Every summer since 1972, something almost sacred has stirred at Bell Park. Just after sunset, when the pinks and oranges fade behind the shadow of the Superstack and the air off Ramsey Lake cools, a quiet transformation overtakes the crowd. A ripple, then a roar. The music begins, and its not just heard, but felt.
That moment, when the performer and the audience become one, is at the very heart of the Northern Lights Festival Boréal (NLFB).
“It happens every year at the Festival,” journalist Mick Lowe once wrote. “It's impossible to predict when … but suddenly the moon is dancing on the waves of Ramsey and the cooling evening air and the stars twinkle on over the amphitheatre … and your skin begins to crawl at the pleasure and the spooky wonder of it all.”
After just recently celebrating its 53rd anniversary, Northern Lights remains Canada’s longest continuously running outdoor music festival. But it’s those first 12 years, from its humble beginnings in 1972 through to the watershed year of 1983, that laid the groundwork for everything that followed. It was a time of raw community energy, artistic daring, youthful rebellion, and deep Northern pride.
The Spark, 1972
The story of Northern Lights Festival Boréal (NLFB) begins not in the glow of a spotlight but in a community meeting room in July 1972.
There, a collective of young community organizers, project workers, and visionaries gathered under the banner of the Opportunities for Youth Program (part of a federal initiative to engage young people). Their goal was simple and radical: create something for Sudbury that celebrated local culture: music, crafts, and identity.
“We didn’t have a stage, a budget, or even a proper name,” remembered Ray Auger, one of the project leads. “But we had guitars, we had friends who painted, and we had Bell Park.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be an annual thing,” recalled Scott Merrifield, one of the original founding members and later artistic director. “We never thought past one.”
The first festival was cobbled together in a matter of five weeks, drawing upon the informal networks of local musicians, artists, craftspeople and volunteers. The first Northern Lights Folk Festival took place Aug. 20–21, 1972, at the Bell Park Amphitheatre, the same location where the festival still thrives decades later.
Among those at that first planning table were names that would recur across the festival’s history: Ray Auger, John Bell, Stan Bielanski, Normand Glaude, Gary McGroarty, Jean-Jacques Paquette, and Merrifield himself.
Admission was free. While posters were hand-drawn and volunteers built a makeshift stage from scavenged wood.
“There was a moment,” said co-organizer John Bell, “when someone began singing a French ballad on stage and two dozen people in the audience began singing along — and we all looked at each other and realized, this is bigger than any of us imagined.”
That debut event, modest in scope and powered entirely by the goodwill of volunteers, set the tone for everything to come.
The Foundation Years, 1973–1974
Encouraged by the overwhelming response in 1972, the small team pushed forward. By 1973 and 1974, with Fred Pawluck taking on the co-ordinator role, the festival found its rhythm and expanded from two days to three and grew from one to three active stages.
Pawluck's contributions were foundational. He introduced daytime workshops, a defining element that would make the festival unique. Artists from various genres could at times be found performing not in competition, but in collaboration.
In 1974, for example, workshops introduced spectators (and even other performers) to The History of Drums and other Percussion, Jug Band music, Ragtime and early Jazz (songs that inspired instant sing-a-longs from anyone with earshot).
“It was chaos, beautiful chaos,” wrote Laurie Conger, a local musician who performed at the 1973 event. “You’d be onstage with someone who played bluegrass, someone who played Métis fiddle, and a guy with a harp. And somehow it worked.”
Pawluck also elevated the role of crafts in the festival experience, making space for artisans to both sell and demonstrate their work.
“We always tried to make sure it wasn’t just a music event,” wrote early organizers. “It was a coming together of all types of culture — visual, tactile, culinary and musical.”
At this time, it was still very much a grassroots operation. There were no corporate sponsors, no admission fees and no paid staff.
As Merrifield once put it, “Except on a few occasions, the festival was run without any paid staff … . [It] equalled the accomplishments of other groups — but on a people basis.”
Becoming Boréal, 1975
The year 1975 marked a turning point. Under Merrifield’s direction, a fourth stage was added, and the festival formally adopted its now-iconic name: Northern Lights Festival Boréal. The name change reflected a bilingual identity that had always existed informally but now had institutional recognition.
“We are the only festival with a strong bilingual accent,” Merrifield proudly said in 1981. French and English artists stood side by side on stage, often blending their languages in songs and workshops.
That same year, NLFB incorporated as a non-profit organization, a move which guaranteed both financial accountability and a sense of cultural mission.
But a difficult decision came that same summer: the festival began charging admission for its evening concerts.
“We had to figure out how to be sustainable,” said founding board member Claude Faucon.
As Merrifield added, “The musicians couldn’t live on music alone, and the festival couldn’t survive on yearly deficits.”
In 1978, Phil Landry, a spokesman for the festival organization, told Northern Life, "This is the first year we've gone in there without any government grants whatsoever. The organization is realizing now that the festival weekend is completely self-sufficient. We can do it by ourselves and pay for it out of the gate."
According to Landry, NLFB's coming of age was totally unintended (perhaps even accidental) as Festival organizers forgot or possibly neglected to make the customary applications for government assistance.
A Cultural Mosaic
The NLFB was never interested in sticking to a narrow definition of “folk music,” which is perhaps one reason for dropping the “Folk” portion from its original moniker.
“We adopted a less rigid, less restricted definition,” Merrifield explained. “The event should have cultural relevance, yet also variety.”
This philosophical openness gave space to traditional fiddlers and jazz guitarists, Native drummers and Scottish pipers, East Indian dancers and East Coast singer-songwriters, all sharing stages and time slots.
And, 1976 was a breakthrough year in that respect.
That summer, Paul Dunn, a Sudbury singer-songwriter riding a wave of local radio popularity thanks to his hit “Dudley Crowfoot”, shared the stage with a then-unknown collective called CANO. Their performance was electric.
“These were our friends, our drinking buddies, singing about us,” Mick Lowe wrote, “(And) the place went crazy.”
CANO, a group of Francophone musicians from Sudbury and North Bay, would go on to national success, but it was Bell Park where they found their first real audience.
More voices new to Sudbury audiences followed. Figgy Duff brought Newfoundland’s Celtic roots. Willie P. Bennett and David Essig brought bluesy poetry. Valdy, always a crowd-pleaser, played us a rock ‘n’ roll song. While children’s programming blossomed, giving families a reason to spend whole days on the grass.
And then there was Sukay.
In 1977, a Montreal-based duo named Sukay arrived from a tour of South America with instruments no one in Sudbury had ever seen. Quentin Badoux and Edmond Ladouceur took the stage carrying oversized Andean panpipes and wearing woven ponchos.
“They played one note,” Mick Lowe wrote, “and we were silenced, riveted, at once. That note … came from the back-country of Bolivia, but those of us who still believe it came from the backside of the moon will surely be forgiven.”
It was a moment that encapsulated what the NLFB had become: a portal to the world.
By 1981, festival-goers could expect everything from Ukrainian dancing to progressive folk, Cajun stompers, and even reggae. This eclecticism reflected the reality of Northern Ontario, where waves of immigrants, Indigenous cultures, and local traditions combined into a dynamic, unpredictable mix.
As co-artistic directors Merrifield and Vickie McGauley wrote in 1982: “The reality of Northern Ontario is a dynamic synergy of anglophone, francophone, aboriginal and multicultural elements which is greater than the sum of its parts.”
A few of the other names that graced Bell Park in the early years included:
- Robert Paquette
- Stan Rogers
- Jocko Chartrand
- Jackie Washington
- The Original Sloth Band
- Sneezy Waters
- Richard Séguin
- Jim Corcoran
- Fraser and DeBolt
Some were local legends, others rising stars, a few were global talents, and every single one was irreplaceable.
Coming of Age, 1980-1982
By 1981, the Northern Lights Festival Boréal was celebrating its 10th anniversary. And, in a heartfelt welcome message, Festival Co-ordinator Betty Robertson described it as an event that “combines the friendliness of a country fair, the excitement of a bazaar, and the rich stimulation of an outdoor music fest.”
The crafts area had become more professional and selective, drawing artisans from across Canada, from silversmiths and weavers to ironworkers and mylar screen printers. In 1983, for example, the list of craftspeople included Roy Sniper (jewelry), Israel and Linda Segarra (woodworking, needlework), Cleora and Charles Stephen (pottery, weaving), and Jean Jensen (clothing design).
And the children’s area was now a permanent institution, with face-painting, chalk murals, playdough, and art parades to the main stage.
Struggle and Resilience, 1980-1982
Unfortunately, as the 1980s marched on, the NLFB remained beloved, but behind the scenes, things were fraying.
Funding had become inconsistent; volunteers were burning out. An accumulated deficit of $18,000 came close to crippling the organization for good. But with a recommendation from the city's grant committee that the festival receive $6,000 plus some solid support from within the local community, it survived to perform another day.
Artistic co-director Michael Gallagher stated at the time, "Finally, there is a recognition on all kinds of levels, that the festival is a viable and very useful event."
Unfortunately, in 1982, the unthinkable nearly happened. “We voted to cancel it,” said board member Lise Gagné. “We missed grant deadlines, we didn’t have a full-time coordinator, and people were tired.”
But the community would not let go. Dozens of new volunteers stepped forward. Performers pledged to come to perform for free. And, at the last minute, Claude Faucon returned to take on administrative duties without pay.
“If I didn’t step up, it might have ended,” Faucon admitted. “But I believed in it too much.”
The Centennial Celebration, 1983
By 1983, the NLFB had become the longest continuously running outdoor folk festival in Canada. With the decline of Mariposa, Sudbury’s little grassroots gathering on the shore of Ramsey Lake had become a cultural institution. And, more importantly, it was still powered by the same idea that started it all.
“The most dynamic thing about it,” Merrifield said, “is that it’s a community event.”
The festival’s 12th year also happened to coincide with the City of Sudbury’s centennial and organizers seized the moment. An all-Sudbury showcase featured the region’s finest: CANO, Paul Dunn, Jocko Chartrand, among over 40 local musicians, celebrating the city’s cultural heritage.
“We wanted to reflect the full spectrum of Northern voices,” Merrifield said.
As the 1983 program looked toward the festival’s future with promise, it also mourned its past. That year saw the tragic deaths of two musicians closely tied to the NLFB family.
First was Stan Rogers, who perished in the Air Canada fire while returning from a festival in Texas. Rogers had performed at NLFB as early as 1975, creating his lyrical masterpiece “Barrett’s Privateers” while in Sudbury performing at the festival.
The second was jazz guitarist Elliot Feldman, who played the 1973 festival with violinist Ben Mink. Feldman’s untimely passing was deeply felt by the NLFB community.
The 1983 festival was dedicated to their memory, and to the spirit of discovery they both embodied.
As 1983 drew to a close, no one knew exactly what the future held. There were debts, yes. Burnout, yes. But also a fire that hadn’t gone out.
As Mary Gordon, chair of the festival, would later write, “The weekend is too short for politics or pouts. It’s hard to resent Quebec when you’re sharing a Caribbean roti with Bertrand Gosselin.”
A Festival Like No Other
The first 12 years of Northern Lights Festival Boréal were about more than music. They were about possibility. And, even though the festival’s early years were marked by creative improvisation and existential financial crises (along with some obvious weather woes), they were also marked by an unparalleled sense of community, a belief that something beautiful, something necessary, could be created without commercialism or ego.
The Northern Lights Festival Boréal survived not because of profits or prestige, but because of people.
“In the 1970s and early ’80s, it was a movement, not a market,” said Scott Merrifield. “People came because they believed that music, and community, and art, could change something — maybe everything.”
Well dear readers, were you a past volunteer or craft vendor? Maybe you performed on the big stage or one of the smaller stages around Bell Park? Or, were you one of the hundreds of thousands of visitors to the grounds of Bell Park taking in the sights and sounds of the greatest little music festival around?
To paraphrase a comment made by Scott Merrifield, let us now reflect on the magic of the festival to show that the celestial Northern Lights have an earthly counterpart that is worthy of its name.
Jason Marcon is a writer and history enthusiast in Greater Sudbury. He runs the Coniston Historical Group and the Sudbury Then and Now Facebook page. Memory Lane is made possible by our Community Leaders Program.