A four-day field trip to Rouyn-Noranda and a dive into Québec culture past and present
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It takes a while to readjust after a music festival—to re-acclimate to routine and return to reality. And if recovery time is directly proportional to the amount of fun you’ve had… well, I probably won’t be totally totally back to normal ‘til circa November.
I will happily travel great distances for music. From blatantly beautiful overseas locales (Barcelona) to equally exotic domestic destinations (Dover…Delaware). And, most recently, and certainly most remotely, the Québec mining town of Rouyn-Noranda.
Rouyn-Noranda is located about an eight-hour drive northwest of Montréal. Ten, by bus, once you factor in lunch and bathroom (mostly coffee/smoke) breaks. A very long, very green drive during which I saw half of Canada’s literal million lakes but, alas, not one of the moose I’d been told are a legitimate danger. (A warning only slightly less Canadian than if the roads had been slicked with maple syrup.) It’s a town of about 42,000 and is home to a university, a copper smelter and, since 2003, the music festival FME.
MADE BY MOTH
For the uninitiated audience—most of us south of the US/Canadian border we’re all increasingly eager to hop—FME (pronounced eff-em-uh) is an acronym for Festival de Musique Emergente, a set of cognates that’s easy enough to decipher, even if your personal Duolingo owl has long given up on passive-aggressive push notifications and finally face-melted beyond recognition.
In other words, this is not a Lolla or a Bonnaroo; a Primavera Sound or an Austin City Limits. Instead, it’s a festival showcasing emerging artists: the smaller-font faves—rising stars with musical momentum, those climbing the ranks of festival posters and playlists. To book a festival like this, you have to have your ear to the ground (the stage and the studio, the industry and the internet). Anyone can know what’s now; your job is to know what’s next. And no one does it better than the Montréalers of MOTHLAND.
If you exist in a specific slice of the Brooklyn music scene, you already know the label/management/festival-throwing organization by association. MOTHLAND’s reach extends into the states to NYC with a roster that includes Grim Streaker and TVOD – Brooklyn bands fronted by the most talented lunatics and known for their ripping, rolling, slap-you-in-the-(mostly)-metaphorical-face style of show.
Translation: MOTHLANDers are the exact energy-addicted tastemakers you want in charge of crafting your lineup.
I’ve been to enough festivals and had enough conversations with their organizers to understand that booking is a matter of taste and of timing, relationships and politics, dreams and budgets, spreadsheets and sorcery. It’s both an art and a science—specifically psychology. And there’s a unique relationship between a festival and its audience. Attendees must trust in curation and be willing to embrace the new; organizers are obliged to indulge the crowd a little, but also open up their minds and ears. It’s a balancing act. And for FME, that balance involved lots of punk, rock, more experimental stuff, a touch of pop and some hip-hop. A mix of Francophone and Anglophone acts. On-the-rise artists alongside Québec-beloved bands, Montréal’s local legends and even bands from far beyond the province’s borders.
Let’s start with the latter. On the international front, Baby Berserk arrived from Amsterdam, while La Flemme flew in from France; Baby Volcano originally erupted out of Switzerland; and Mary Shelley, who I believe to be the only US act, toured their way up from Brooklyn. There were also bands repping other parts of Canada. Vancouver-based Empanadas Ilegales brought a psychedelic fusion of salsa-cumbia to a porch bordering a botanic garden—12 or so hours after they’d warmed up the main stage for the Polaris Prize-nominated OBGMs of Toronto (a city whose punk-rock band Bad Waitress had played a 1:00 a.m. set at the curling club).
But rowdy imports aside, what MOTHLANDers (Marilyne! JP! Philippe!) did best was rep the talent of their hometown. In the arts and music hub of Montréal, these individuals are organizers, ambassadors, advocates. A group of hardworking friends dedicating their time and talents to get the musicians they love on the map. And this festival, booked by MOTHLAND and featuring many of their artists, felt more than anything like a weekend-long migration of the Montréal scene—an open-to-all summer camp but with less tug-o-war and archery and way more music… and mushrooms. For those temporarily imported punks, FME was an annual retreat (“I look forward to this every year,” one Montréal musician told me.) For foreign fans like myself, it was an arts-packed adventure. And for the Rouyn-Noranda locals—the ladies working the town’s farm-fruit stand, the back-country Santa Claus in the front row with a can of beer in his overalls front pocket—a true sonic staycation. (It’s worth noting that many shows, early “apéro” sets and outdoor performances, were free and open to the public—a true gift from artists and organizers to a city that, for the weekend, opened its arms to us all.)
Kissy kissy kissy…
When it comes to festival structure, FME is similar to SXSW, or maybe more like the MOTHLAND-produced Montréal fest Taverne Tour. For the four nights of FME, musicians, volunteers and festival-goers took over the traditional venues across Rouyn-Noranda—some clubs, a few theaters, a handful of bars—plus the several streets required to make room for a festival hub with a main stage, the requisite booze and merch stands and a second, smaller outdoor stage.
The weekend’s schedule was packed with so many good shows. The intensity of Bibi Club‘s on-stage chemistry nearly destroyed me days after I’d interviewed the couple at a coffee shop; Virginie B. served up her blend of hyper-pop in chainmail, then broke out a giant sword mid-set; at the very first set I caught, COVID-born trio Crasher apologized for “blowing up the soundsystem,” with vocalist Airick Asher Woodhead offering a Franglish diagnosis from the stage: “Je pense que… the subwoofer is dead.”
But dozes of sweet scheduled sets aside, the most memorable experiences of the weekend had to be the secret (caché) shows. Sweet surprises dropped like bon-bons into your palm via push notification, with instructions to show up to this park or pavilion, that alley or amphitheater, where you’d find a bonus pop-up performance featuring one (or multiple) of FME’s showcasing acts.
I’ll begin with the admission that some of these shows are fuzzier than others. “Sam, we’re going to a secret show at the laundromat!” was an actual sentence I heard before being pulled down a few streets to join a crowd outside for a late-night set—the details of which, for undisclosed reasons, I can’t much recall. And, as is festival custom, there were also the performances I’m still kicking myself for missing, particularly Boutique Feelings, who I’m told brought people to literal tears. But I will offer a few of my faves—
Marseille garage-indie-rockers La Flemme played a family-friendly afternoon set in a small park, where kids, parents and fest fans gathered to enjoy the show as a dude in a SpongeBob shorts set danced like a maniac in front of the speakers. Towards the end of the performance, singer/guitarist Jules Massa recruited two members of the crowd to join the band on stage for a song, giving a middle-aged man his guitar and positioning a woman on keys before proceeding with what became a new twist on the track—a joyful act of crowd interaction that left me smiling so hard my face almost started to cramp.
One evening, Montréal bands Yoo Doo Right and Population II got together to play a small lakeside amphitheater with Austin composer and multi-instrumentalist Nolan Potter. At SXSW back in March, the group had gotten together at Potter’s studio to hit RECORD, jam and find out what would happen. (The results of that session—90% improvised—were pressed into permanence via vinyl as the recently released Yoo II avec Nolan Potter.) At FME, the stage served as the scenic setting for the group’s reunion, the artists joining up for a sunset set while kids dug holes in the dirt and dudes under various influences wiggled their bodies under a sherbert-streaked sky.
And then, the pièce de résistance: Baby Berserk, who played their second show in the parking lot of a poutine spot. Beyond being notable as the most classically Canadian venue (well, tied with the curling club), the energy at this show was unmatched, the trio pumping out their so-called “psycho dance sleaze” as singer Lieselot Elzinga bounced around in a giant fuchsia bow like an energizer bunny on extra amphetamines, climbing signs and structures while repeatedly commanding the audience to dance along to wonderfully absurd lyrics like “Kissy kissy kissy / I am dancing with the fish.” (Meanwhile, a selection of citizens more eager to eat than to boogie could be seen behind the band through the restaurant’s windows, seated, unfazed, devouring their curd-covered fries right inside.)
Le rap a qui?
I could write a million things about what an amazing time I had this weekend. About the new artists I discovered; the music-freak friends I made; the forest trail I ran down and the lake I waded into with hopes of washing away a few sins. But the most special gift that FME gave me was a Quebecois education. In attending the fest, I wasn’t just given the opportunity to explore a different scene but experience a different culture. To discover a timeline of talent featuring Québec artists of past and present—a lineup that represented and referenced decades’ worth of Francophone talent.
For instance, I had never heard of Quebecois rockers Les Trois Accords (described to me on more than one occasion as a “comedy” band), but the crowd for the headliner, perhaps the most clearly emerged band on the lineup, was packed with hundreds of fans of all ages. Toddlers perched on their shoulders, arms slung around one another’s necks, they sang along to every word of the songs that had soundtracked their lives—the music playing on their radios and through the speakers of pharmacies, supermarkets and Tim Horton’s (I presume) since the band’s founding in 2003.
It’s a sweet and specific kind of delight to grab your best friends and sway in a sweaty sea while belting out the hits you know so well; it’s another experience entirely to be caught up in the unfamiliar wave of another culture’s equivalent—to only be made aware of a song’s significance when hundreds of phone-wielding hands suddenly shoot up into the air. A single note instantly eliciting the most contagious kind of enthusiasm.
I love Quebec, texted my Toronto crush, who was watching from the wings after his own band performed. They’re basically just doing a bunch of versions of Sweet Caroline.
If Les Trois Accords was the mainstream highlight, then Sunday offered a crowd-pleaser for the counter-culture.
In what felt like the festival’s true finale, Montréal scenes old and new converged for Les Freaks de Montréal: a tribute for late poet/singer/rapper Lucien Francoeur, a specific sort of artistic icon who passed away last November. Original members of his ‘70s-born band Aut’Chose took the stage at Le Paramount that night to play as members of Montréal’s new guard—many of whom had played their own sets throughout the fest—rotated in on vocals and various instruments. Population II, Meggie Lennon, Alix Ferns… les artistes emergentes. A “bummage” that culminated with an all-bands-on-deck closer: “Le Rap à Billy”—a song I immediately identified as a cult classic when, once again, I watched a crowd whip out their phones and proceed to sing/rap along:
“Le rap a qui / Le rap a quoi / Le Rap-a-Billy / Le Rap-a-Billy”
—A chorus that, by the end, even I was singing along to. Though, I realized immediately afterwards, definitely not with the exact right words. While music is music and art is art, it’s definitely a different listening experience when lyrics are in a language you don’t speak fluently. They’re less words, more… sounds. Without literal comprehension, you can only guess intention through inflection, try to pick up on the emotions of the artist and derive meaning from the mood of the crowd. It’s less thinking, more feeling. And at both these shows—and throughout the entire weekend—what was always clearly evident was the joy. The best byproduct that live music can offer, and a special shared experience that serves as a universal language, all on its own.
From the moment my festival began at 7:30 a.m. Thursday morning, when I stepped on the bus to Rouyn-Noranda back in Montréal, I only understood 10-15 percent of any sort of public announcement. I didn’t get the driver’s jokes, the bands’ banter. While everyone quickly and generously switched to English one-on-one, the vast majority of conversation happening on stage and in the vicinity went over my head. But in being a bit of an outlier, an American with the French comprehension of a semi-sentient cronut, I didn’t feel excluded. Instead, I felt blessed to bear witness, fortunate to be welcomed into the fold. In watching the Montréal scenesters—local legends and punks who haven’t yet peaked—play, hug, joke around and just shoot the shit, I was offered a window into another musical world. One that was different in some ways but that mirrored my own in many more others. One defined by the same indie characteristics as the Brooklyn scene that really raised me: the creativity, connection and community, the deep friendship, hustle factor and true DIY vibe.
For one long, beautiful weekend, I got to study (party) abroad as a member of MOTHLAND’s musical family. To join a group of passionate people I already miss and discover a whole lot of artists that I really can’t wait to see—and, of course, hear—again.
Who knows? Maybe next summer…
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Get the FME deets at fmeat.org.
Follow Mothland at @mothland and find more info at mothland.com.
PS: Sorry I don’t have more pics, I was LIVING IN THE MOMENT (and don’t have a camera <3)