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20:00h

On Saturday night, Montreal seems to have been injected with hydrogen. Groups of girls wearing pointy heels half-run, half-shuffle along the sidewalk, late for somebody's pre-game or maybe a house party. They stumble, nearly trip, laugh at their gorgeous, impractical choice in footwear, and then continue running towards the crosswalk. 

My husband and I are running too, the fall leaves shoving at our heels, urging us towards the Van Horne Bridge.

We’re on our way to the 9th annual MAPP festival, a combination of food, music and projection mapping which showcases local and international artists. We’re hoping to catch the Digital Block Party at the Van Horne Skate Park before heading to the Closure Party, a final interactive arts and music experience held at the moment factory.

In the distance, we can see a moving graphic that reads “MAPP Montreal” projected on a red brick mid-rise tenement. 

At the Digital Block Party, the crowd mainly consists of tired parents on their third or fourth beer sitting dutifully by the skate park where their children climb and tumble over the cement depressions. There are only two projection installations, one of which is a collaborative project in which party guests are encouraged to draw on an iPad. Their designs then become integrated and projected on the underbelly of the bridge. The result is a competing assembly of finger drawings jerking and bouncing off one another.  Partygoers seem to be enjoying themselves, gathered in groups around the iPads.

Jumpsource is at the DJ booth playing to a small group of millennials, half nodding, half distracted by the chaotic projections above their head. 

My husband wants a beer but I don’t want to wait in the line that extends about halfway into the other art piece projected on the brick wall that houses Nouvelle Établissement. I would have loved to get a better look at it but the line is too dense and doesn't seem to be moving quickly.

Oh well.

We decide to wait it out until the Closure Festival.

23:22h

The Moment Factory is hidden amongst apartment buildings and restaurants long since closed for the day. The open doors of the venue glow invitingly with a few guests sprinkled across the pavement staircase. Its seclusion makes me feel exclusive and I briefly excuse the embarrassing name of the venue.

Inside, we’re greeted by an array of disco balls and smooth reflective globes arranged decoratively around a five-foot zebra statue. The space we have stepped into is decorated with various art projections winding around us like a maze. There are three main sections: the art exhibit/bar, the back patio and the dance floor. People filter throughout, carrying cans of organic non-alcoholic spritzers and craft beers. I’m drawn to the dance floor but I have to watch my step, careful not to disturb anybody’s photo op with the projections or the disco zebra. 

On the floor, I am finally given what I was promised, complete immersion in sound and projection. Frankie Teardrop is in front of the table, spinning non-offensive trance-inducing house music. People on the floor dance accordingly, swaying and nodding, leaving a respectful half meter between one another. It’s not my kind of music but I’m able to appreciate it as an atmospheric companion to the beautiful projections on the wall opposite the DJ booth. Lasers flash geometric red and orange neons folding and unfolding around each other like pieces of a puzzle.

When Frankie passes the torch on to the next DJ Esther Côté, the beat seems to be fixed and I’ve seen the entire projection loop twice. A small selection of faithful ravers who seem to be enjoying the set have begun to dance a little harder.

The exhibition area is set up with clusters of conversation pits along the perimeter. The option to dance exists but so does, in a quieter but still central section the ability to talk with friends and meet new people. I insert myself in various conversations and get the sense that the main attraction of the event is the people it attracts and the discussion fostered between close friends, old friends and new acquaintances.

While polishing off my 12$ vodka soda, I meet a couple named Change and Anna and ask about their festival experience. 

 “I loved the projections [at Van Horn]. They were elevated, used the space to its full capacity,” says Chango before mentioning a friend of his was projecting at the Digital Block Party.

“What about the music?” I ask.

“I would have loved to hear a voice,” he replies earnestly, “I can’t quite connect [to the music].” A perfect synthesis of what I had been feeling all night.

Closing on the DJ booth is the highly anticipated Martyn Bootyspoon. Despite the wavering attendees the dance floor comes alive at his emergence. The space suddenly warrants the label of a rave space, people are bouncing and sticking together with sweat. Bootyspoon embodies the energy that was previously denied, more people have streamed in and the atmosphere is completely transformed. 

My husband and I end the night on the dance floor.

Overall

The Digital Block Party suffered from a lack of a clear target audience or sufficient quantities of projection pieces. The real party was at the Closing festival, especially the tail end, where friends gathered to dance and talk while immersed in a display of art and music. What the MAPP festival could benefit from is more artists exhibiting at their events. Montreal artists, I implore you to support exhibits by applying to them! Especially organizations like MAPP which provide plenty of free events and encourage community connections.

Amenra took over Studio TD on Friday, September 27th, bringing their atmospheric metal sound - at once referred to as “extreme metal”, “post-metal”, and “atmospheric sludge metal” depending on who you ask (and which album you’re looking at), though it’s probably easiest to describe them as blackened post-metal. They’re a band that originated in 1999 from the West Flanders city of Kortjik in Belgium, rising from the ashes of the hardcore punk band Spineless, founded as an outlet for pain by vocalist Colin van Eeckhout when his father died. They’ve brought their punk origins with them, not only the musical influence, but their DIY ethic and commitment to art and collaboration. I was fortunate enough to see them, in what was probably my favourite live show of the year.

The night opened at 8 pm sharp with Blackwater Holylight. Bathed in purple and blue lights, the four-woman lineup captivated the attention of the audience immediately, rendering us all into an appreciative silence. Blackwater Holylight have a sound that is rich with a variety of influences, from occult and psychedelic rock to black metal and stoner doom, you can hear traces of Electric Wizard and Wolves in the Throne Room in their sound and guitar tone. The drums had a soft feeling to them, and the synth was loud in the mix. There was a heaviness to their sound, as they switched between a cleaner and more distorted guitar, as well as having both clean and screamed vocals. It fit the tone of the entire show, with lyrics and a sound that felt deeply personal to the musicians. Guitarist and frontwoman Alison (Sunny) Faris didn’t speak much, except to thank us for our time, and to express gratitude at being able to tour with the other bands.

Next up was Primitive Man. They’re a three-piece, with guitarist/vocalist Ethan Lee McCarthy, bassist Jonathan Campos, and drummer Joe Linden. I can’t refer to any members as the frontman, since they didn’t speak for the entire show. They play slow, sludgy death/doom metal songs, with dissonant black metal-esque chords and blast beats, and deep bassy growls. The entire experience was somber, and refined in atmosphere, with small changes to the guitar and bass strumming adding layers of depth, and drums that sounded incredible over the sound system. I was surprised halfway through when a droney electronic bit started in the middle, combining noise and industrial effects. It was well integrated into the whole of their set, which was accompanied by visuals from a projector, distorted, pixelated, blurry faces in blue and red, both fascinating and horrifying, like the music itself.

Finally, Amenra. It’s hard to put into words the experience of their show. Their first few albums were titled Mass, and their shows are in the same ethos, closer to communion than mere concerts. Their music is indeed powerful, carrying so much emotion and pain that it is crushing in the most cathartic ways. Vocalist Colin van Eeckhout spent most of the show facing away from the crowd,  alternating between violent screams and a soft, gentle singing voice. It gave an even more intense experience when he did turn around, his metal grill glinting under the light of the projector, the visuals of which almost obscured the entire band at times. Often in black and white, the projections were distorted shadows of abandoned buildings, beams, and forests, with visuals that reminded me of the film Ivan’s Childhood by Andrei Tarkovsky (an excellent film, btw). Musically, the show was perfected. The speaker system at Studio TD has a very professional sound, and Amenra are experts when it comes to their sound design, with powerful drums and each instrument perfectly fine-tuned; even the hi-hats pan to different sides of the room. During the song Am Kreuz, replacement bassist Amy Barrysmith from the band Year of the Cobra provided backing vocals, and the contrast between her delicate voice and Colin’s scream made the experience all the more impactful. Like everyone else, I was entranced, closing my eyes and submerging into the experience. It resonated with the rest of the show; Amenra’s music isn’t about joy, but collective experiences of pain, with drowning, repetitive riffs, like trying to tread above water in a storm, but not quite managing. Most of the songs are from Mass VI, written during a time when vocalist van Eeckhout’s son was diagnosed with a brain tumour, and when drummer Bjorn Lebon lost his mother to cancer. I didn’t know this going into the show, but I think the feelings were conveyed without needing to know the details. There’s an honesty to their music that makes it relatable, regardless of what one might be going through. To finish the night, Amenra left us with a projected quote: “When all the flowers have fallen, all that shall remain are thorns.”

It’s the eve of Libra season and there’s no better way to celebrate than by attending a Liana Flores concert, queen of Venusian themes: flowers, trees, dewdrops and rain, softness, friendship, romance as a way of life. 

Liana Flores is an earth star quickly rising. She’s been touring with her album Flower of the soul, released June 28th on Verve. The album is a heavenly, lush offering that meditates on the natural world, love, release, and transformation. The 25-year-old British-Brazilian songwriter is inspired by bossa nova and ‘60s folk and is incredibly faithful to honoring both traditions. Her references of Gal Costa and Caetano Veloso, Nick Drake and Vashti Bunyan, are beautifully present in her work.

    The show is at Fairmount Theatre, where just five days before I had seen the Rat Queen of Castle Rat slay the Reaperess and spit blood on a room full of metalheads. The venue is practically unrecognizable now. Lazy circles of orange light dance on the walls like a ‘60s TV intro. Astrud Gilberto plays on the speakers, it feels like I’m entering a lounge with a crackling fireplace and an old stereo. Girls in long skirts with bows in their hair gently chatter, some sit cross-legged in front of the stage. Her audience seems young, many looking to be around 15-20. This makes sense as the virality of her song “rises the moon” on Tiktok is what kicked off her career and got her signed with Verve. I suspect she may be responsible for introducing many young people on the Internet to bossa nova standards and weird 60s psych-folk, which warms my old soul. 

     Juliana Chahayed opens the show with her boyfriend Jonathan Huber. She introduces the first song, written about her first Tamagotchi, to which the crowd responds “Aww.” Chahayed plays guitar and sings in a high, soft voice over a video game beat, with Huber hypnotizing on the keys. The crowd is immediately charmed, smiling and swaying. She sings about animals and collecting trinkets, sometimes using a fuzz-ifying phone mic.

    Between sets, someone in the audience shakes ass to a Stan Getz solo. There is a friendliness and comfort in the room, people are softly talking and laughing. When you’re gathered by a mutual affinity for odes to flowers, streams, and butterflies, there is a sense of immediate romantic comradery. We’re all lovers here. 

    Then Flores comes out in a long orange dress. The crowd bursts alive at the sight of her and people move in close to the stage, though very politely. She is soft-spoken and graceful, deeply genuine. She is accompanied by a rhythm section who are incredibly tight while also being incredibly chilled. They all play effortlessly, the bass is deep like wet earth, the drummer accents with chimes. I immediately feel like I’m in a forest, like these are spells of the earth come to life. Flores’ voice is delicate and airy, capable of scaling to dazzling heights. When she sings in her lower register her voice becomes a whisper that pulls us all in closer, really reminiscent of Gal Costa and Elis Regina, even reminding me of Joni Mitchell at times with its playful loops and dives.

    The band plays songs from the new album, from her previous EPs recently and The Water’s Fine!, as well as two covers: “Light Flight” by Pentangle which makes the musical talent of the group unmistakably clear, transforming the scene into a madly alive medieval marketplace, and also Tom Jobim’s “Wave.” Flores prefaces “Wave” by asking if there are any Brazilians in the audience, and when several people wave their hands she lights up and exclaims that there hadn’t been at some previous shows. “Obrigada, gente,” she says after her beautiful rendition of the bossa nova classic. At the end of the show, she asks the crowd for some French translations and repeats back tentatively, “Merci, tout le monde! Bonsoir!” Two small curtsies, a heart with her hands, and that marks the end of the sweetest evening. I exit the theatre sighing, feeling like she has bestowed on us each an armful of flowers, fragrant and sentimental. 

CJLO DJ Ceylan sat down with Will Anderson of New York-based shoegaze band Hotline TNT to chat about touring, musical influences, and more, ahead of their show September 30th at Montreal's Bar Le Ritz. 

Tune in to Northern Stagelights,  Sundays at 1pm, only on CJLO and catch Hotline TNT at Bar Le Ritz PDB, September 30th, 2024