I thought that I had gone back in time to when people shook to the rocking beat of the Rolling Stones when my good friends the Chisasibi Rockers arrived in Whapmagoostui to perform at the famous Social Club. As young heads turned with a quizzical look on their post-pubescent peach-fuzzed faces and questioning eyebrows, other rock heads nodded knowingly to familiar beats that throbbed throughout the sixties and seventies.

Yup, I was yanked back in time to the days when the raw sound that broke eardrums reverberated throughout ramshackled dancehalls and echoed out into the short summer nights. Driven by amateurish enthusiasm and bell-bottomed fans, the songs I grew up with were belted out by a band that is nearly three decades in the making and tied together by a bond only musicians can make and understand.

The familiar tones of Oliver, Dale, Ernie and Gilles made me feel that I was listening to Mick and Keith for nearly the whole night, as one number from “Under My Thumb” to “Brown Sugar” rolled effortlessly from the amazing fret magic and feverish finger-works of Dale and Oliver. Ernie’s bass had it all down pat and Gilles’ percussion was right on the beat when the third hour rolled by and closing time neared. The constant accolade the band received from inebriated and sober fans alike sounded like it was the end of a major tour, but it was to be repeated the next night. Much to my chagrin, I was unable to attend due to the constant ringing of bells in my inner ear that resounded throughout the remainder of the weekend. Thanks guys, for that unexpected trip to the ear specialist (not!).

After a short discussion with a critic friend of mine, we decided that small talk during the show was next to impossible as we laughed knowingly to jokes that we never heard and just rocked on to the music of our adolescent memories.

Speaking of music from the sixties and seventies, I just so happened to attend another live show, which was brought on by George “Elvis” Trapper from Pikogan. I don’t know just what the hell he uses on his face to keep his looks from deteriorating over time, but I’m sure that he could get rich from selling his cosmetic secrets to the “Oil of old age” people. George had managed to keep more than his looks, thoug^ , when he brought back and re-introduced the magic of Elvis to a small crowd during the 10th annual traditional gathering in Whapmagoostui.

While swooning women of all ages (who secretly ached to know George better) swayed to his crooning of “Only Fools Fall in Love, “Elvis” sang the song in Cree. Me and my counterpart and semi-evil Reznotes twin Neil Diamond, jointly agreed that George had all the right moves and that if anyone ever saw him at a supermarket, they could make it on the front page of any trash tabloid to brazenly declare that the death of Elvis was conjured up to confuse the masses and drive up the value of Graceland. Amazingly, he never left the building since the show was held outdoors.

Other musicians such as Wapistan (Lawrence Martin) and Vern Cheechoo sang old and new favorites and now have a new album that they compiled together. I bought their album and have yet to hear it, but overall, I enjoyed their songs. One day, when I get my golden voice back I’ll record my music and words and in the far distant future, my songs will probably be sung to youngsters before bedtime.