2012-02-16 - Fort Albany, ON - Live Webcast

[Tthip]

[thebends]

Nice little gift from the boys! Lets hope they release the entire show like this.

[trevor]

Thanks MAv!

[sean.bonner]

I would have thought the webcast would have been of the same quality as this.
Maybe next time

[Tthip]

http://www.walrusmagazine.com/blogs/201 ... more-10478

Wings and Prayers

I just spent twenty-four hours in Fort Albany, Ontario. Where? Get a map of Canada and go about halfway up the west side of James Bay. And there’s Fort Albany, a First Nations community of about 500 people.

The idea of my going there began with an email from the writer Joseph Boyden: could I come to the community’s Great Moon Gathering? It’s a conference of educators, featuring workshops on the Cree language, restorative justice, food security, and many other subjects related to contemporary aboriginal life. And oh, there’d be a concert with local musicians and the Tragically Hip. Could I cover the Gathering? Could I do a documentary about it for the CBC? (No, the national broadcaster would sit this one out. But Joseph Boyden asking me to do anything is hard to resist. I still wanted to go.) “We want to show this community some guerrilla love,” he wrote.

Three days later, having travelled from the Gulf Island where I live in BC, I found myself in the Thunder Air lounge in Timmins, Ontario. A young Cree man with the build of Ichabod Crane and I sat alone, the only passengers waiting for a Caribou cargo plane to carry us on. We introduced ourselves over coffee. His last name is my mother’s maiden name; we joked that we may be related. He told me he was on his way to Moosonee to try for a job with De Beers at the diamond mine.

We were up and away in no time. The trees below us shrank the higher and farther we flew. Thunder Air Flight 500 is a frozen milk run: first Moosonee, then Fort Albany, Kashechewan, and finally Attawapiskat, where a housing crisis made national news last fall. The first leg was a quiet, uneventful hour, with little conversation over the drumming of the engine. I talked to the pilot, Dave, for a moment after we landed. When I turned to my fellow traveller, I saw that he was being handcuffed by the RCMP. It happens, Dave said. Welcome to the north.
There was no one waiting for me at Fort Albany Airport. Ordinarily, I would have worried. But I was learning things in this part of the country are fluid. A Thunder Air employee, working out of an office the size of a closet, asked what I was doing. Ten minutes later, someone came to drive me to the conference at Peetabeck Academy, the local school. I walked inside and had a steaming bowl of turkey soup popping with root vegetables placed in my hand. When I tried to find out where I’d be staying that night, I was told, “Don’t worry. You’re here, aren’t you?”

The first person I met who I know (well, sort of) was Paul Langlois, one of the great guitarists from the Tragically Hip. Minutes later, I was bear hugged from behind. It was Joseph, who’d been out ice fishing with the rest of the band. They didn’t catch anything, but that’s entirely beside the point. You go out on the land (which is, in fact, frozen water), and you hear the quiet, feel the peace, revel in the endless white.

I ran into the children’s writer and illustrator Janet Wilson, a former neighbour of mine. She’s written a book called Shannen’s Dream, about Shannen Koostachin, a teenager from Attawapiskat who lead the fight to get a new school for her community. About two years ago, sadly and shockingly, Shannen was killed at the age of fifteen in a car accident. Janet had come to the conference to do a workshop on youth empowerment, using Shannen’s story. Her hope for a school lives on, as her friends and fellow students have taken up the fight. And it will happen.

In the hallway, there was shrieking and laughing as kids lined up to touch a Van de Graaff generator and have their hair stand on end. I met a confident young member of the Moose Cree First Nation named Gilbert Cheechoo Jr. — and yes, he’s related to the NHL’s Jonathan. Gilbert, an investment officer in nearby Moose Factory, had come to do a workshop on student success. Watch out world, here comes the next big Cheechoo.

I took in Grand Chief of the Mushkegowuk Council Stan Louttit’s session on Treaty No. 9, the early 1900s agreement that covers almost two-thirds of what became northern Ontario, and the recent discovery of a diary kept by George MacMartin, Ontario’s commissioner for the negotiations. Because aboriginal history is based on oral tradition, the First Nations’ record of the treaty has been passed down from the people present at its signing. There has been much debate about what was offered by the government and what was actually written down. In MacMartin’s diary, there’s mention of oral promises made to the First Nations that never made it onto the treaty’s printed pages. It was a riveting session.

At day’s end, I was called upon to introduce Joseph Boyden as the conference banquet’s keynote speaker. In other circumstances, I’d have prepared something. At the Great Moon Gathering, I just went up.First, I thanked the Fort Albany First Nation for the warm welcome to their territory. I do this no matter where I am — whether it’s Toronto (Mississaugas of the New Credit) or Lantzville, BC (Snaw’Naw’As). It’s important that we think about the deep history of Canada, even if just for a moment. Then I talked about my friend Joseph as a great guy who treasures this part of the country. For several years, he worked as a teacher up and down the west coast of James Bay. This land is his muse, and he dearly loves its people.

Joseph delivered a speech in three acts. It was about this land; it was about stupid stereotypes of this land and its people emanating from southerners who’ve never been here; and it was about respect. It was funny, fitting, just right.

Afterward, the banquet tables were cleared for the concert. There were about ten local acts to begin, with the Hip bringing up the rear. Security was tight, with about ten RCMP and Nishnawbe-Aski officers in full gear. Though they couldn’t have been friendlier, they seemed out of place, if only for the sheer number of them. I saw several locals in black t-shirts stamped with SECURITY in bold white letters. One was the writer and producer Phoebe Sutherland, who’s just made a sixteen-minute film — entirely on an iPhone — called Eulogy from the White House. Phoebe wrote and produced it. John Kapashesit, one of the night’s performers, directed.

I shared the concert’s hosting duties with freelance emcee Brent Edwards. We had a fiddler, several singer-songwriters, and an elder who came across as the Cree Johnny Cash. Finally we came to a high school band that had been together for exactly two days. We’ll get through it, I thought before they began to play. But once they got going, with twins Cory and Cody on guitars, and a singer named Rosette belting out big notes, they were really good. Suddenly, the Hip’s Gord Downie joined them — and no one batted an eye. It was a huge moment.

The Tragically Hip hadn’t played a gymnasium for twenty years. Brent and I were gearing up to introduce them, but never got the chance: we looked up and they were already on stage, ready to play. No announcements. That’s fine… and fluid. The first thing Gord said was migwetch — thank you. The audience went nuts. Phoebe Sutherland, who’s an expert at goose calls, added her noise to the cheers. Only in the north.

For starters, the Hip did five songs from an upcoming album — none of which had ever been played for a live audience. Then came some hits: “Bobcaygeon,” “New Orleans Is Sinking.” And Fort Albany was over the moon. “And for the way we’re feeling, 700-foot, 700-foot ceiling.”

There was an after party, and my twenty-three-year-old inside self said “Ya gotta,” and I did. I talked politics with Hip guitarist Bobby Baker; Mother Earth and healing with the conference’s organizer, Edmund Metatawabin; and Canada with Gord Downie. My inside self said, “Pinch me, I’m dreaming.” I used to host a show on the radio called Sounds Like Canada. And when I said that, I always thought the Tragically Hip really sound like Canada. I have loved their drilling and prospecting into the land, the water, the people, the stories, the legends. That night, there they were, on one big sectional, hanging with Joseph, me, and the Cree.

I still didn’t know where I’d be sleeping. I knew it wasn’t with the band (I mean, a room in their lodgings). Joseph and Amanda thought there was room at the house they were sharing, and sure enough there was a bed. No sheets, no pillowcases on the pillows, but a bed. And I had the best sleep ever.

The next day, the weather had morphed from balmy –6 to –19 with a windchill of –27. The feeling at Peetabeck Academy was celebratory, a holdover from the concert. When I arrived, the morning sessions were rolling. Soon, great smells came from the kitchen. Aromatic soups and stews got the juices going. The lunch banquet was in the gym, which had been stripped of all rock band gear. Everyone was grateful for the hot food on a cold day. There was excited talk about the workshops when suddenly Brent Edwards was back at the podium with an announcement: a six-year-old from the community had just died in hospital.

Brent asked us to stand and close our eyes for a moment of silence. After a time, the hush was broken by a drum beat. I opened my eyes and there was Gilbert Cheechoo Jr., drumming and plaintively singing something in his language. It was an emotional, bittersweet tune; Gilbert’s voice caught several times. When I asked an elder what was the music, I was told it’s a travelling song. What else could it have been?


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ikky99]

http://www.walrusmagazine.com/blogs/201 ... more-10478

Wings and Prayers

I just spent twenty-four hours in Fort Albany, Ontario. Where? Get a map of Canada and go about halfway up the west side of James Bay. And there’s Fort Albany, a First Nations community of about 500 people.

The idea of my going there began with an email from the writer Joseph Boyden: could I come to the community’s Great Moon Gathering? It’s a conference of educators, featuring workshops on the Cree language, restorative justice, food security, and many other subjects related to contemporary aboriginal life. And oh, there’d be a concert with local musicians and the Tragically Hip. Could I cover the Gathering? Could I do a documentary about it for the CBC? (No, the national broadcaster would sit this one out. But Joseph Boyden asking me to do anything is hard to resist. I still wanted to go.) “We want to show this community some guerrilla love,” he wrote.

Three days later, having travelled from the Gulf Island where I live in BC, I found myself in the Thunder Air lounge in Timmins, Ontario. A young Cree man with the build of Ichabod Crane and I sat alone, the only passengers waiting for a Caribou cargo plane to carry us on. We introduced ourselves over coffee. His last name is my mother’s maiden name; we joked that we may be related. He told me he was on his way to Moosonee to try for a job with De Beers at the diamond mine.

We were up and away in no time. The trees below us shrank the higher and farther we flew. Thunder Air Flight 500 is a frozen milk run: first Moosonee, then Fort Albany, Kashechewan, and finally Attawapiskat, where a housing crisis made national news last fall. The first leg was a quiet, uneventful hour, with little conversation over the drumming of the engine. I talked to the pilot, Dave, for a moment after we landed. When I turned to my fellow traveller, I saw that he was being handcuffed by the RCMP. It happens, Dave said. Welcome to the north.
There was no one waiting for me at Fort Albany Airport. Ordinarily, I would have worried. But I was learning things in this part of the country are fluid. A Thunder Air employee, working out of an office the size of a closet, asked what I was doing. Ten minutes later, someone came to drive me to the conference at Peetabeck Academy, the local school. I walked inside and had a steaming bowl of turkey soup popping with root vegetables placed in my hand. When I tried to find out where I’d be staying that night, I was told, “Don’t worry. You’re here, aren’t you?”

The first person I met who I know (well, sort of) was Paul Langlois, one of the great guitarists from the Tragically Hip. Minutes later, I was bear hugged from behind. It was Joseph, who’d been out ice fishing with the rest of the band. They didn’t catch anything, but that’s entirely beside the point. You go out on the land (which is, in fact, frozen water), and you hear the quiet, feel the peace, revel in the endless white.

I ran into the children’s writer and illustrator Janet Wilson, a former neighbour of mine. She’s written a book called Shannen’s Dream, about Shannen Koostachin, a teenager from Attawapiskat who lead the fight to get a new school for her community. About two years ago, sadly and shockingly, Shannen was killed at the age of fifteen in a car accident. Janet had come to the conference to do a workshop on youth empowerment, using Shannen’s story. Her hope for a school lives on, as her friends and fellow students have taken up the fight. And it will happen.

In the hallway, there was shrieking and laughing as kids lined up to touch a Van de Graaff generator and have their hair stand on end. I met a confident young member of the Moose Cree First Nation named Gilbert Cheechoo Jr. — and yes, he’s related to the NHL’s Jonathan. Gilbert, an investment officer in nearby Moose Factory, had come to do a workshop on student success. Watch out world, here comes the next big Cheechoo.

I took in Grand Chief of the Mushkegowuk Council Stan Louttit’s session on Treaty No. 9, the early 1900s agreement that covers almost two-thirds of what became northern Ontario, and the recent discovery of a diary kept by George MacMartin, Ontario’s commissioner for the negotiations. Because aboriginal history is based on oral tradition, the First Nations’ record of the treaty has been passed down from the people present at its signing. There has been much debate about what was offered by the government and what was actually written down. In MacMartin’s diary, there’s mention of oral promises made to the First Nations that never made it onto the treaty’s printed pages. It was a riveting session.

At day’s end, I was called upon to introduce Joseph Boyden as the conference banquet’s keynote speaker. In other circumstances, I’d have prepared something. At the Great Moon Gathering, I just went up.First, I thanked the Fort Albany First Nation for the warm welcome to their territory. I do this no matter where I am — whether it’s Toronto (Mississaugas of the New Credit) or Lantzville, BC (Snaw’Naw’As). It’s important that we think about the deep history of Canada, even if just for a moment. Then I talked about my friend Joseph as a great guy who treasures this part of the country. For several years, he worked as a teacher up and down the west coast of James Bay. This land is his muse, and he dearly loves its people.

Joseph delivered a speech in three acts. It was about this land; it was about stupid stereotypes of this land and its people emanating from southerners who’ve never been here; and it was about respect. It was funny, fitting, just right.

Afterward, the banquet tables were cleared for the concert. There were about ten local acts to begin, with the Hip bringing up the rear. Security was tight, with about ten RCMP and Nishnawbe-Aski officers in full gear. Though they couldn’t have been friendlier, they seemed out of place, if only for the sheer number of them. I saw several locals in black t-shirts stamped with SECURITY in bold white letters. One was the writer and producer Phoebe Sutherland, who’s just made a sixteen-minute film — entirely on an iPhone — called Eulogy from the White House. Phoebe wrote and produced it. John Kapashesit, one of the night’s performers, directed.

I shared the concert’s hosting duties with freelance emcee Brent Edwards. We had a fiddler, several singer-songwriters, and an elder who came across as the Cree Johnny Cash. Finally we came to a high school band that had been together for exactly two days. We’ll get through it, I thought before they began to play. But once they got going, with twins Cory and Cody on guitars, and a singer named Rosette belting out big notes, they were really good. Suddenly, the Hip’s Gord Downie joined them — and no one batted an eye. It was a huge moment.

The Tragically Hip hadn’t played a gymnasium for twenty years. Brent and I were gearing up to introduce them, but never got the chance: we looked up and they were already on stage, ready to play. No announcements. That’s fine… and fluid. The first thing Gord said was migwetch — thank you. The audience went nuts. Phoebe Sutherland, who’s an expert at goose calls, added her noise to the cheers. Only in the north.

For starters, the Hip did five songs from an upcoming album — none of which had ever been played for a live audience. Then came some hits: “Bobcaygeon,” “New Orleans Is Sinking.” And Fort Albany was over the moon. “And for the way we’re feeling, 700-foot, 700-foot ceiling.”

There was an after party, and my twenty-three-year-old inside self said “Ya gotta,” and I did. I talked politics with Hip guitarist Bobby Baker; Mother Earth and healing with the conference’s organizer, Edmund Metatawabin; and Canada with Gord Downie. My inside self said, “Pinch me, I’m dreaming.” I used to host a show on the radio called Sounds Like Canada. And when I said that, I always thought the Tragically Hip really sound like Canada. I have loved their drilling and prospecting into the land, the water, the people, the stories, the legends. That night, there they were, on one big sectional, hanging with Joseph, me, and the Cree.

I still didn’t know where I’d be sleeping. I knew it wasn’t with the band (I mean, a room in their lodgings). Joseph and Amanda thought there was room at the house they were sharing, and sure enough there was a bed. No sheets, no pillowcases on the pillows, but a bed. And I had the best sleep ever.

The next day, the weather had morphed from balmy –6 to –19 with a windchill of –27. The feeling at Peetabeck Academy was celebratory, a holdover from the concert. When I arrived, the morning sessions were rolling. Soon, great smells came from the kitchen. Aromatic soups and stews got the juices going. The lunch banquet was in the gym, which had been stripped of all rock band gear. Everyone was grateful for the hot food on a cold day. There was excited talk about the workshops when suddenly Brent Edwards was back at the podium with an announcement: a six-year-old from the community had just died in hospital.

Brent asked us to stand and close our eyes for a moment of silence. After a time, the hush was broken by a drum beat. I opened my eyes and there was Gilbert Cheechoo Jr., drumming and plaintively singing something in his language. It was an emotional, bittersweet tune; Gilbert’s voice caught several times. When I asked an elder what was the music, I was told it’s a travelling song. What else could it have been?


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That is fantastic! Did they play 700 ft?

[trevor]

Awesome read!

[Tthip]

http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/02/29/gord ... gathering/

Gord Downie on the Great Moon Gathering
‘A guest spot is always easier said than done. I tried to put it out of my mind, but it nagged.’

by Gord Downie

We had landed in Fort Albany and gone over to the school to meet everyone, to get a little dinner. I hadn’t been there long before I was approached by these towering identical teens who introduced themselves as Cory and Cody. They were very quiet, very polite, very serious and to-the-point: “We’re opening up for you tomorrow night,” they said. “We’d like you to sing with us.”

“I’d love to,” I said, “what song?”

“’Knockin On Heaven’s Door’,” they replied.
“Great!” I said, a little relieved. “I even know that one.” It is a song I played in my first band, when I was about their age. It is a song that most rock musicians play in their first bands.

But Cory—or Cody—interrupted my thought, blurting, “The Guns N Roses version.” It was the way they said it, “Guns N Roses version”—emphatically or something—that made me think that there might be a discernible difference between the version I knew and the one they’d rehearsed. The way Cody, or Cory, said ‘Guns N Roses version’ made me realize that they had worked on this song’s every note and nuance.

Cory, or Cody, introduced me around to the rest of the band, Braiden on guitar, Evan on Drums. The band seemed to naturally defer to Braiden when I asked how they wanted it all to go. Braiden had a definite idea of how it all would go. He walked me through it. (I’ve never been good with arrangements.) I nodded my understanding, but I guess I didn’t mean it. We said our goodbyes, and I told them I’d see them the next night, at the stage. Oh! I turned and asked them, “Hey, what are you guys called?” Cody, or maybe it was Cory, said, “Northern Revolution. We just came up with it today.”

A guest spot is always easier said than done. I tried to put it out of my mind, but it nagged. Later, I asked Billy, my longtime friend and the Hip’s ‘Mr Everything’ (as well as our resident metal aficionado) what the difference might be, and he immediately launched into a note-perfect Axl Rose impression. Again, I tried to put it out of my mind.

Next night, I got to the gym around 8 o’clock and the evening’s entertainment was already underway. Northern Revolution gathered, side stage. The boys were wide-eyed nervous. I could tell. I yelled to them over the musical act onstage, “You’re nervous, because this means something.” Just then, Braiden introduced me to their singer, a young girl named ‘Rosette’ (except her name is Roseanne—I asked twice and only heard ‘Rosette.’ f**k!).

Anyway, I was aghast. “You mean you guys bumped your singer for me?!” I yelled to the boys. “I don’t do that! This is your singer! You never bump your singer for anyone!” Roseanne jumped in, quickly, to reassure me that she didn’t want to sing ‘Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door,’ that it was too high for her or something. I looked at the guys to make sure. They nodded.

“OK,” I said to Rosanne, “you’ll sing back-up then?!”

“No.” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“OK.”

It was time. Northern Revolution took to the plywood stage, and the place went nuts. They played their first song just the way they’d rehearsed it. When it was finished, I passed Roseanne as she was stepping off the stage. ‘Nice one!” I yelled to her. I walked to my mic and immediately turned and announced Roseanne back to the stage.

She looked at me with a mixture of shock and something else, but it wasn’t anger. She joined me, maybe reluctantly, and took her rightful place centre stage.

We started, just the way Braiden said we should, with a plaintive note-for-note Slash-like intro to ‘Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.’ I started to sing, “Mama take this badge offa me…” and we were away. Roseanne knew just what to do and eased in the harmony. It was exactly right. Everything that hadn’t been rehearsed was taking over—as it should be—everything that isn’t rehearsed is called ‘the emotion.’

First verse gave way to first chorus and the crowd was with us. We were all experiencing that click of a moment when relief (on everyone’s part, audience and performer) starts to give way to the possibility of more, to the out-of-the-ordinary or perhaps even transcendence. It was feeling good.

But, now for verse two. I jumped in. I went for it. It just felt right. I launched into the second verse: “Mama bury my guns in the ground.”

I looked back at Braiden; he was shaking his head vigorously back and forth. “Wrong! No!” he was saying with his eyes. We had a decision to make and a barre to make it. I’d already started singing. I thought, “This kid is shaking me off!” What to do? Return back to a re-intro and risk throwing everyone out of sync?

This wasn’t my first canoe ride. I know what happens next; if I don’t take charge, half the band goes one way and half goes the other and you wish for a power outage or for the stage to collapse to get you out of there. I am the singer. I do what a singer does. I keep singing; “I can’t shoot them anymore…” Everyone on stage looks a panic; this is not how they rehearsed it! “Stay with me, Braiden!” I bellow, and I’m thinking to myself, “and if you do I will set you up for a gym-melting guitar solo.”

We get through the second verse and chorus with four wheels still on the wagon. And the table is set, Cory –or was it Cody?—tears off a guitar solo that makes his mother cry with pride and makes all the other girls cry for something else.

Not only do we get out of the song alive, we flourish. In a brief moment, we all look at each other the way bands have looked at each other for centuries, with the ‘What just happened?’ look that only comes with suddenly knowing you’ve done something that means something.

I had many incredible experiences during my 48 hours in Fort Albany, many moments of togetherness and beauty, of majesty and quietude and hilarity, but nothing quite like my three-and-a-half minute, ‘back to the future,’ rocket ride with Northern Revolution.

Long live rock n roll.

[Tthip]

http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/02/29/robe ... gathering/

Robert Gillies on the Great Moon Gathering
‘One of the additional thrills was the knowledge my son, who plays the drums, would be performing and opening for the Tragically Hip’

by Robert Gillies

On February 16, 2012, I, along with close friends, were given the privilege of accompanying some members of the Tragically Hip on an ice fishing excursion down the winter road.

At mid-morning we arrived at a small, pristine river to fish for Brook Trout. A day earlier we had scouted the river and caught a fair size trout—this indicated a promise of more fish the next day.

The Tragically Hip were in the community of Fort Albany to attend and perform in the Great Moon Gathering, which celebrates the winter and the new spring ahead.
While we did not catch any additional trout, the time spent allowed for the exchange of stories between us, and even laughter.

The river empties into the James Bay. The slow action in the fishing permitted others to sightsee the coast close by.

The day ended at lunchtime with a bowl of chili served up from an improvised setup of a woodstove on the ice. The Hip had to return to the community to prepare for the concert that night. Their venue would be at the school gym which would hold approximately 450 fans from all of the surrounding communities.

One of the additional thrills was the knowledge my son, who plays the drums, would be performing and opening for the Tragically Hip along with his friends who belong to a group called the Northern Revolution. My wife has also been a long-time dedicated fan of the Hip but had always failed to connect with them. The concert was a great success and experience for all.

In the course of the night during a private gathering of the performers, I experienced a brief moment of adoration from a radio personality who mistook me for a singer. I eventually broke the secret to her that I did not sing a chord nor did I play an instrument… I just looked like I did.

I hope our guests will return one day, for they are always welcome. They have brought something positive to our community.

Robert Gillies is a friend of the Tragically Hip and a championship ice fisherman.

[Tthip]

http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/02/29/north-of-the-52nd/

North of the 52nd with the Tragically Hip
Novelists Joseph and Amanda Boyden travel with the band to isolated Fort Albany, Ont., for the Great Moon Gathering

by Joseph and Amanda Boyden

Photograph by Andrew Tolson
We’re in a 40-person prop plane, high over black spruce and frozen rivers somewhere between Timmins and the coast of James Bay. A frigid night has fallen outside the small windows, and the plane buzzes with the voices of filmmakers and artists, teachers and writers. And all the members of the Tragically Hip. Every time we’re jostled by turbulence, it’s hard not to whisper-sing the Hip’s hit song, Fifty Mission Cap, about the Maple Leafs’ Bill Barilko’s death in a plane crash in the land literally below us.

Why would the entirety of “Canada’s band” risk such a thing? Why would they opt to fly, in the middle of winter, to isolated Fort Albany, Ont., to play in a high school gym? And why would the award-winning documentarians Jennifer Baichwal and Nick de Pencier do the same, toting hundreds of kilos of camera equipment? Why would Shelagh Rogers, CBC’s radio legend, take another plane from Gabriola Island off the B.C. coast—no, make that five planes and a ferry—to head to a 900-person reserve hosting the Great Moon Gathering? Nobody’s making a penny. Why?

Back before Christmas, I got a call from Edmund Metatawabin, former chief of Fort Albany and this year’s Great Moon Gathering coordinator, asking if I would be the keynote speaker. The Great Moon Gathering revolves around youth education and focuses on integrating traditional Cree learning with contemporary realities. Participants come from the reserves of Peawanuck, Attawapiskat, Fort Albany, Kashechewan, and Moose Factory, many of them teachers from down south, teachers hungry to bridge that gap between cultures.

“Of course,” I told Metatawabin. “I’d be honoured.” Then Ed slipped it in that maybe I could ask Gord Downie to come up, too, and play a couple of songs. Ah-ha . . . He’d heard about Gord’s previous visits with me to James Bay. Ed’s a wise elder, and he knows I don’t mind being a conduit. Convincing Gord, however, who was in the middle of recording a Hip album, wouldn’t be easy. Never mind the whole band. I ran the idea past Amanda. How in the world could we sell a small educational conference held in February, in a place accessible only by prop plane or a somewhat treacherous ice road, to rock legends?

We touch down on the icy Fort Albany airstrip and trundle outside. At least a dozen vehicles are pulled up to the surrounding chain-link fence, their headlights illuminating our walk to the tiny building we’ve already nicknamed the Fort Albany International Airport Terminal. There’s not enough room for all of us inside, but Edmund Metatawabin and a large welcoming committee are there to deal with the minor chaos of the unloading and disbursement of our gear. The Hip’s manager, Bernie Breen, springs to life. Impressive skills, to say the least. Before we know it, we’re loaded into vehicles and dropped off at the high school for a meal and a social, Cree style. We’re on their turf now.

Inside the beautiful school, a spacious, perfectly maintained contemporary building opened in 2001, we head to the cafeteria. It’s obvious the naysayers back in the day fighting the funding of this school—“It’ll be in ruins in a decade”—were incredibly wrong. Sitting down to plates full of homemade lasagna and gorgeous, fresh green salads, we’re told the story about how in the same week this new school opened, the old St. Ann’s residential school just up the road—that notorious hellhole of a place for generations of Cree children—somehow burned down to its dark, black core in a giant conflagration. We hear the story from more than a few locals, and when we ask how the fire started, all shrug their shoulders and smile a bit. Nobody claims to know. Funny, too, about what we don’t know yet, breaking the ice here in the cafeteria and later in the gym: the magic is beginning.

Those of us from the plane are a bit tired, waiting to put our bags someplace, but we’re called to a drum social including a circle dance, emceed by the jokester Brent Edwards. Jennifer Baichwal, Amanda, and other travellers head out to the gym floor with locals and take strangers’ hands. Band members smile for photos with other residents and visitors; Hip guitarist Rob Baker is a popular draw, with his long hair and nearly floor-length brass-button Russian coat.We meet a group of teens comprising one of the opening bands for the following night’s show. We meet people who have moved far away from Fort Albany but who’ve returned expressly to see the Tragically Hip. And we meet Joan Metatawabin, Ed’s patient wife. While there’s one lovely lodge in town, usually reserved for visiting contractors, the Hip have first dibs, as they should, and it’s Joan’s job to make sleeping arrangements and scatter the rest of us visitors and conference attendees throughout homes in the community.

The next day, at the Northern Store, we learn that a head of lettuce costs more than $8 in Fort Albany. The small bag of pistachios we buy costs $10. How had our hosts managed to provide enormous serving dishes of fresh salad strewn with bright vegetables? Who spent hour upon hour making what had to be 20 kg of lasagna? After asking around, we find out that all the groceries had to be flown in specially and that a veritable army of volunteers was responsible for everything from setting up hundreds of chairs in the gym to breaking down the stage afterwards.

The volunteering doesn’t stop in the gym. George Gillies spends all day and night driving around in a big white van, transporting band members and anybody else who needs a lift. Stan Kapashesit has come up from Moose Factory to coordinate with Billy, the Hip’s head tech, having worked for weeks ahead of time to find a way to somehow ship the equipment necessary to actually put on a show. (By train and then ice road is the answer.) Stan felt it necessary, before the band’s arrival, to move each and every heavy piece of equipment into his home in Moose Factory for safekeeping from the elements. (He then hauled the cargo more than 100 km up the ice road to Fort Albany.)

But at least equipment is inanimate, if hulking, in a living room. Who are these other generous people who open up their homes and hearts to strangers attending the conference, to Spelling Bee of Canada founder Julie Spence, for example, and to the blond singer Shannon Moan with the gorgeous voice from Alberta? Think about it for a second. Would you invite strangers into your home tomorrow to bathe and eat and sleep in, say, your daughter’s bed while she bunked on the La-Z-Boy?

Maybe the answer to the question of why anybody would make the difficult trip to Fort Albany is becoming a little clearer. How did we manage to convince Gord Downie? And what about Shelagh Rogers’s insane journey, travelling on her own dime? Why would Mark Mattson of Lake Ontario Waterkeeper bring a sleeping bag and say the sofa’s fine for two nights? He’s no spring chicken.

The sell, actually, proved amazingly simple. In the glaring light of the media attention focused on the appalling conditions at Attawapiskat, we decided that we needed to initiate a guerrilla act of love for a people who are so thoroughly underrepresented but now, somehow, overexposed for only their shortcomings. A guerrilla act of love to show the rest of the country what strength and artistry, grace and humour the Cree possess. The seed germinated.

Why this place? Why now? Why an education conference? Because Ontario’s Drummond report says so, for starters. Because, in a 700-page body of work calling for massive fiscal cuts, it suggests the only fiscal spending should be directed toward the education of First Nations children on reserve.

Those of us at the conference, and at the concert, believe in the reclamation of culture for the Cree. We believe in the equalizing of funding for schoolchildren across our country. We believe that the gross underfunding of every child on reserve in Canada must be rectified, and that they must receive the same amount as non-native children. We also believe in the strength of a people mistreated by our country, and we believe there’s an enormous need to educate us. Most Canadians will never set foot on a reserve, much less one in western James Bay. Many think First Nations people here can’t manage their money. But of course any place with $8 heads of lettuce would be easy to navigate with a strict weekly grocery budget, right?

Most Canadians feel the financial pinch of heating bills in winter. It’s less likely, though, that most Canadians know that the energy generated by dams nearby in Cree territory is sold south for far cheaper rates than to those living on the very lands that produce it. Makes sense, right?

Our second day begins with an invitation to breakfast at a local joint, followed by an ice fishing trip outside of town. Fresh—a.k.a. liquid gold—coffee, fried eggs, hash browns, you name it. The owners, Karren and Jassen Metatawabin, refuse to let us pay. Hmm. The generosity of spirit is becoming palpable. A rumour circulates that a special sweat lodge will be set up for the band the next day, and everyone’s enthusiastic.

A gang of us heads off for a 40-minute drive south on the ice road through the northern muskeg. Our driver points to osprey nests and the odd fox, standing out golden against the white of snow, staring. A few transports, delivering supplies to DeBeers’ Victor Mine a couple of hours north, barrel past. Word has it that DeBeers is drilling some of the richest diamond pipes ever found in this country.

I tell the group of us squeezed into the truck how we approached a number of corporations to see if they’d help fund our guerrilla act. It isn’t cheap, what we’ve attempted to put together. Both Ontario Power Generation and Detour Gold came through, happy to contribute cheques. Strangely, despite repeated requests on our part, DeBeers, which works directly with the Cree on traditional land, decided, we guess, that an event meant to shine some positive light on what has been spun as a hopeless situation wasn’t worthwhile. Hey, DeBeers, it’s never too late!

We slow at a creek that cuts across the ice road, then pull right onto the frozen creek for a fun off-road jaunt to augured-out fishing holes. A handful of people from the community teach the members of the band how to jig for speckled trout while Gavin Brown, the Hip’s current brilliant producer, zips by on a snowmobile, looking like Rasputin with his long black beard whipping in the wind. We watch as he switches places with his passenger, Gord Sinclair, the Hip’s bassist, and the two of them drive onto the ice of James Bay, soon disappearing into the white distance. We hope they can find their way back. We have to get home soon and get ready for the show.

A few hours before the concert, I give my keynote address to a packed gym that includes the legendary Cree hunting and fishing guide William Tozer and his family, along with my brother Raymond and two of his sons who’ve snowmobiled all the way from Ahmic Lake to be here. I quote some of the more ridiculous remarks made about the Cree from the opinion sections of our national papers these last months and contrast them with some facts about the people and the land. The crowd gets what I’m after. This is a rally for the people, after all. I end with my definition of who I think the Cree really are and step aside for the dozen volunteers to ready the gym for the big show.

Shelagh Rogers, having just arrived hours earlier, takes on the daunting task of co-emceeing with mischievous Brent last minute, introducing opening acts with wit and sincerity. At one point she’s handed a note she reads with a laugh. A dog, a puppy, is loose, wandering the halls of the school. Would somebody please retrieve the animal? Nick de Pencier and Jennifer Baichwal duck and weave around the gym, filming musicians and audience members alike. Gord Downie joins one of five opening acts, Northern Revolution, a group comprised of talented teens, for a rendition of Bob Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door before a short break, and then, finally, the members of what might arguably be called Canada’s quintessential rock band hit the stage.

In the high school gym, in front of 450 people, including deputy grand chief Mike Metatawabin of the Nishnawbe Aski Nation and Stan Louttit, chief of the Mushkegowuk Council, the Tragically Hip deliver what surely has to be one of their best shows ever produced. Russ Wilson works some kind of miracle on sound while Billy the guitar tech manages to do what usually requires four assistants. Those in the gym—it’s strangely conducive, acoustically—are treated to brand new songs, songs that haven’t even yet been recorded for their upcoming new album. The event speeds by in a blur. Paul Langlois’s backup voice is pitch-perfect, his guitar work clean and nuanced, and Johnny Faye’s just slammin’ on the drums, crisp and sharp and loud. Gord and Rob and Gord—well, they’re honestly at their very finest, and the audience knows it. The audience, too, knows the lyrics of every recorded song the Hip play. When the recognizable deep notes of New Orleans is Sinking sound out, the crowd—having tried ever so hard to be respectful and proper and sit in their assigned seats—can’t contain their joy, and rise to their feet, singing along at full volume. The sight is truly magical, and it’s ridiculously easy to see that the band is getting back at least as much as it’s giving. The audience cheers and applauds afterwards, and volunteer Phoebe Sutherland sends out a goose call so real-sounding that the band thanks her for it. It’s something the Hip have never been given in appreciation before.

The next morning, we gather at the lodge where the band is staying to await transportation to the sweat. It’s obvious how close the members are, like brothers after nearly 30 years of rehearsing and recording and touring and creating and fighting and making up. Everyone, manager, techs, and producer included, sits in a loose circle, towels waiting in a pile, content in the work they did, awed by the show of love from the community and the experience at large. Still, they’re a little nervous now about the sweat. “Does it hurt?” somebody asks. “Can we leave if we need to?”

We wait, and then wait some more. Finally, Gavin suggests we could just dim the lights, crank up the heat high as it goes, and hold hands. Of course we can’t stop laughing.

The sweat doesn’t manage to happen. A lack of communication. But that’s okay. We know, like Gord told the audience last night, that we’ll be back.

Most Canadians remember the hurricane Katrina disaster in New Orleans. Most Canadians remember the images of African-Americans stuck in the convention centre playing out on TV, these suffering, confused people pleading for help, and no doubt most Canadians watched from a distance thinking that such a thing could never happen in our country, right? That Canadians wouldn’t treat their own in such a deplorable manner. Canadians believe in equality for all, every variety of minority in our mosaic democracy, and know how to enact that equality, right?

Do you know what it feels like to ask for help?

And do you know what it feels like to give? To simply give?

We Canadians have always been good at ignoring communities like Attawapiskat until desperation pushes them into the headlines. We’ve so often failed First Nations. And First Nations communities are not without flaws. They acknowledge this. But doesn’t that apply to all of us? We as a nation can only move forward together. We can be better, so much better, together.

The woman who rescues that puppy wandering the halls of the school during the concert is booked on the same charter back south, and she’s decided she’ll save the homeless furball. But, strangely enough, considering all the other cargo that’s been allowed over the years, she’s not given permission to carry the puppy in a secure bag on board the plane. She’s distraught. And so another guerrilla act of love needs to be enacted.

Amanda and I are some of the last to board, and the view from the front of the plane is one we’ll never forget. Everyone looks bigger somehow, and it’s not just because of all the thick parkas. The band, clustered in the back seats, has been given beaver hats and mitts, which they wear with pride, and everyone, down to the last passenger, smiles, warm and full with a rich experience. People laugh and chat, and we sit to whispers of how members of a certain musical group that will go unnamed managed a shell game with some carry-on luggage back in the Fort Albany International Airport Terminal.

And then the sound goes out into the cabin: a squeak from a puppy somewhere in the back. We all look to the flight attendant to see if she’s heard it. Before the puppy can make any more noise, the whole cabin erupts in a chorus of throat-clearing, and those who can sing, opt for high notes.

The plane takes off without a hitch.

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http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/02/29/edmu ... gathering/

Edmund Metatawabin on the Great Moon Gathering
What we see during the preparations to develop the “Ring of Fire” is the destruction of purity, of fresh air, of peace

by Edmund Metatawabin

The guests arrived with the southerly wind and landed ever so briefly to share, laugh, talk, philosophize and entertain us. We are all gathered to dissect the ‘education’ given to First Nation children in the western James Bay area. The conference will be especially of interest to teachers, young and old, who are in Fort Albany to interact for two days. Such a brief time but, we will make the most of it.

The theme of the gathering, selected by the Local Planning Committee, is “A Spirit Voice: Lessons from the Land.” The topic is relevant. The land is on our minds a lot. Just a week ago the women of Fort Albany organized a local “Land Conference” where they invited presentations on issues surrounding land. When you feel a tear creeping down the side of your cheek, you have heard a person speak from the heart.

The women spoke of the land and cried. Some, for the first time, had the opportunity to go on the land with their family and broke down briefly as they shared with the audience: “I could feel a presence on the land; I felt peace, love and purity,” Leona said. “I felt I must ‘purify’ the way I live and change my weak habits.” The youth were more upfront when the question came to compromise and answered the question naively, from the heart and with emotion. “Compromise? There is no compromise for Mother Earth!” Corey said. “You cannot just tear up Mother Earth with machinery. We must take care of the land. On the Rafting Excursion, I saw the land for the first time and I saw the beauty, the animals, the birds, the clean water … I felt blessed. hat I saw I want my grandchildren to see and feel in their own time …”.

What we see during the preparations to develop the “Ring of Fire” is the destruction of purity, of fresh air, of peace. We will soon see dry land, harmful contaminants and invasive water species unfit to consume. Others will see monetary gain, but for how long? Where do we go after this?

“Resource extraction” is for the satisfaction of the “economy that needs to accelerate” and those that are in service to it. I hope we can eventually learn to eat money… but, it cannot give us peace.

The theme of the conference was timely and relevant. For me it was.

Edmund Metatawabin is the former chief of Fort Albany and the coordinator of this year’s Great Moon Gathering.

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http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/02/29/kare ... gathering/

Karen and Jassen Metatawabin on the Great Moon Gathering
Jassen and I were so honoured to be part of the Great Moon Gathering,…

by Karen and Jassen Metatawabin

Jassen and I were so honoured to be part of the Great Moon Gathering, even in such a small way. It was our pleasure to escort you, Gord, Gord, John, Gavin, Bruce and Andrew on an ice fishing adventure. Even though we did not catch anything, it was an excellent way to enjoy nature and a bit of relaxation before the concert. Not many people can say that they went on an ice fishing journey with the Tragically Hip! Watching Gord Downie sit on a cooler at an ice fishing hole and jig with such dedication and peace created a lasting impression on the both of us.

Perhaps the biggest impression made was how so many well-known people came together in our small community of Fort Albany, Ontario. Jassen and I were a small part of something that was so spectacular! The memories created by all of you and how everyone interacted with one another is something that will not soon be forgotten. The time the Tragically Hip spent with Braiden, Cory, Cody, Evan and Roseanne was truly special. It meant a lot to me and Jassen as well. No one really takes the time to get to know us and who we are and what we represent up here. We still cannot believe that all of this has happened. The whole event is such a blur and so many of us are saying, “Can you believe we did that?” The significance of what has occurred is yet to register on us and the rest of Canada.

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http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/02/29/the- ... gathering/

The members of Northern Revolution on the Great Moon Gathering
What’s it like to open for a legendary rock band?

Braiden (lead guitar): My experience opening for the Tragically Hip was amazing. I can honestly say having such a famous rock band come up to this small northern community is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I feel so lucky that I was able to be a part of the show. I hope sometime in the near future, I can be the opening act again. Something I’ll never forget is playing a song with Gord Downie. It was truly amazing.
Evan (drums): My experience playing the Tragically Hip concert was sincerely amazing. It was great to meet the Hip and was even better when I got to play with the lead singer, Gordon. This experience seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to actually play with a legit band. I had a great time meeting them and spending time with these guys. I couldn’t ask for anything more than to play at an actual concert and with such a serious band. It was a pleasure to meet them and hopefully get to see them again sometime soon.

Cody (rhythm guitar): My experience playing the The Tragically Hip was very awesome. A very famous rock band came to Fort Albany First Nation. All I can say is those two days of seeing them and talking to them, playing guitar with them was fantastic. I can’t believe they actually came to Albany. I am very pleased they talked to my band Northern Revolution, and I hope in the near future they will come by and play again in Fort Albany. The best experience has to be playing ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’ with Gord Downie.

Cory (bass): My experience playing with The Tragically Hip was epic. It was epic seeing the Tragically Hip play their songs live. I cannot believe that the band came over to Ontario to play for us. Meeting them was good. The lead singer of the band played with us, and I felt honored that he played. The Tragically Hip said that they’d maybe be coming again in the near future. The most awesome experience was playing ‘Knockin’ on Heavens Door’ with Gordon.

Roseanne (vocals): My night during the Tragically Hip show was absolutely terrific. I never thought I was going to actually do something like that in my life. Well, I have thought of it, but not like this. This one was way better. Getting to face my stage fright was the hard part, but I got used to it. Singing up there felt good. I felt happier inside and out. Showing my talent wasn’t easy; I had to put so much effort in it that my throat was beginning to hurt. I didn’t know it was going to be like that. I had so much fun performing, and I want to do a lot more of those, knowing I’m not afraid anymore of what people would think of me or how bad I would sound. I realized it shouldn’t matter what they think. It’s all on me, and I should be doing something I’ve really loved doing ever since I was a little girl and that’s singing. I shouldn’t let the word ”fear” bring me down. I need to face it.

After the Tragically Hip show, I was getting all these compliments, people saying they were proud of me. I practically made my sister cry because she said she was so proud of me, and she didn’t know I could sing like that. Everything that people said about me made me feel more confident about myself. I don’t even think about the negative stuff anymore.

I’m proud of myself also. I’m so grateful that me and the band got together and had to do late practices just to get ourselves ready for the show.

Singing with Gord Downie was one of the greatest things. If it weren’t for them coming to Fort Albany, where would I be? I bet you in the same situation I was in a long time ago, but I’m so glad they came. I got to do something I’ve always wanted to do.

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http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/02/29/shel ... gathering/

Shelagh Rogers on the Great Moon Gathering
It doesn’t get more Canadian than this

by Shelagh Rogers

It doesn’t get more Canadian than this: a great Canadian band (the Tragically Hip) fronted by the poet of the Canadian soul (Gord Downie), a great Canadian author (Joseph Boyden) and the land (James Bay Cree territory) and the people (William Tozer, who was a model for the character of the bush pilot Will Bird in Joseph’s Giller winning novel Through Black Spruce) who inspire him. But then it does.

I’m standing backstage at the concert at the Great Moon Gathering, beside a woman with a black tee shirt on that says SECURITY in big, white letters. The Tragically Hip have just sung a song they’ve never performed before and the crowd is cheering wildly. Except for this woman. It’s not that she’s not cheering exactly; she’s doing goosecalls, high, warbly and piercing. Which stops the action, gets a big grin from Gord, and makes everyone cheer again. And just when you think it can’t get better than this—hanging with the Mushkegowuk Cree, including Grand Chief Stan Louttit, and the man who organized all this, Edmund Metatawabin, Joseph, his stellar wife Amanda, William Tozer, Gord Downie and the rest of the band who are marvelous human beings, too—the woman in the SECURITY tee shirt asks if I want to see the movie she made on an iPhone. Not unless you tell me your name, I say.

And the next morning, I see the film. It’s called “Eulogy from the White House” about a young Cree woman discovering her true roots. It’s great. An epic in sixteen minutes, written and produced by the goose-caller, Phoebe R. Sutherland. Remember that name.

Shelagh Rogers is the host of CBC Radio One’s The Next Chapter

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Pictures: http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/02/29/hang ... h-the-hip/