The 37th edition of the Folk Alliance International event took place at a major Montreal hotel from February 19 to 23. 2,500 participants, including several hundred artists. They discussed, attended conferences, negotiated shows and, above all, made and listened to music. Michel Labrecque was able to attend this private event as a journalist. He came away with his ears full.
Everywhere, we see guitar, violin and double bass cases, in a sort of organized disorder. You have a feeling that soon, all these instruments will be playing.
Like all participants, I have to queue to obtain the documents that will allow me to move freely around the eight floors that the Folk Alliance will occupy in the hotel for the next five days.
In front of me, a group of bright young women are chatting passionately. I discover that they work for the Quebec record label Bonsound. They immediately hand me a piece of cardboard, inviting me to attend mini-concerts by Shaina Hayes, Lisa Leblanc and Matt Holubowski, among others, the following day, starting at 10:30 p.m. in a hotel room on the ninth floor.
This is one of the special features of this event. In addition to boutique concerts (showcases) in large venues, there are hundreds of private mini-concerts in small rooms, with beds and desks removed. Listening to Matt Holubowski from no more than six meters away. I can’t believe it!
Once I’ve obtained my pass, I approach a jovial fellow, who mocks in French tinged with an English accent, Donald Trump’s claim to be making Canada the 51st American state. His name is Ciarán Mac Cowan, he comes from Belfast in Northern Ireland and speaks rather rich French. We hit it off, and he promises to tell me lots of stories about the civil war period in his part of the world.
The event hasn’t even started yet, and already the meetings are shaping up to be fertile.
The raison d’être of this event is to network folk artists with concert and festival organizers, and also to enable musicians to better federate and cope in the jungle of showbizz, dominated by big companies that don’t give a damn about folk.
At noon on February 20, the largest hall in the city is packed to the rafters for the major interview that “our” Allison Russell will give to Ann Powers, author and music critic for National Public Radio, the American public broadcaster.
To rapturous applause from the predominantly English-speaking American crowd, Allison exclaims in French: bienvenue dans la ville où j’ai grandi, cette ville formidable,” before reverting to English to tell us that nearby is the great Cathédrale Marie-Reine-du-monde, where she often took refuge during the day when she was homeless.
As we all know, the immense Americana folk singer and musician had a very difficult childhood, about which her two albums speak at length. “The first fifteen years of my life were a war zone”. She came to Folk Alliance to talk about resilience, to share her experience with her colleagues. as evidenced by her latest album, The Returner.
This Grammy winner (in addition to seven nominations) has become a celebrity in this creative folk world. But Allison remains very humble, and recounts how, during the pandemic, she found herself penniless, and her survival depended on the solidarity of other artists.
For the past eleven years, this Montrealer has lived in Nashville, USA. Allison Russell doesn’t mince her words about what’s going on politically in her adopted country.
“It smacks of fascism! Trump and his allies want to divide us, but it won’t work,” says the singer, generating thunderous applause. “A rally like this inoculates us against hate,” she adds.
Folk Alliance International is based in Kansas City, USA. Obviously, it’s a rather progressive organization, with sub-groups for the black and indigenous communities. Folk is known for its often progressive bias, but there are also Americana musicians of all stripes and sometimes apolitical.
“Folk music is the people’s music,” Alex Mallett, the organization’s deputy director, tells us. “Inclusivity and diversity are part of our DNA, and we’re going to continue that, whatever the political climate,” he adds. He adds that it’s only been a month since Donald Trump was elected and it’s still early to assess the impact.
A few workshops and discussions evoked this new political atmosphere, but at Folk Alliance, everyone is there first and foremost for the music. And there was something for everyone in the multiple performances, aimed at promoters and festival organizers.
This year’s featured country is Portugal. You can read my amazing account of this country’s alt-folk in another article.
A strong Quebec contingent of all origins could be heard: from the trad punk of La Patente to the cello of Jorane, from the tropical mix of Wesli to the Brazilian fusion of drummer Lara Klaus.
On the Canadian side, I was delighted to discover Alysha Brilla, a Toronto-born singer of Indo-Tanzanian origin, who creates a fantastic blend of genres, and The Pairs, a trio of women who distinguish themselves by their very pleasant harmonies.
There are also large delegations from Australia, Catalonia and Scandinavia. And a room reserved for a host of international indigenous artists. Among these, I was captivated by Sara Curruchich, a Guatemalan of Mayan origin, whom I had the pleasure of interviewing for PAMN360 a year and a half ago. With an all-female band, including a marimba virtuoso, Sara literally brought the house down and got everyone up on their feet dancing, while delivering some very committed messages. You can be committed and smile at the same time. Let’s hope we’ll be seeing her again soon at festivals and concerts back home.
Another surprise was the native Taiwanese Sauljaljui, whom I initially mistook for an African. We never stop learning. This young woman bewitches us with a cocktail of tradition and folk-rock.
On the American side, my favorite was Gina Chavez. This Texan from Austin, whom I was lucky enough to interview in 2018 for Radio-Canada, is an LGBTQ singer-songwriter who embraces her identity and sings in both Spanish and English. She put together an innovative band for her performance: trombone, violin, percussion, electric guitar. It all sounded eminently good.
Throughout the three days, there are spontaneous jams. Suddenly, I see fifteen violins improvising together. As journalists, we are constantly approached by artists who want our attention. Two young women approach me in the language of Sheakspeare, before realizing that it’s all a big mess. We’re all French-speaking Quebecers.
Blanche Moisan-Méthé and Gabrielle Cloutier are two musical accomplices in the excellent world band Méduse. One has her own solo project, BLAMM, while Gabrielle works under her own name. They explain to me the difficulty and complexity of getting gigs in this huge musical flea market. When I meet them, Méduse has her sights set on a concert in Alberta. For the rest, nothing.
Blanche Moisan-Méthé was interviewed on our site in 2023 for her first – and highly original – album, which features a lot of brass, which Blanche plays in addition to banjo and guitar. She works with a host of bands, including Gypsy Kumbia Orchestra. This is the life of an artist in 2025. She gave several mini-concerts – usually lasting fifteen to twenty minutes – in these hotel rooms, between 10.30 pm and 2 am. I hope it has produced results. Artists have to pay several hundred dollars to perform here.
On Friday evening, on a staircase, I meet my Northern Irishman, Ciarán MacCowan, who invites me in French to one of his seven mini-concerts in a hotel room. I discover that he learned French as a result of his exile in France during the civil war in Northern Ireland. He has also lived in California. For this mini-concert, he is accompanied by a harmonica player and a solo guitarist. All crammed into the small room, we are lulled to sleep by their music, as well as by Chilean folksinger Nicolas Embar and American from Nebraska Hope Dunbar. This motley crew alternates between songs. The audience joins in. The artists congratulate each other. At the same time, around one hundred and twenty mini-concerts are taking place on four floors of the Centre Sheraton.
We’re all drunk on music. It’s going to take us a few days to recover.
