Rewrite
Is Montréal the best city for music that you’ve never been to? Quite likely, if M for Montréal has anything to do with it.
Has anyone seen Eddie Huang’s reputation-destroying Vice Is Dead documentary on MUBI? It’s great. But, while it focuses on VICE’s New York office years, it barely feels the need to mention the actual birthplace of the landscape-shifting but systemically floored media powerhouse – Montréal.
If you dig into the creative lineage of the city and think about the plethora of music and culture that has come out of the snowy city in eastern Canada, you’d wonder why it doesn’t have more of a legacy. From world-renowned icons like Leonard Cohen and Celine Dion to cult if-you-know-you-know favourites like Godspeed You! Black Emperor, and contemporary heavyweights like KAYTRANADA and Men I Trust, the city has birthed and grown scenes, sounds and musical movements. And, played host to virtually every good rock band ever on their subtly significant live circuit.
So why isn’t there more noise surrounding the city? Well, it’s cold, quiet, and perhaps overlooked by its louder, larger cousin Toronto. Yet Montréal’s music and cultural scene still bustles with craft, character and creativity – you might just need to know where to look. And M for Montréal certainly does so.
Spearheading the contemporary resistance, shining a light on the next best thing, and this year celebrating its 20th anniversary, M for Montréal is a live showcase networking conference that brings together factions of the industry to celebrate community, collectivity, and, of course, damn good music. As this writer found out one chilly week in November.
I’m in New York. The sun is yet to come up and I’m sleepwalking to JFK airport. I’ve been traveling for weeks. Terminal 7 is like a graveyard. I approach the desk and offer my Boarding Pass.
“There’s just a slight problem sir,” says the buoyant serving member of staff. “This is a flight from LaGuardia.”
“Bollocks,” I sigh, feeling foolish and overtly English, almost too tired to panic. Maybe I’ll just walk; it can’t be that far to Canada. I’ve never been good at airports.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” the worker says, a coy grin spreading across his face. I can’t tell if he’s going to save my bacon or fry me on some grill of misfortune. “You’re lucky we’ve got space.”
Miraculously, I’m able to simply switch to a JFK flight that leaves 10 minutes earlier than my LaGuardia option, without any additional charge. I’m shell-shocked. As I saunter through security and treat myself to an oat mocha, I feel invincible.
This side quest is, as you can gather, nothing to do with the wider narrative of this writing. But I just wanted to show my gratitude to this airport nobleman. Not all heroes wear capes, as they say. Or are Americans actually just nicer people? Guess I’ll find out next time I’m in the States at the wrong airport.
Anyways, back to the point at hand. Damn it’s cold, I think as I step out of Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport and breathe out a thick coating of condensation. I jump on a bus into town, and drag my suitcase through three day old sludge-like snow towards my temporary home.
Settled in, I head for a solo dining. The hotel is situated in the city’s Chinatown, and I find a quiet restaurant and have some pork and rice and gyozas. Everyone seems to be speaking either French or Mandarin. I feel very far from home. M for Montréal has a ‘Fight The Jet Lag’ pre-opening drink, but unfortunately, I am defeated by it, bedding in instead.
Breakfast, gymming and emails take up my following day, before heading out for some music in the evening – my first taste of what’s to come. There’s some quick-fire networking to begin with, which is always fun to meet and chat with industry professionals. Then onto Foufounes Electriques, Montréal’s most renowned underground venue, which has played host to everyone from Nirvana to Green Day.
I tuck into a Guinness, rejoicing at the tasty exchange rate, and dig into some tunes. First up is Distraction4ever, who blend post-punk energy with electronic textures to achieve a distinctive depiction of nu wave. Next it’s Annie Claude Deschênes, a multi-disciplinarian who moulds minimalistic pop with club aesthetics, bohemian performance and off-kilter visuals. It’s quite bizarre but also quite fun.
The following act is a real standout. There’s plenty of murmurings about Piss in the lead-up to the set, and the hype is well placed. The female-fronted hardcore band are monstrous musically, and deeply affecting lyrically and vocally, portraying difficult tales of sexual violence and abuse through ferocity and beauty. The kind of performance you leave speechless from – really visceral stuff.
Mike Shabb then offers a lighter listening experience. Joined by his entourage on stage, the local hip hop favourite is flavourfully old skool, offering charisma and craft, although slightly reliant on backing tracks. Head boppable though.
Fatigued from socialising, I slip out and call it a night.
The following day sees me get involved in the programming. I’m sitting on a panel alongside some esteemed Canadian and European journalists; the topic is ‘From Airwaves to Everyday: Sustaining Millennial Listening in a Changing Culture’. It’s a lively discussion surrounding listening habits, and specifically, radio and its place in the contemporary musical landscape. My own conclusion is that there’s hope for the airwaves yet. And that I need to work on explaining myself.
After the panel, I return to the hotel and crack on with some work, and then I’m back out and about for a networking dinner. The few hundred delegates have been strategically placed around different tables, offering an opportunity to get to know some new faces. The food is delicious too.
Following dinner, everyone heads off to see some music at one of the various showcases around the city. I’m spread across two venues, over the road from one another, for the night – the unique and vast Espace SAT and the saucy strip club-cum-music venue, Café Cléopâtre.
First up at SAT is the captivating Virginie B, who, backed by vibrant fluorescent lighting, offers an amalgamation of jazz, funk and hyper pop. Then across the road at Cléopâtre is BéLi, a boundaryless alt-pop act who blows me away. The songwriting and structuring are playful and potently crafted, and her backing band is mesmerising, the drummer in particular, wow. My only notes from the show in real time were: “What the FUCK, in a strip club? Absolute scenes.”
Putting my multiple layers back on to cross over the road again, I take in Hologramme, the moniker of local musician, producer and DJ Clément Leduc. Clearly indebted to UK garage, the house-y and ambient set could easily slip into the line-up of any decent Friday night party in Hackney.
Another swift mood change back in the Cafe; Computer blows my socks off. The Vancouver six-piece blend art rock, post punk and blistering energy, a fallout of the UK windmill scene of the late 2010s, especially reminiscent of Black Country, New Road’s unmatchable debut album, For the first time. They definitely take themselves a little too seriously, but are superb musicians with the songsmithery and performance acumen to make a real splash on the Canadian and British scene alike. Watch out for these guys next year; I’d be surprised not to find them at The Great Escape in May.
The final act I see that evening is Choses Savages. I’m already aware and am a fan of the band, who procure local legend status. But these guys are a different gravy. It’s such a fun vibe, sonically along the lines of Parcels and Tame Impala, with the crowd very much on board. Lyrics are shouted back to the Montréal heroes, who deliver a seminal showcase that feels impossible not to enjoy. I then join some new pals for a wind-down drink before slipping off to bed.
The morning after is slightly jaded, so I get some work done and take a lunchtime stroll to take in the Montréal sights, and grab some lunch at a tasty and modestly priced Mexican spot. I’m back out in the early evening for a networking cocktail party at the studios of Cult Nation, a local label who boast an array of noteworthy rising artists (I’m a particular advocate of Malko) and an absolutely stunning office space with multiple state-of-the-art studios.
Onto some music, again shifting between two closely situated venues in Théâtre Plaza and Ausgang Plaza. The former kicks things off with Léonie Gray, a quickly rising singer-songwriter whose pop-tinged fusion of R&B, jazz and soul goes down a treat, especially accompanied by a gin and tonic.
Next across the road at the Ausgang for an act that absolutely fills out the room. Angine de Poitrine, an instrumental duo self-defined as “Dada-Pythagorean-Cubist Mantra rock (I’ve got no clue either) is definitely the oddest thing I witness over the week, with their sort of sinister masks, which look like they are made out of wrapping paper, and only on occasion and very strange communication through a vocoder and triangle hand signal. It feels like being adopted into a cult, and to be honest, I’m here for it. Musically, they are thrilling, technically astute, progressive and utterly individual. Quite the experience.
Chivas Savasta, a Montréal singer-songwriter, grounds me in her pop sensibilities, gorgeous vocals and personal songwriting, before Patche offer a slick and intelligent blend of krautrock, dance and experimental rock. There are after parties aplenty, but I’m remarkably restrained for once and bow out while everyone else proceeds onwards.
The next day – a final outing – sees me up and about nice and early, making it to a fascinating talk about the future of live music in a gorgeous dome room upstairs at the previously mentioned SAT. Then, along with a coach full of delegates, I’m on the travelling showcase.
Led by Mikey B. Rishwain – the face of the festival, a brash, comedic caricature-of-a-fella who at times is downright hilarious and clearly lives and breathes the festival – barks facts and quips one-liners through a megaphone. He talks the bus through all the local sites – from the place of Vice’s genesis to Leonard Cohen’s house. We walk up a slippery hill to a famed viewing point and see the city in all its glory. Come back in the summer, Mikey implores.
We catch two shows on the tour, both seemingly in the artists’ own studios, which is a nice touch. The first is Les Louanges, an experienced Quebec act who brings a delicious groove-laden slice of soul pop and a great backing band, followed by the beautiful intimacy of Matt Holubowski, whose acoustic set is a real treat, and a moment of meditation.
Travelling showcases complete, it’s time for a freshen up at the hotel before one final night. I meet some fresh friends for a curry to line the stomach, and then get ready for the biggest artist of the whole week. BADBADNOTGOOD, the Toronto-based outfit, are jazz pioneers, one of the biggest artists in Canada right now, who have collaborated with Charlotte Day Wilson, Thundercat, Mereba, KAYTRANADA, Turnstile, Jonah Yano… I could go on.
They played at M for Montréal years ago, and the festival has been a consistent champion of the group. And so they return here, to the dazzling L’Olympia venue, as family. Proceeded by the excellent Colin Stetson, the band enter the stage and delivers a wonderful showcase. The sextet mesmerise with their eclectic and electric musicality, feel-good energy and effortless presence. It’s a vastly entertaining hour or so, and a perfect sonic epilogue to the week.
The night’s not over for me, though. Piss, who you’ll remember from earlier, are playing, this time in a smaller venue called Toscadura. “I’m going to yell at you now,” the singer warns before beginning to yell at me. The first set the other day was incredible; the second set here and now has destroyed me. Without being hyperbolic, it was one of the most affecting and upsetting things I’ve seen in a long time. If these lot are playing near you next year, do not miss it. They played the Windmill in Brixton earlier this autumn. Hopefully, they return soon.
The next day, I’m flying out. A delay in take-off time gives me a chance to dwell on the week. Montréal may be cold temporarily, but in its people, in its community, in its vision, it’s warm to the core. There’s a superb and underrated musical and cultural history that is clearly celebrated by the local creative scene, but unknown further afield. At its crux lies M for Montréal, an excellently curated, very welcoming, and comprehensively entertaining showcase festival that ticks all the boxes. Happy 20th birthday!
Words – Ben Tibbits
in HTML format, including tags, to make it appealing and easy to read for Japanese-speaking readers aged 20 to 40 interested in fashion. Organize the content with appropriate headings and subheadings (h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6), translating all text, including headings, into Japanese. Retain any existing
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Is Montréal the best city for music that you’ve never been to? Quite likely, if M for Montréal has anything to do with it.
Has anyone seen Eddie Huang’s reputation-destroying Vice Is Dead documentary on MUBI? It’s great. But, while it focuses on VICE’s New York office years, it barely feels the need to mention the actual birthplace of the landscape-shifting but systemically floored media powerhouse – Montréal.
If you dig into the creative lineage of the city and think about the plethora of music and culture that has come out of the snowy city in eastern Canada, you’d wonder why it doesn’t have more of a legacy. From world-renowned icons like Leonard Cohen and Celine Dion to cult if-you-know-you-know favourites like Godspeed You! Black Emperor, and contemporary heavyweights like KAYTRANADA and Men I Trust, the city has birthed and grown scenes, sounds and musical movements. And, played host to virtually every good rock band ever on their subtly significant live circuit.
So why isn’t there more noise surrounding the city? Well, it’s cold, quiet, and perhaps overlooked by its louder, larger cousin Toronto. Yet Montréal’s music and cultural scene still bustles with craft, character and creativity – you might just need to know where to look. And M for Montréal certainly does so.
Spearheading the contemporary resistance, shining a light on the next best thing, and this year celebrating its 20th anniversary, M for Montréal is a live showcase networking conference that brings together factions of the industry to celebrate community, collectivity, and, of course, damn good music. As this writer found out one chilly week in November.
I’m in New York. The sun is yet to come up and I’m sleepwalking to JFK airport. I’ve been traveling for weeks. Terminal 7 is like a graveyard. I approach the desk and offer my Boarding Pass.
“There’s just a slight problem sir,” says the buoyant serving member of staff. “This is a flight from LaGuardia.”
“Bollocks,” I sigh, feeling foolish and overtly English, almost too tired to panic. Maybe I’ll just walk; it can’t be that far to Canada. I’ve never been good at airports.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” the worker says, a coy grin spreading across his face. I can’t tell if he’s going to save my bacon or fry me on some grill of misfortune. “You’re lucky we’ve got space.”
Miraculously, I’m able to simply switch to a JFK flight that leaves 10 minutes earlier than my LaGuardia option, without any additional charge. I’m shell-shocked. As I saunter through security and treat myself to an oat mocha, I feel invincible.
This side quest is, as you can gather, nothing to do with the wider narrative of this writing. But I just wanted to show my gratitude to this airport nobleman. Not all heroes wear capes, as they say. Or are Americans actually just nicer people? Guess I’ll find out next time I’m in the States at the wrong airport.
Anyways, back to the point at hand. Damn it’s cold, I think as I step out of Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport and breathe out a thick coating of condensation. I jump on a bus into town, and drag my suitcase through three day old sludge-like snow towards my temporary home.
Settled in, I head for a solo dining. The hotel is situated in the city’s Chinatown, and I find a quiet restaurant and have some pork and rice and gyozas. Everyone seems to be speaking either French or Mandarin. I feel very far from home. M for Montréal has a ‘Fight The Jet Lag’ pre-opening drink, but unfortunately, I am defeated by it, bedding in instead.
Breakfast, gymming and emails take up my following day, before heading out for some music in the evening – my first taste of what’s to come. There’s some quick-fire networking to begin with, which is always fun to meet and chat with industry professionals. Then onto Foufounes Electriques, Montréal’s most renowned underground venue, which has played host to everyone from Nirvana to Green Day.
I tuck into a Guinness, rejoicing at the tasty exchange rate, and dig into some tunes. First up is Distraction4ever, who blend post-punk energy with electronic textures to achieve a distinctive depiction of nu wave. Next it’s Annie Claude Deschênes, a multi-disciplinarian who moulds minimalistic pop with club aesthetics, bohemian performance and off-kilter visuals. It’s quite bizarre but also quite fun.
The following act is a real standout. There’s plenty of murmurings about Piss in the lead-up to the set, and the hype is well placed. The female-fronted hardcore band are monstrous musically, and deeply affecting lyrically and vocally, portraying difficult tales of sexual violence and abuse through ferocity and beauty. The kind of performance you leave speechless from – really visceral stuff.
Mike Shabb then offers a lighter listening experience. Joined by his entourage on stage, the local hip hop favourite is flavourfully old skool, offering charisma and craft, although slightly reliant on backing tracks. Head boppable though.
Fatigued from socialising, I slip out and call it a night.
The following day sees me get involved in the programming. I’m sitting on a panel alongside some esteemed Canadian and European journalists; the topic is ‘From Airwaves to Everyday: Sustaining Millennial Listening in a Changing Culture’. It’s a lively discussion surrounding listening habits, and specifically, radio and its place in the contemporary musical landscape. My own conclusion is that there’s hope for the airwaves yet. And that I need to work on explaining myself.
After the panel, I return to the hotel and crack on with some work, and then I’m back out and about for a networking dinner. The few hundred delegates have been strategically placed around different tables, offering an opportunity to get to know some new faces. The food is delicious too.
Following dinner, everyone heads off to see some music at one of the various showcases around the city. I’m spread across two venues, over the road from one another, for the night – the unique and vast Espace SAT and the saucy strip club-cum-music venue, Café Cléopâtre.
First up at SAT is the captivating Virginie B, who, backed by vibrant fluorescent lighting, offers an amalgamation of jazz, funk and hyper pop. Then across the road at Cléopâtre is BéLi, a boundaryless alt-pop act who blows me away. The songwriting and structuring are playful and potently crafted, and her backing band is mesmerising, the drummer in particular, wow. My only notes from the show in real time were: “What the FUCK, in a strip club? Absolute scenes.”
Putting my multiple layers back on to cross over the road again, I take in Hologramme, the moniker of local musician, producer and DJ Clément Leduc. Clearly indebted to UK garage, the house-y and ambient set could easily slip into the line-up of any decent Friday night party in Hackney.
Another swift mood change back in the Cafe; Computer blows my socks off. The Vancouver six-piece blend art rock, post punk and blistering energy, a fallout of the UK windmill scene of the late 2010s, especially reminiscent of Black Country, New Road’s unmatchable debut album, For the first time. They definitely take themselves a little too seriously, but are superb musicians with the songsmithery and performance acumen to make a real splash on the Canadian and British scene alike. Watch out for these guys next year; I’d be surprised not to find them at The Great Escape in May.
The final act I see that evening is Choses Savages. I’m already aware and am a fan of the band, who procure local legend status. But these guys are a different gravy. It’s such a fun vibe, sonically along the lines of Parcels and Tame Impala, with the crowd very much on board. Lyrics are shouted back to the Montréal heroes, who deliver a seminal showcase that feels impossible not to enjoy. I then join some new pals for a wind-down drink before slipping off to bed.
The morning after is slightly jaded, so I get some work done and take a lunchtime stroll to take in the Montréal sights, and grab some lunch at a tasty and modestly priced Mexican spot. I’m back out in the early evening for a networking cocktail party at the studios of Cult Nation, a local label who boast an array of noteworthy rising artists (I’m a particular advocate of Malko) and an absolutely stunning office space with multiple state-of-the-art studios.
Onto some music, again shifting between two closely situated venues in Théâtre Plaza and Ausgang Plaza. The former kicks things off with Léonie Gray, a quickly rising singer-songwriter whose pop-tinged fusion of R&B, jazz and soul goes down a treat, especially accompanied by a gin and tonic.
Next across the road at the Ausgang for an act that absolutely fills out the room. Angine de Poitrine, an instrumental duo self-defined as “Dada-Pythagorean-Cubist Mantra rock (I’ve got no clue either) is definitely the oddest thing I witness over the week, with their sort of sinister masks, which look like they are made out of wrapping paper, and only on occasion and very strange communication through a vocoder and triangle hand signal. It feels like being adopted into a cult, and to be honest, I’m here for it. Musically, they are thrilling, technically astute, progressive and utterly individual. Quite the experience.
Chivas Savasta, a Montréal singer-songwriter, grounds me in her pop sensibilities, gorgeous vocals and personal songwriting, before Patche offer a slick and intelligent blend of krautrock, dance and experimental rock. There are after parties aplenty, but I’m remarkably restrained for once and bow out while everyone else proceeds onwards.
The next day – a final outing – sees me up and about nice and early, making it to a fascinating talk about the future of live music in a gorgeous dome room upstairs at the previously mentioned SAT. Then, along with a coach full of delegates, I’m on the travelling showcase.
Led by Mikey B. Rishwain – the face of the festival, a brash, comedic caricature-of-a-fella who at times is downright hilarious and clearly lives and breathes the festival – barks facts and quips one-liners through a megaphone. He talks the bus through all the local sites – from the place of Vice’s genesis to Leonard Cohen’s house. We walk up a slippery hill to a famed viewing point and see the city in all its glory. Come back in the summer, Mikey implores.
We catch two shows on the tour, both seemingly in the artists’ own studios, which is a nice touch. The first is Les Louanges, an experienced Quebec act who brings a delicious groove-laden slice of soul pop and a great backing band, followed by the beautiful intimacy of Matt Holubowski, whose acoustic set is a real treat, and a moment of meditation.
Travelling showcases complete, it’s time for a freshen up at the hotel before one final night. I meet some fresh friends for a curry to line the stomach, and then get ready for the biggest artist of the whole week. BADBADNOTGOOD, the Toronto-based outfit, are jazz pioneers, one of the biggest artists in Canada right now, who have collaborated with Charlotte Day Wilson, Thundercat, Mereba, KAYTRANADA, Turnstile, Jonah Yano… I could go on.
They played at M for Montréal years ago, and the festival has been a consistent champion of the group. And so they return here, to the dazzling L’Olympia venue, as family. Proceeded by the excellent Colin Stetson, the band enter the stage and delivers a wonderful showcase. The sextet mesmerise with their eclectic and electric musicality, feel-good energy and effortless presence. It’s a vastly entertaining hour or so, and a perfect sonic epilogue to the week.
The night’s not over for me, though. Piss, who you’ll remember from earlier, are playing, this time in a smaller venue called Toscadura. “I’m going to yell at you now,” the singer warns before beginning to yell at me. The first set the other day was incredible; the second set here and now has destroyed me. Without being hyperbolic, it was one of the most affecting and upsetting things I’ve seen in a long time. If these lot are playing near you next year, do not miss it. They played the Windmill in Brixton earlier this autumn. Hopefully, they return soon.
The next day, I’m flying out. A delay in take-off time gives me a chance to dwell on the week. Montréal may be cold temporarily, but in its people, in its community, in its vision, it’s warm to the core. There’s a superb and underrated musical and cultural history that is clearly celebrated by the local creative scene, but unknown further afield. At its crux lies M for Montréal, an excellently curated, very welcoming, and comprehensively entertaining showcase festival that ticks all the boxes. Happy 20th birthday!
Words – Ben Tibbits
and integrate them seamlessly into the new content without adding new tags. Ensure the new content is fashion-related, written entirely in Japanese, and approximately 1500 words. Conclude with a “結論” section and a well-formatted “よくある質問” section. Avoid including an introduction or a note explaining the process.
