Semaine du neuf | Quigital Corporate Retreat, a satirical immersion in corporate culture

by Olivier Martin-Fréchette

As soon as we climb the stairs leading to the Espace Orange at the Wilder Building, we are immediately plunged into the immersive satirical performance Quigital Corporate Retreat, performed by Architek Percussion and soprano Sarah Albu.

Employees of the fictitious company Quigital welcome us by offering a badge bearing a QR code that allows us to register on Quigital’s online platform. Once there, we are asked to complete various tasks: scanning a colleague’s badge, buying virtual objects or privileges with points accumulated in the app, or even chatting with Quincy, Quigital’s conversational robot.

The role-playing game is therefore quickly set in motion, and we find ourselves participating in the performance even before entering the auditorium. The immersive effect is already effective. I can already feel that slight existential disgust that only a mandatory, unpaid corporate networking event can provoke in me.

Then comes the moment to enter the hall, where the “conference” portion of the show begins. We are introduced to the characters who will occupy the stage: Karen, the “She.E.O.” (Sarah Albu), as well as the employees who will serve as examples during the training session (Architek Percussion: Noam Bierstone, Ben Duinker, Alessandro Valiante, Parker Bert). Each of them is introduced and makes their entrance onto the stage in a perfectly ridiculous choreography accompanied by a soundtrack worthy of the smooth jazz fusion of The Rippingtons.

The tone is clear: we are about to witness a particularly sharp and unapologetic satire of late-stage capitalism, its performative discourse of inclusion, and its predictable tactics of manipulation. Throughout the concert, the speech of the lecturer and She.E.O. oscillates between ready-made phrases worthy of the worst TED Talks given by out-of-touch businesspeople, combined with indoctrination mantras reminiscent of those found in American megachurches. All of this unfolds in front of a giant screen on which PowerPoints, training videos, impossible questions, forwarded emails, and occasionally the company’s conversational robot are projected. The latter eventually replaces the vast majority of the employees (the audience), who, by the end of the piece, are all fired except for the three people who collected the most points on the app during the pre-concert and the intermission. Through the role-playing experience, the entire presentation makes us feel the alienation of employees at the bottom of the corporate ladder in the face of large corporations and their performance-optimization tools that will eventually cost them their jobs.

The parody is very skillful. It is obvious, but the constant use of the linguistic codes and aesthetics of the corporate world allows us to maintain a certain suspension of disbelief, enabling us to experience an immersion rather than simply watching a performance.

The soprano’s voice is constantly amplified by a headset microphone, and moments guided by traditional pop instruments alternate with moments where the instrumentation consists of office objects transformed into percussion instruments, all interspersed with sampling and pre-recorded tracks. The way very contrasting musical styles combine stands out for its fluidity. The only moment when I thought I noticed a technical issue, I ended up wondering whether the glitch was actually part of the show.

Stylistically, the piece navigates between several worlds. We move from the typical music of training videos—such as the jazz fusion mentioned earlier—to duos of voice and pitched percussion evolving in unison over atonal melodies. These passages are punctuated by moments of complex percussion performed on computer keyboards, pens, a stapler, or even mugs. Each of these musical languages brings its own connotation to the narrative thread of the work.

It is also worth highlighting the remarkable versatility of Sarah Albu, who moves effortlessly from a classical lyrical voice to a modernized form of sprechgesang, and then to interpretations that sometimes evoke cabaret singing or even outright pop.

In the end, the piece constitutes a true demonstration of virtuosity on the part of all the artists involved. This virtuosity lies not only in the musical demands, which require extraordinary instrumental mastery, but also in the quality of the acting, the development of the technologies used, and the attention paid to every detail of the staging by Marie-Josée Chartier. In the hall, one could feel a certain euphoria among the audience—not only thanks to the show’s particularly effective humor, but also because it offered a truly refreshing immersion, something new compared with what we are used to seeing in contemporary music.

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Classical Period / classique

Caprice / ArtChroral | Beethoven et la Révolution française

by Alexis Desrosiers-Michaud

By way of introduction, a bit of history. It is well known that Ludwig van Beethoven had a certain sympathy for the French Revolution. The most convincing example is his Third Symphony, the Eroica, originally dedicated to Napoleon Bonaparte—a dedication he famously scratched out when he learned that Napoleon had crowned himself emperor.

What Matthias Maute explained to us on Friday at the Maison symphonique de Montréal was that Beethoven incorporated patriotic popular songs into his Fifth Symphony—songs that were heard during the capture of Maximilien Robespierre, the jurist who played a central role in the Reign of Terror and whose criminal tribunal sent thousands of opponents to the guillotine, among them the famous victim Marie Antoinette. At the time, we did not yet realize that this information would open up a completely unexpected listening perspective.

After an incisive first movement (and a somewhat hastily delivered Ave Verum Corpus by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart as an introduction), Ensemble Caprice offered us a lyrical second movement. One can debate Beethoven’s tempo markings endlessly, but the pace here was less Andante con moto than an emphasis on the phrasing of the winds, while keeping the cellos comfortable in their rapid passages. The placement of the woodwinds at the back of the stage on raised platforms proved particularly effective, leaving the brass on the floor level. The balance was perfect, with the lower strings positioned just to the left.

Remembering the historical context introduced earlier, the horn call at the beginning of the third movement took on an entirely different meaning. Instead of merely recalling the famous motif of the first movement—often described as “fate knocking at the door”—it sounded more like a call to celebration. The third movement then becomes a preparation for the jubilant finale, carried by excited strings.

After the intermission came the Mass in C minor, the “Great Mass” by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, performed in its original—and therefore incomplete—version. The jewel of the evening? The two soprano soloists, Janelle Lucyk and Myriam Leblanc, who truly gave back to Mozart what belongs to Mozart. This Mass contains some of the most beautiful solo lines in his sacred repertoire, and what they sang on Friday evening was not merely a succession of notes but real musical phrases and dialogues—between themselves and the orchestra—culminating in the four-part cadence (soprano, clarinet, oboe, and bassoon) of the Et incarnatus est, a masterpiece of musical intimacy.

Tenor Emmanuel Hassler performed admirably as a replacement for Philippe Gagné, who was ill, while bass William Kraushaar was solid in his single intervention. One hopes to hear him again in a concert where he will have more opportunities to shine. As for the choir, it was excellent; the division into two choirs created a fine balance among the voices and with the orchestra. At no point was it overshadowed by the ensemble.

expérimental / contemporain / Musique de création

Semaine du Neuf | Fragmentations and encounters of the Body in “Speak no words – Le silence des mots”

by Laurent Pellerin

The concert begins with the usual acknowledgment of the unceded territories of Tiohtià:ke (Montréal), which Krystina Marcoux performs this time in sign language, while her voice-over resonates from speakers positioned behind her. Perhaps without realizing it, the audience has already entered the work. Speak no words – Le silence des mots is intended as an exploration of gesture turned into language, and its evocation is communicated from the very beginning.

A ticking clock echoes through the speakers, which I identify as being placed backstage and at the rear of the stage. This seemingly incidental sound is one of the main leitmotifs of the work, a protean element appearing sometimes under various sound treatments, sometimes fully exposed, sometimes dry. This sense of time moves inexorably forward, reminding us that nothing is fixed. The bodies stretch and contract on stage; their movements progress both in time and space.

On one hand, the tool developed by Christophe Lebreton, called IMSS (Interactive Motion Sound System), allows musicians to interact with a real-time sound processing system using only the movement of their bodies in space. As a composer and avid enthusiast of sound technologies, I was very eager to observe this tool in action.

On the other hand, Krystina Marcoux is responsible for the artistic direction and conception of this performance. In her interview with Frédéric Cardin from PAN M 360, the multidisciplinary artist mentions, among other things, a key focus of her current artistic path: how is it possible, as a performer, to create from human material?

The first integration of IMSS is detectable in the very first scene: the musicians, arranged in a row facing the audience, reveal their hands one by one in a shaft of light. Initially, this simple gesture of appearance triggers a synthesizer note that animates as long as the hand remains in the light. Some notes slightly deviate from the tempered tonal system, but the effect of atonality remains rather marginal, and consonance predominates.

The one-to-one relationship between gesture and sound (one hand equals one note) quickly becomes blurred: eventually, the hands start to move more actively, and the note appearances seem to gain independence from them. The performance then moves into filter openings and closings, and shimmer reverbs when the hands are raised in the air. From this first scene, the dynamism of the system stands out, where parameter assignments evolve fluidly over time under the rhythm of the omnipotent clock.

A square of light defines a confined space in the middle of the stage. This light isolates and frames, emanating a sense of solitude. After struggling with a folding chair, music stand, and sheet music in this confined area, Juan Sebastian Delgado reappears with his cello. He is standing, his cello supported by a strap. He bows to the front, then to his right, then to his left, toward what I estimate are the locations of the backstage speakers.

He plays a low pitch, a single note to begin with, and a pattern emerges, performing Bach’s first cello suite in G major. It quickly becomes apparent that this rendition differs from the original: the tempo is drastically stretched, contracting at times when the cellist’s body moves with greater amplitude. His cello playing oscillates between resonant fundamentals and light ornaments and harmonics, giving this interpretation of Bach’s suite remarkable flexibility and dynamism.

Later, it is Gwenaëlle Ratouit’s clarinet playing that undergoes sound treatments, which here seem rather fixed or more subtle in their variations. Her playing initially consists of accumulations of very short staccati multiplied in a granular delay, filling the hall with a cloud of percussive, noisy, and tonal elements. Her expressive playing following this segment demonstrates great virtuosity.

At this point in the performance, the musicians are all placed sparsely on stage, isolated within their squares of light. Gwenaëlle sets the tone for this section, and the instrumentalists respond to one another in turn. Some interactions seem to formulate a coherent musical response to the clarinet, while others, like Pamela Reimer’s first melodica interventions, take us into an entirely different musical universe for a moment.

These discontinuous interventions are at times reinforced by the underlying pattern, which provides a framework for melodic play before returning to the virtuosic clarinet and granular treatments. These interventions eventually unify, and the music achieves strong cohesion by the end of the segment.

Throughout the work, however, one notices the distance separating each musician and their vain attempts to connect. Confronted with this reality, the protagonist Krystina Marcoux appears increasingly frantic in her search for an escape from her alienation. Speak no words – Le silence des mots seems, in a way, to reveal these walls erected between communicative beings, to name the masks we hold up between each other and even within ourselves.

At one point in the performance, there is a flute solo by Jeffrey Stonehouse, conversing alone with his stereophonic echoes in a kind of desperate call. Here, the musician gives the impression that it is with himself that he is trying to break down walls and regain his unity.

A single moment of communion occurs at the very end of the work, where the musicians come together to play in an interwoven melodic structure reminiscent of minimalist writing techniques. Initially in dialogue, the vibraphone in its atonal melodic flights recalls Varèse more than the minimalists. Still, they eventually align and conclude the work in a true moment of musical culmination.

crédit photo : Kevin Calixte

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Baroque / Celtic / Early Music / Western European

Ménestrel | Au 9e, a journey into a distant past

by Alain Brunet

Kerry Bursey and Janelle Lucyk marked the release of their self-titled debut album (Leaf Music label) with a concert at the nearly full Art Deco hall Le 9e on this first Tuesday of March—a perfect way to wrap up the workday and beautifully usher in an evening in the middle of the week.

Accompanied on lute and violin, the duo Ménestrel explores early and Baroque repertoire, weaving songs together in a program full of creativity. It makes for a soothing hour, certainly conducive to a burst of energy much needed in these troubled times.

À la claire fontaine (traditional), Ma bergère tendre et fidèle (Michel Lambert, 1610–1696), and En montant la rivière (traditional) were linked with a Cape Breton melody and the Scottish air Fhear a’Bhàta (The Boatman).

The soloists’ voices are pure and luminous—naturally lacking the projection of fully trained operatic technique from the Baroque period. What is lost in volume is more than compensated by purity. This repertoire does not demand operatic power; these voices are natural, unforced, and without vibrato.

Lute accompaniment is rare in today’s music scene, yet Kerry Bursey has chosen to cultivate this fertile ground. The lute truly transports the listener back to ancient times and the musical atmospheres of the past. This choice led the artists to perform works by English lutenist, singer, and songwriter John Dowland (1563–1626), the most famous composer of the Elizabethan era, whom Bursey humorously calls the ultimate “emo” composer—he passed away exactly 400 years ago. Bursey, as lutenist and tenor, first performed Now, O Now, I Needs Must Part, harmonized by Janelle Lucyk’s singing, paired with an obscure Francophone song, Le doux silence des bois (Honoré d’Ambruys, 1660–1702).

Dowland’s repertoire was also featured in the program’s conclusion with Can She Excuse My Wrongs? and Come Again, Sweet Love. In between, the program included a mix of traditional and classical songs: Se l’aura spira tutta vezzoza (Girolamo Frescobaldi, 1583–1643), the humanist courtly standard Mille regretz (Josquin des Prez, 1450–1521), and Si dolce è ‘l tormento (Claudio Monteverdi, 1567–1643).

Other traditional songs enriched the concert, including Once I Loved with Fond Affection, featuring Janelle Lucyk as the principal soloist—an angelic rendition—preceded by two famous blackbird-themed songs performed by Kerry Bursey: the traditional If I Were a Blackbird and, as you might guess, The Beatles’ Blackbird.

This program served as a reminder that lovers of Baroque and early music are very much alive today, fully embracing modernity while drawing inspiration from our distant past.

expérimental / contemporain / Musique de création

Semaine du Neuf | In the half-light, Ensemble Éclat makes l’Espace Orange shine

by Jeremy Fortin

On Wednesday, Ensemble Éclat presented its program Broken Space at the Wilder, as part of Semaine du neuf. The concert, which was both continuous and immersive, blended mixed and electronic music, accompanied by digital visuals created specifically for the performance.

Although the concert included several highlights, the first piece, Gone by composer Jérôme Combier, while well performed by the five musicians on stage, stretched on for more than 20 minutes, leaving room for some lengthy passages. The strength of the piece lies—much like the rest of the concert—in the electronics, which at times add an extra dimension to the dialogue between the musicians.

The concert then moved directly into Interpolation by Audréanne Fillion, one of the two purely acousmatic works presented that evening. For me, these two pieces were undoubtedly the highlight of the concert. Intended as transitions between the instrumental sections, they managed—through their visuals and sound effects—to create a clear break from the three instrumental works presented at Espace Orange on Wednesday.

Ephphata by composer Quentin Lauvray was performed as a solo by the ensemble’s violinist, Jeanne-Sophie Baron. With great confidence, she carried the piece, which includes effects produced both with the violin and with her own breath.

The second acousmatic piece of the concert—and my personal favorite of the evening—came from composer Philippe Macnab-Séguin, who presented excerpts from his work Gone For Eggs. The visuals created for the occasion by Myriam Bleau allowed the audience to immediately immerse themselves in the composer’s universe and greatly enriched the listening experience.
The concert concluded with Plier l’horizon sur son milieu by Omer Barash, a powerful proposal that allowed the ensemble to shine one last time in what was overall a successful concert for Ensemble Éclat.

Crédit photo: Philippe Latour

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Electronic

SAT | Nuit blanche 24H DJ set X Kent Monkman at MMFA

by Laurent Pellerin

A wide array of venues and events lay before us on this night bridging February and March 2026. Usually quite sensitive to the effects of choice overload, I had decided to focus on just two specific destinations: Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, to see the Kent Monkman exhibition, and then the SAT.

My arrival at the SAT was marked by the sharp smell of dry ice; the crowd was still relatively sparse. I had stopped by to get my stamp before the line grew too long, then took the opportunity to gauge the atmosphere. It wasn’t yet midnight, and I was well aware that most people planning a Nuit blanche outing tend to schedule more than one stop.

Two large screens allowed us to follow the DJ sets in real time and to take in the very distinctive look of the mixing console: a metal casing, large rotary knobs, two VU meters suggesting an analog circuit (one would expect a vinyl DJ set to go hand in hand with an analog mixer).

The pared-down design reminded me of the rudimentary equipment used in the first electronic music studios of the early 1950s in Cologne, where Stockhausen composed his Studie I and Studie II. I noticed a few individuals—perhaps simply fascinated by the gestures, or perhaps professionals with a keen interest in the gear—completely absorbed by these projections.

At that point in the evening, the music was not yet particularly danceable, and the transitions felt ambitious—sometimes overly so, and occasionally unsuccessful. A handful of people at the front swayed their hips, while most remained in observation mode. There was still a certain hesitation in surrendering to the rhythms; the mood simply wasn’t there yet. The cluster of DJs and collaborators behind the turntables, exchanging glances, comments, and movements with the records, drew more attention than the music stirred bodily response.

I stepped out after less than an hour to head toward Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, where I had read that the Kent Monkman exhibition was free for those 25 and under. The street and metro station were buzzing with an unusual liveliness for such a late hour. One sensed that the night was only just beginning for most of us.

Upon arriving at the museum, the line initially seemed endless. Almost reluctantly, we took our place at the very back, the biting night air urging us forward. To my surprise, in less than fifteen minutes we were climbing the steps toward the Monkman exhibition. We were told there were only thirty minutes left before closing.

This time constraint, coupled with the broader context of Nuit blanche, made for a museum visit unlike any other. The density of visitors recalled major European museums; everyone moved briskly from room to room, eager to see everything, with little time to linger intellectually over each work.

The late hour also lent the experience a distinctly unusual tone. All these factors led me to rely on immediate, visceral impressions in my encounter with the exhibition. My eyes scanned the walls until an image caught my attention; I stood before it and let a shiver run down my spine.

At first glance, the imposing scale of the canvases greatly enhanced their impact. I noted with satisfaction that very few phones were raised to capture images already immortalized; instead, a current of movement animated the crowd, which continued flowing steadily toward the next gallery.

Somewhere in an adjoining space, music played by a DJ drifted along the tall marble columns, further contributing to the unusual character of the visit. Though I appreciated this somewhat fanciful musical addition, I found myself wondering about the rationale for including such a performance in a museum setting. Was it to draw people in, to encourage ticket sales? To maintain the momentum of an evening just getting underway? After all, it was Nuit blanche. They could place DJs wherever they pleased. Before long, the closing of the galleries was announced, and we made our way out.

Back at the SAT, the energy inside had shifted dramatically. The room was packed; the air dense and humid. The music had moved decisively toward a more dance-oriented style, and it felt easier now to merge with the moving crowd. The atmosphere was loud, almost boisterous. One could sense the fleeting, carefree nature of the gathering. I couldn’t help comparing this experience to one I had had three weeks earlier, in the dome at the same venue, where Wata Igarashi and Marie Davidson had allowed me—probably for the first time—to feel completely spellbound by a DJ set. Here, many people seemed merely to be passing through; the contrast with an event sustained by focused attention was palpable.

I left as the energy peaked, boarding a crowded bus that carried with it the frenetic charge of this February Nuit blanche.

Semaine du Neuf | Megumi Masaki Hears the Ice

by Jeremy Fortin

As part of Neuf Week, Megumi Masaki presented her multidisciplinary project Hearing Ice on Monday evening at the Wilder, a program infused with climate activism, yet carrying hope and the possibility of change.

The concert opens with Melt, composed by Keith Hamel. This piece sets the tone of the evening with precision: emphasizing the importance of ice in our lives. Throughout the piece, we follow a massive glacier slowly liquefying before our eyes.

Projected on the screen are the words of the renowned activist Greta Thunberg, reminding us of the crucial importance of our environment, while also underlining the protest-driven aspect of the concert, just beginning. In a gentle, yet compelling way, Megumi Masaki transports us through her pianistic universe, where ice is rendered in all its grandeur.

The program continues with Ian Cusson’s Frozen Roads, an ode to the icy routes that connect isolated communities to the mainland in Ontario’s Georgian Bay on Lake Huron. A video illustrating these realities is projected as Masaki enriches Brendan Briceland’s footage with Cusson’s music. These two pieces establish the thematic and emotional landscape for the rest of the evening, presenting Hearing Ice in its multifaceted form.

Next comes Keith Hamel’s Piano Games, a piece that is certainly intriguing. Here, the pianist must perform while simultaneously engaging in a video game that evolves according to the piano sounds and the performer’s gestures. That said, the piece feels somewhat jarring within the program, lacking an obvious connection to Masaki’s overarching musical vision.

Ollie Hawker’s And bleak blew the easterly wind offers an almost meditative moment, where piano and video achieve perfect symbiosis. With visuals more minimalist than other pieces in the program, the audience is invited to focus on the piano performance itself, providing a necessary pause to digest the information and imagery presented so far.

The concert concludes with See the Freeze, Hear the Thaw, a film by Caroline Cox and Benjamin McGregor, accompanied by music from Carmen Braden. We are transported to the community of Yellowknife, meeting people for whom winter and ice are not just a part of daily life, but also a foundation of cultural identity. Through music and dialogue, these individuals express their fears about climate change, while reminding us that every small action matters in the effort to protect our planet.

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Experimental

Semaine du Neuf | Architek Percussion & Contrechamps, among the more captivating yet

by Vitta Morales

It is still early days in this third edition of La Semaine du Neuf, but it would be easy to imagine the Architek Percussion and Contrechamps performances being counted among the more captivating. The programming ranged from groove based interlocking percussive textures and hypnotic metallic ringing to overstimulating 3D avatars projected on a screen interacting with a mixed ensemble who reacted to its every facial cue and whimsical thought. This is a downright bizarre sentence to see written out, I’m sure, but it is more or what happened on the night.

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Architek Percussion kicked things off with the piece The brown gardener by Alexandre Babel. The four percussionists, sitting in a circle, would cycle through various objects that explored “poor” sounds courtesy of materials that could feasibly make up a bird nest. This took the form of planks of wood, sheets of metal, and cardboard squares that would get tapped on with thin sticks and mallets. The players would play and quickly swap out different materials which hung from a metal frame as the piece unfolded. It ended with the four of them ringing out notes on thick-ish metal squares producing sounds reminiscent of Tibetan singing bowls. Musically, it was my favourite piece of the night.

Next, the Contrechamps ensemble who had traveled from Switzerland, performed Crxssfaaz by Nicole Lizée. (Funnily enough, during the preamble the artistic director of the ensemble, Serge Vuille, admitted that he did not know how this title was actually pronounced). The piece was written for mixed ensemble, video, and electronics with the video itself being a rather involved affair with a lot of editing in the way of quick cuts, and collage effects and mostly centering around a turntable with two characters lying face up on the floor with mouths agape. The instrumentation itself consisted of cello, viola, electric guitar, flute, clarinet, a vacuum cleaner, and cereal bowls with metal spoons with the guitar playing more than a few mean licks.

They followed this up with the last piece of the evening: Autorretrato Extendido, by Daniel Zea. Zea, sitting in the middle of the ensemble, would project a 3D avatar of his face and control the image with his own facial movements that were being captured in real time. These facial movements then influenced the scores of the musicians with real time instruction being influenced by Zea’s choices; but so too did other 3D renderings that would orbit the computer generated head of Zea and pop in seemingly at random.

For example, when an image of Mario appeared, the ensemble began to play the New York plumber’s iconic theme song. The image of Mario would give way to Spider-Man and then a gimp mask, a handgun, a wad of cash, different kinds of whisky, and a slew of other 3D images before feathers grew from the avatar’s face and exploded, transforming itself into a housefly. All the while, the ensemble matched the images in intensity. A wild, and very loud affair at times, but attention grabbing in every way. I was particularly drawn in by the use of the deep grumbly bass clarinet.

There is much more Semaine du Neuf to discover but I would say the festival is already living up to its promise. Putting aside the fact that all three pieces were premieres, I definitely got the impression I was sitting through pieces that were original and new. Indeed, we’re off to an excellent start.

danse / Electronic / Minimalist / Post-Minimalist

Overwhelmed by LA(HORDE)

by Frédéric Cardin

In Age of Content, presented from February 27 to March 7, 2026, at the Maisonneuve Theatre of the Place des Arts in Montreal, the audience is hit head-on by a rolling fire of post-industrial transhumanist urban aesthetics. I can testify to the power of this hyper-contemporary creation that questions human nature, and this in a construction that goes against contemporary developments.

Machinist fetishism

The interior of an industrial warehouse. A car enters through the curtains at the back of the stage. A car carcass, rather, a simple remote-controlled skeleton, on which a first dancer will begin to curl up, leading to a kind of sexual fetishism reminiscent of David Cronenberg’s Crash. Isn’t there a kind of selfie masturbation in every person who seeks to appropriate a tool (mechanical/electronic) in order to climb to its peak and go viral? Why? Attracting attention? That’s exactly what happens. And when we invite others to admire what we are and what we possess, we also potentially invite them to want to take it away from us. There, you understand what’s coming.

Human beings are conflict.

Another dancer arrives, wants to take over the machine. Fight. Others join the brawl, which turns into a civil war. The car itself dances (an ingenious hydraulic system making it sway from left to right and back and forth), to music that oscillates between ambient electro, celestial choral, and pulsating techno. Bravo Pierre Aviat (excerpts from pieces like The Age of Dragons, Army of Love, Shishi Odoshi, etc.) for avoiding drowning everything in beats, while occasionally indulging in it. It makes the whole thing much more subtle, more refined, less literal. And absolutely not superficial.

Finally, what is this? A humanity that bows before machinery? Who fades away in front of the synthetic technique/culture of the web? That’s what we can guess. But there might be more as well. Your humble chronicler missed the pre-show discussion. I therefore allow myself to jot down some impressions and intuitions here. Also aided by the indispensable “+1” that accompanied my evening. Thank you, Claudia, for your insights!

Impressions and intuition will indeed be the main recourse for most of those who go to see this stunning show.

Here is the first act (there will be four) dissected. We are already captivated. LA(HORDE) is a trio of choreographers/dance artists who lead the National Ballet of Marseille. Have you ever seen that elsewhere, a classical dance company led by a trio of artists raised on street/geek/platinum culture? Well, hats off for the audacity. It works great.

But let’s continue.

Androids and their fantasies

A second tableau features a first character that we quickly identify as a robot. Not the kind from the 80s, a bit too stiff in its movements. Rather the more recent models. Those that are about to enter our homes, our factories, our restaurants. And who will do work similar to ours. There is still something jerky about the movements, but with a more beautiful elegance, a kind of fluidity punctuated by vital pulses, like mechanical breaths. In short, the aforementioned roboto is joined by others, and more. They are everywhere. Have they replaced humans? Dunno. But something is happening: they begin to examine each other, to “physicalise” together in violent and clumsy simulations of a kind of sexual exchanges.

At the back of the stage, the curtains have given way to a dark and misty set. We’re in Blade Runner, or something like that. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? That’s the original title Philip K. Dick gave to his novella that inspired the well-known film. Here, we wonder if they have sex using telescopic rods and motor oiled cavities. Always this music that mixes minimalism, choral transcendence, and a rumbling beat. Uncertainty, then, but beauty, seduction, despite the strangeness. And it moves, it bubbles with contained energy then released. You can’t look away.

Choreographing group intercourse

The third tableau leaves one a bit more perplexed, even though it is fascinating. One wonders if the humans have returned or if the androids have “mutated”? In short, continuing from the previous momentum, we see them become completely lascivious, in a sort of virtuoso orgy, both explicit and anti-vulgar. I have rarely seen such an ability to evoke different sexual acts, almost pornographic, with such perfect success in doing so with elegance and respect. You will have to see it to understand.

Final ecstasy

The final act is a kind of sensory ecstasy that summons the eyes (a true choreographic whirlwind) and the ears (music by Philip Glass: The Grid excerpt from Koyaanisqatsi). For about fifteen minutes, which turn into a collective buzz and an aesthetic-spiritual trance, the dancers seem to celebrate life in the most visceral and cathartic way possible, in an explosion of happiness.

Victory of the human? Humanism? Or a perfect symbiosis between machine and organic, what is called transhumanism? It doesn’t matter. It’s just masterful, captivating, enchanting, utterly gripping. We are out of breath. We can’t even imagine the artists themselves.

Age of Content continues until March 7, 2026. Don’t miss it.

DETAILS AND TICKETS

The Creation by Haydn at the Grand Ballets: And they found it was Good…

chanson française / Chanson francophone

A Moment of Sweetness with LiKouri and Her Trio

by Sandra Gasana

Not only were we treated to an exceptional, intimate, and deeply moving performance, but we also had a lot of laughs last night at Le Ministère, as part of the second evening of Vision Diversité’s MOZAÏK series. It felt like we were stepping into LiKouri’s bedroom (her bedside lamp was part of the set design), accompanied by Charles Cantin on vocals and guitar and Isabelle Gaudreau on clarinet.

The rapport between Li and Charles was obvious, less so with Isabelle, who didn’t have a microphone to interact with the audience like the other two. That said, her clarinet solos, or simply her musical talent, were a feast to our ears.

Lighting was also central to this intimate show as it contributed to the desired atmosphere: to discover the artists in their deepest selves.

All the songs are featured on the album Dans mon quartier, released in the fall of 2025, and it was during a 10-day residency at the Maison de la culture de Ahuntsic that all the magic happened. First between Li and Charles, then Isabelle joined later.

The first part of the concert was without accordion for LiKouri, during which we could fully appreciate her unique voice, which at times bordered on opera. Effortlessly, she managed to give us goosebumps, particularly during the song “Verde Lima,” in which she sang in Spanish, accompanied by Charles on backing vocals. Isabelle switched between clarinets, depending on the song.

Between songs, she shared a few anecdotes, often very funny, especially when she talked about the song “Statue” or when she shared the story behind the song “O’dji Comeback.” In fact, I went and found it on YouTube when I got home, as requested by the artists.

Charles’ guitar playing was also very impressive. From one song to the next, he managed to create a completely different atmosphere, adding depth to the show.

In the middle of the evening, LiKouri settles in with her accordion and together, the trio takes us elsewhere, notably on the song “La valse” which recalls old French songs, with a Piaf-like feel.

But the highlight of the evening was undoubtedly during the song “Les ou Les” where the audience happily sang along.

Another highlight of the evening was the instrumental song section. No words, just the three instruments conversing with each other, without monotony, with moments both gentle and more rhythmic, all in a completely organic way.

That said, the song that stuck in my head after the concert was “Je recommencerai pour ne rien changer”, probably because it was the last song in the setlist, but I can’t find it on the album Dans mon quartier. I’ll have to do some digging to find it. One thing is for sure: if all of MOZAÏK’s evenings are as moving as the one with LiKouri and her trio, I’ll definitely be there, because in these troubled times, a little bit of sweetness does us all a world of good.

Photo Credit: Peter Graham

Classical Period / danse

The Creation by Haydn at the Grand Ballets: And they saw it was Good…

by Frédéric Cardin

Haydn’s The Creation is a remarkable oratorio written at the end of the composer’s life. The creation of The Creation (Die Schöpfung in German) took place in 1799. Last night, at the Place des Arts in Montreal, a very beautiful and inspiring choreographic vision, signed by Uwe Scholz (1958-2004) in 1991, was presented in an enriched version by the art of Quebec painter Jean-Paul Riopelle, a bold idea but, in the end, rewarding.

And then there was Light…

Very few stage props are required in this production. None, in fact, except for a structure supporting an armada of spotlights, used only for a few minutes at the beginning and end of the piece. Used ostentatiously, even, just a few minutes after the very beginning of the first movement, Introduction. The Representation of Chaos. Largo, the said spots were directed straight at the spectators, thus completely blinding us with the lighting. “And there was Light,” indeed, but perhaps stated a bit too strongly, let’s say. The spectators around me were laughing. That can’t be the goal, I imagine.

That said, it’s a detail that one ends up forgetting, because very beautiful moments are offered in this choreography, frequently performed all over the world because it “sounds” just right.

I will not pretend to be a dance specialist, just a humble lover of this art, particularly in relation to music. And since PanM360 aims to be a media outlet dedicated to music, I will write this review of the premiere of the ballet The Creation last night at the Wilfrid-Pelletier Hall through the relationship of the choreography to Joseph Haydn’s score.

Dance/Music symbiosis

In The Creation, Haydn constructs a narrative that is quite faithful to the mythical account of the creation of the world, in about thirty pieces that alternate between small formations and large ensembles, passages led by the soloists (a soprano, a tenor, and a bass) and impressive choral sections. Scholz respects these divisions while weaving his constructions into those of the music: solos, duets, and small ensembles adhere to the chamber passages of the music, while the choral parts, which aim to be monumental, are well supported by the entire body of the GBC.

The Creation presents the myth of Chaos giving way to Light, then to the World, to Nature, to Animals, and finally to Humans (Adam and Eve), under the impulse of God. Although the explicitness of Scholz’s conception leans more towards symbolism, one quickly understands the relationship between the gestures and the unfolding of the synopsis. At the beginning, the dancers are like “trapped” by the structure supporting the lighting equipment, and finally “freed” when it disappears.

Next, the performances follow one another, offering a sensory, impressionistic interpretation of the arrival of the various elements of divine creation. The dancers are all dressed in white, effectively bringing their movements back to the idea of original light and purity.

It is in the collective numbers that we are most touched by Scholz’s vision. The entire company moves with an almost aerial collective fluidity, in interweavings that intuitively evoke the counterpoint of Haydn’s choral fugues. Moments warmly applauded by the audience, rightly so. On the contrary, it is in the solo or duet episodes that some sluggishness is noticeable. The relationship between the visual and the musical is less apparent. An exception to note: the last pas de deux, on Holde Gattin… Der tauende Morgen (Dear wife… The morning dew), is of wonderful tenderness, and dressed in gentle sensuality.

Riopelle’s art looking over

The addition of Jean-Paul Riopelle’s paintings projected at the back of the stage is a great idea. Ivan Cavallari the Ballets’ Director), as one can guess, was inspired by the character of the various abstract works of the Quebec painter. Without obstructing or imposing on the spirit of the numbers performed by the musicians and dancers, the paintings rather subtly accompany the expressive essence of the different movements. More or less “bright” or “dark,” loaded or stripped down, the paintings from the palette of the brilliant artist offer a kind of commentary on the stage action, while subtly and diffusely guiding the emotions of those who watch. Never did we feel that the exercise was artificially imposed. This is in itself a good point.

Convincing soloists

On a purely musical level, I highlight the beautiful performance of the three soloists, Andréanne Brisson-Paquin, soprano, Philippe Gagné, tenor, and Clayton Kennedy, bass, whose projection is unfortunately diminished by the hall itself. Now accustomed (and spoilt) by the Maison symphonique just next door, one easily forgets how much Wilfrid-Pelletier is an imperfect vehicle for this kind of music. Well, we are still able to recognise the interpretative beauty of the artists in the orchestra pit. Bravo, then, even if it doesn’t yet match (for me) a certain Gundula Janowitz, with Walter Berry and Fritz Wunderlich (with Karajan on DGG).

The orchestra of the Grands Ballets is very good, but suffers from sharpness in certain string passages, especially at the beginning of the evening. Once or twice, it was even out of tune. Elsewhere, some slight rhythmic discrepancies between the choir and the orchestra were heard. But the choir itself is very nice. In terms of sound texture, a bit of thinness is noticeable when compared to the best. It must be said that this music is not the usual bread and butter of the ensemble.

Despite these technical remarks, the overall performance is pleasant and will only refine over the course of future performances.

If only for the inspiring collective numbers, but also for the fine, almost ineffable relationship between Riopelle’s paintings and the spirit of this Haydn/Scholz Creation, I urge you to dive into the experience. The Creation continues until March 1st.

DETAILS AND TICKETS

Les Grands Ballets Canadiens – La Création de Joseph Haydn crédit photo : Michel Trahan – Danseur : Marcel Gutierrez

musique contemporaine

Duo Étrange dispels all doubts (if there were any)

by Frédéric Cardin

On Tuesday evening, February 24, 2026, the launch concert for the album I Wish I Were Dead by Duo Étrange was held at Montreal’s Bourgie Hall. I will not revisit the individual pieces, which I have already discussed extensively in my album review, nor the circumstances surrounding the creation of this record, which are thoroughly covered in theinterview I conducted with the two artists, soprano Vanessa Croome and cellist Sahara von Hattenberger.

READ THE REVIEW OF THE ALBUM I WISH I WERE DEAD

WATCH THE INTERVIEW WITH THE STRANGE DUO

Striking performance by Vanessa Croome

I will focus my attention on the performance of the two young artists. The entire audience present noticed, I don’t think I’m mistaken in stating this, the very high quality of Vanessa Croome’s voice. A fluid, ethereal soprano but with vigour, agile and pleasantly brilliant in high notes, capable of convincing descents into mezzo areas.

But what probably impressed the music lovers present the most was the young artist’s excellent expressive performance. A remarkable ease in evoking states of mind, and an undeniable authenticity of the emotions accompanying the texts and musical lines, which are also very well mastered.

I immediately imagined her on stage, at the opera. Something she has done a few times, but not that much yet. Attention to the artistic directors of the country (and mainly of Quebec). Take notice! We’d like to keep her with us for as long as possible!!.

Sahara, a cellist to remember… and some duduk

On the cello side, Sahara von Hattenberger demonstrates a lot of character, impeccable technique, and strong emotional immersion, without any affected embellishment. A superb performer, whom we hope to keep in Montreal for a long time. Know that she now partially lives in New York due to her participation in the Chamber Orchestra of New York. I am calling out, again, to all artistic and general directors of instrumental ensembles in Montreal and beyond: recruit this dynamic voice of the cello before it’s too late!

Regarding the programming, we heard the same list as on the album, with the very beautiful pieces “Dans un sentier tout parfumé” and “Danger, peur, honte” by Fong Jeffrey. Inspired by texts from mediaeval France, they took on even more alluring forms in person, carried by the presence of Vanessa Croome.

I once again savoured the partially exotic Tree of Life by Maya Fridman, with its labyrinthine yet enchanting convolutions. And then, I indulged, just like when listening to the album, in the Quatrains of Wisdom by Airat Ichmouratov. The composer was on stage to accompany the artists with his clarinet and, above all, his fabulous duduk.

Another hit by Nicole Lizée

Nicole Lizée has once again hit the mark with her Urbexcelsis (a joint commission with Bourgie Hall), in which a partially live electronic track accompanies the two artists, who add to their “normal” task the manipulation of rudimentary percussion instruments, such as a piece of pipe, a chain in a metal bucket, and a power drill! I would recommend revising the drill’s score because it was hardly heard, often not at all. Nevertheless, the atmosphere of the abandoned and ruined cyberpunk city was fascinating and very well done.

The premise of Duo Étrange’s album concept is to say that contemporary music creations deserve to be heard more than once. Let’s hope their commissions will. But one thing is certain : we want to hear this duo very often again. And we will! Look down for upcoming concerts :

Sahara von Hattenberger

April 22nd, 2026

RECITAL W/ DAVID BRONGO: A NIGHT OF CELLO AND PERCUSSION

At the museum of Architecture in Montreal, QC. Part of the series previously held at the beloved Chapelle Historique du Bon-Pasteur.

Featuring Works primarily for cello and timpani by Perruchon, and more.

Duo Étrange

April 30th, 2026

Duo Etrange presents Ligeti’s Mysteries of the Macabre arr. for cello and percussionist soprano at Espace bleu in Montreal, QC.