THE TORONTO QUARTERLY: NOTHIN' BUT THE BLUES: The Johnny Winter .

Upon stepping out of the rail station and walking towards Mississauga`s Port Credit Memorial Park, I was instantly enveloped by echoes of howling guitars and bellowing ivory keys blasting through tavern windows and bounce off the city walls. Beside me, a three-legged hound hobbled contentedly beside its master, and on both sides of the street were guitar bearing folks blending in well with the strolling Sunday crowd.

The annual three-day South Side Shuffle Festival is redolent of a trip down Beale Street in Memphis, with blues musicians hollering in crowded bars bordering the narrow sidewalks, guiding the thickening procession towards the primary stage. It was deep into the afternoon and the anticipation intensified for the festival`s finale was nearing, and the headlining performer was none other than the blue albino himself: the legendary Johnny Winter.A man came up to my acquaintance and I once we secured a position but a row away from the present and asked, "Have you been to Johnny`s show before?" We shook our heads and celebrated his worn out t-shirt with a mark of a young Johnny playing his `63 Gibson Firebird on it. "Oh, I`d seen him approximately a billion times! He doesn`t make as much vitality as he exploited to, but he can still rock out!" My acquaintance and I must have been two of the dozen youths scattered amongst a herd of mature followers, all declaring to have admired Johnny since his prime. Many were cradling age-worn records slipping out of faded sleeves, and a few frantically flew off their seats at the mass of the blues legend stepping onto the stage. His fans are clearly devoted.Johnny was escorted onto the present and remained seated for the full show. Years of alcohol and drug abuse, a prolonged dependency on painkillers, and an accident leaving Johnny with a broken hip, confined him to a chair throughout the one and half hour set. However, those who know Johnny`s life story were not at all shocked and discomforted by how his past tribulations had visibly taken a toll on his body. As a count of fact, with eyes gleaming and legs jittering with thrill, they were again witnessing Johnny as he was in Woodstock `69. Although physically frail, the upper and accuracy of his playing still establishes his standing as one of history`s most influential guitarists, and the magnitude of his bearing as he wails the vapors from the pit of his gut, will continue to enthral listeners of each passing generation.The night brought with it a touch of nostalgia, as the now sixty-six-year-old Winter sang "Good Morning Little School Girl" with as much conviction as in his heyday. The crowd howled in joy and was even more electrified when "Red House" rang across the airfield and resounded across the city. Backed by his second guitarist Paul Nelson, bassist Scott Spray, and drummer Vito Liuzzi, Johnny spurred his lax listeners to give their seats and swing their feet to "Mojo Boogie" and "Boogie Real Low" The lethargic Sunday afternoon quickly transformed into a merry evening. Johnny also played his cover of Bob Dylan`s "Highway 61 Revisited" near the end of the night. The guitar slinger exhibited the infamous sliding technique that remains unmatched by today`s ambitious guitar players. He makes it look so easy!As the evening came to a close, the audience quickly spread and I, still leaning on the metal barrier with my friend, became very determined to depart with a tangible memento of Johnny Winter`s show. Vito Liuzzi was packing up his drum kit when we made eye contact. By this time, the theater was practically empty. I decided to make my chances and began motioning for his drumsticks. He shot a sharp grin and inside a few quick seconds, a couple of sticks flew into our hands. Seeing the ecstatic disbelief on our faces, Vito laughed and waved a friendly good-bye. As my ally and I sat on the gearing on our way home, the meaning of the dark came as an unexpected hit as we examined the bear on each drumstick. We realised that with each passing year, our recollections of what had happened on that Sunday will get more surreal, but hera was our proof. We had in our hands a bit of the timeless prodigy.Charmaine Santos considers herself a full-time music aficionado, and an avid concert goer. She is a graduate of English and Literature at the University of Toronto. Several of her poems and prose have been promulgated in the University of Toronto literary journal Scarborough Fair in 2009 and 2010. She resides in Markham, Ontario and is presently an English and creative writing instructor.