sure was. Later, I started a group. Two young guitar players were spinning off another group when I landed in their sites. Word got out I had drums of my own. Things happened fast. We could all play so it didn't take long and we found ourselves on radio. The national broadcaster came north to assemble a radio show and we were invited to perform. That's how we started.

This blog by Norm Richards

What? I have to create? Ok!

Hey, what's happening? I do write and often but just not on a blog. Let's sum things up. I last wrote a pretty good story about my early days in a rock band. Others have told me they enjoyed the story. I'm all about story. We live story throughout our lives and I've decided to make a record of the things I've lived, read about or witnessed. Why not? My family comes from a wonderful history although the reviews are mixed. I don't dwell on negative thoughts or incidents except to say that I've covered some of this in the book I wrote a few years ago. Most people know the history in Canada and the life and times of Louis Riel. Although we shared a period in history and came from similar culture, my forefathers were leaders in the fur trade industry and partnered with the Roman Catholic Church to improve French immigration and migration west. Riel did not win with the goals he set for himself although I'm sure we wanted better for our people just as he did. Perhaps things would have been quite different if Louis Riel was elected as Manitoba's first government leader and went forward for decades beyond the brief period he held power in the west of a newly formed Canada. But, I see my cousins in Quebec today who have never been truly comfortable with white English based rule. It makes me wonder how things would have been here with full Metis dominated government. Today, the community is split between native history and culture and little understanding of who Metis people really are or were. For my family and me we knew a warm rich culture of French language and for trade, knowing and understanding native customs and language. I saw my grandfather being respected by native trappers who brought furs to trade in our extended family home. I'm a witness to truth and I hope to share more in the future.