Lemongrab, The now berlin-based punks bore into my head with intense driving bass lines and raw vocal performances from Léonie Dishaw and Gaëlle Cordeau. Their visceral sound resonates with the violent come up of an acid trip. The intense stage presence frenzies the crowd who demands more. Léonie descends into the churning ocean of bodies to scream in our faces. Their euro-punk aesthetic blended with the old pub of Cabaret de la Dernière Chance, transporting us to somewhere else entirely, a strange land known as Lemongrab. They are a wave of freezing saltwater smashing you in the face; coming up for air only to get kicked in the teeth. As I looked around the room, we all shared that same bloody smile. Lemongrab is not to be missed.

BY Jacob Zweig

Like a recalled doll come back from the factory to haunt you, SLASH NEED transports us from a sweaty Rouyn Noranda basement and into some kinky warehouse in Berlin. Vocal powerhouse Dusty Lee is veiled behind a mesh screen held up by their dancers. Lee’s silhouette is equal parts menacing and enticing as they emit guttural growls and hair-raising high notes. They push against the screen, their body warping and contorting as Alex Low’s throat-rattling production crawls down our spines. 

Fog fills the room, and we catch only glimpses of Lee as they scream out like some kind of wounded animal. Desperately chewing and spitting each word like an exhibitionist bloodletting ceremony. It’s a nightmare, an assault on our senses that pushes us to our knees and holds our throats open with latex fingers to see what we’re made of.

SLASH NEED is a sensation. Yearning, angry, yet sensitive at times, it’s not for the faint of heart. It’s catharsis, rage, and release.

Last night, a monolithic event happened, one that will be reported for generations to come in the fair town of Rouyn-Noranda—the PyPy set at Cabaret de la Dernière Chance—a wall of psychedelic post-no-wave jazz, everything and nothing, a black hole of constant sonic bliss. Led by Annie-Claude Deschenes (Duchess Says), a pure sorceress of beauty and sheer terror, PyPy was recruiting followers for their cult of hypnotic stardom. Roy Vucino—easily one of the most skilled players in North America (CPC Gangbangs, Les Sexareenos, Red Mass)—absolutely beating the hell out of his body and guitar, and a puddle of sweat is left on the cutting room stage. Annie-Claude Deschenes could instill a riot if she wanted, when she’s on the mic there is nothing else you can think or wish; your brain is literarily twisted into a pile in sinew and you love it.

One moment, a deluge of the Cabaret de la Dernière Chance staff picked up a village of White Claw umbrellas—all under the PyPy spell—and marched through the venue. Not to mention when Deschenes ordered a gin and tonic and got one fan to shoulder ride her to the back and front of the stage. Words can’t describe the whole picture, much like a Matisse painting in the pouring, dark, rain. A new album to follow up 2014’s PAGAN DAY is coming—like an eclipse in time as if an unruly god has decided the world neeeeeds more PyPy, and we do, we do. Anyone lucky enough to be at that packed show is now a full-fledged member of the PyPy cult.

Montreal weirdos Shunk might be a rock band from the future. With a peculiar blend of soft ‘70s aesthetics and jagged, synth-punk inspired instrumentation, this 4-piece completely took over Cabaret de la Dernière Chance for their set at FME. Vocalist Gabrielle offers breakneck vocal sections that skim over the throaty, impending guitar. All the while, Julia on bass is keeping it locked down with impossibly intricate low end, screaming every word.

Shunk is pure entropy, a group of 4 honed musicians that could each easily lead the band. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the instruments shapeshifting and transforming, morphing into strange new forms to fit the next musical hairpin turn. Swinging from operatic love songs all the way to borderline hardcore moments, they keep you guessing at every moment, pulling you deeper and deeper into the eclectic but seamless collection of Shunk.

After a whirlwind of music on Friday, and late-night conversations about anything and everything, I needed a reprieve, something to ease me into another gauntlet. A bit melancholic, dreamy, and hazy, Grand Eugene was the perfect start to Saturday at FME. Under the wooden structure of La Guinguette Chez Edmund, with a backdrop of the Osisko Lake, Grand Eugene’s sound; Drugdealer mixed with old Andy Shauf and hint disco drab ala Gab Bouchard was exactly what we all needed.

As the sun peaked out of the clouds to say “hi,” we were welcomed to a vacation from ourselves, a vocational summer, the bass—my god the bass, the tones, the wash of synthy majesty, just pure delight. Their new album is aptly named, Les vacances d’​é​té, be sure to take off the time from the daily grind and check it out.

And we’re back! The PAN M 360 team is crisscrossing the entire FME 2024 program, picking up as many artists as possible during this 22nd edition in the beautiful Rouyn-Noranda. Continuing into day 2 we have coverage of Maryze, Amery, Feeling Figures, Alix Fernz, and Allô Fantôme.

Allô Fantôme: Artsy baroque pop and a side of tacos

by Stephan Boissonneault

The tunes of Allô Fantôme, the super project of songwriter Samuel Gendron, feel like they were plucked out of the ’70s, along with bands like Procol Harum and The Moody Blues. Leading a seven-piece band of electric and 12-string guitar, flute, bass, synths, and a steady drum section, Gendron commanded the room with his prophetic voice, singing about fear, love, and balloon animals. This maximalist approach to rock was perfect after a delicious offering of tacos, courtesy of label cuties, bonbonbon, for the five-year anniversary. Gendron’s skills on the keyboard are captivating to watch and his band, we must give a shout-out to the bassist for holding it all down, is tight as sin. The whole performance felt like staring at an abstract painting and finding the next part to change your life.

Melodrama and Mystique

by Lyle Hendriks

For my first show of Friday evening at FME, we had Maryze, a solo act from Montreal who pulls inspiration from the likes of pop’s heaviest hitters while bringing a unique boudoir intimacy to her anthemic tracks. Maryze played for a relatively tame crowd in a cocktail bar that would have been dusky if it had only been after dusk.

For a solo performer who, as she puts it, is basically reading from her diary, this early evening show could have been an intimidating setting for her performance, making it hard to bring (and keep) the energy. But fortunately, Maryze didn’t have this trouble at all. She covered a lot of sonic and emotional ground in her set, and sang her ass off for the entirety. Whether it’s huge pop songs that would be at home in the church of Lady Gaga, dirty club tracks about tongues, a romantic (and devastatingly sad) ballad with just her voice and the piano, or even a full, 4-minute acapella rendition of “La Vie en Rose” as she sat on the bar, Maryze was a pleasure to watch. Her voice is unbelievable, soaring over her backing music and giving me goosebumps as she draws us closer and closer. We might as well start booking Maryze for stadiums—she’s already playing like she’s in one.

Alix Chaos Fernz Incarnate

by Stephan Boissonneault

One aspect that has perhaps been somewhat lacking in the music scene is chaos, pure unbridled chaos that the great poets will try to lament. But on Friday night at Le Paramount, the town of Rouyn-Noranda was witness to that chaos in the form of Alix Fernz, the young, yet dynamic post-punk meets everything synth stooge who has been on a steady incline before the release of his debut album, Bizou. Wearing half of a shirt and showing off his canopy of tattoos, Alix launched into the whirlwind, stuffing his microphone in the back of his throat and at one point, almost choking himself out with the cable. It’s dangerous fun and most of the crowd loved it. A few had no idea what they had just walked into and probably felt like they were in the thickened haze of a preternatural trip. The Alix Fernz project is definitely best served with a full band; buzzing flying-v lead guitar, a prog-gasmic bass section, heavy drums, and jammy interludes that felt like Wire on speed. Safe to say, we can’t wait for the follow-up to Bizou and all its splendour.

Amery — Soft Rock Sweethearts

by Lyle Hendriks

I’m pleased to announce that the sunshine, falling-in-love-for-the-first-time vibes of Amery are absolutely apparent in her live performance. While some music in this niche treads into the territory of being annoyingly cheerful, Amery and her band completely sidestep this issue thanks to an overwhelming sense of genuine joy behind their music. Soft, sensitive, and sweet, the band draws us in with a lower-than-average volume and a subdued energy that only entices us.

The band feels somehow both tight and loose, ebbing and flowing with one another as we’re led through the emotional centre of each song. Amery herself is a pleasure to watch, with a huge smile on her face and relentless dancing that you can’t help but love. Her music makes you want to hold a puppy or go on a bike ride to nowhere, and every lyric comes to us like someone admitting a playground crush. By the end of the set, she’d won the room over handily, shredding a cover of Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff”, much to the delight of a few dad-aged dudes who got to tearing it up on the dancefloor. If you get the chance to see Amery perform, make sure you’re ready to leave in a good mood.

Feeling Figures or Mysticism with Teeth

by Stephan Boissonneault

Maybe it was the cocktail of substances and Sapporo’s I had partaken, or maybe it was just something clinging to the air at FME, but I could not for the life of me get the concept of ego death out of my mind while watching Montreal’s Feeling Figures. Their set, a sporadic dose of twee-shoegaze pop and heavy guitar noise, backed by a rounded-out rhythm section who lead the band down a few grooving rabbit holes, felt at times like an unrelenting dream, one you never wanted to end. The dual vocals from Zakary Slax and Kay Moon, while each slaying on their respective axes, was a back and worth of noisy harmony that brought to mind some of the no-wave madness of ZE Records days. Back to ego death, the feeling of ultimate surrender and loss of the senses (a calming feeling, I know), The Figs took us on a psychic journey, one where you had to float around the walls of catharsis. A spiritual journey fit for FME.

photos by Stephan Boissonneault & Jacob Zweig