Montreal

Cumbia / latino / Ranchera

Nuits d’Afrique 2026 | Somos Más: A Celebration of Memory, Community, and Resistance

by Juliana Cortes

Thursday, July 16, the musical collective Somos Más filled the Scène Loto-Québec at the Festival International Nuits d’Afrique. One by one, each woman took the stage, performing body percussion and harmonizing their voices. Singers from Peru, Chile, Bolivia, the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Brazil, and Morocco shared their talent, and we had no idea what was coming next.

They performed songs spanning a variety of musical genres, including rancheras, cumbias, festejo, and Chilean and Bolivian folk music. Some were original compositions by members of the group, while others were songs that many Latin Americans would recognize from their childhood. For me, these genres were the soundtrack to parties, road trips, family reunions, and the most important ritual in my family, which took place every weekend: cleaning. Somos Más transported me back to these everyday moments that, now that I live so far from home, have become cherished memories.

Photo Credit: Ivan Arturo Escobar M

I was deeply moved to witness these women, who all, for different reasons, ended up in Montreal and created this beautiful project together. They reminded me that, even though Latin America is a vast and diverse region, we can still connect by recognizing ourselves in one another’s realities.

Somos Más offered an intimate performance. We could see the complicity, sisterhood, vulnerability, and solidarity they spoke about in their interview. Whenever one member stepped into the spotlight, the others supported her with their voices and instruments, but I could also see how proud they were of whoever was leading or performing a solo. The percussionist, who recently joined the group and is of Moroccan origin, captivated me with her talent and remarkable versatility as she effortlessly followed the group’s exploration of multiple musical traditions.

Photo Credit: Ivan Arturo Escobar M

As the performance unfolded, I never knew what to expect. I felt a comforting warmth, as though I were at a house party with my closest friends, alongside deep admiration for each artist’s authenticity and a sense of wonder with every surprise they brought to the stage.

Somos Más collaborated with dancers Carmen and Paula from Girovago Productions, who accompanied the group with cumbia and contemporary dance before leading an interactive moment that invited the audience to dance as well. The dancers’ graceful movements and warm presence helped us connect even more deeply with the music of Somos Más. The group also collaborated with Centro Cultural Kusiy, whose performers presented the Bolivian dances saya and tinku. Stomping their feet in rhythmic unison, the Kusiy dancers grounded the music, connecting it to the earth and to the Indigenous roots of Latin America.

Photo Credit: Ivan Arturo Escobar M

For the finale, all of the dancers joined Somos Más to perform a medley of three beloved Latin American songs: Cariñito, Canción y Huayno, and Adiós Pueblo de Ayacucho, with part of the lyrics sung in Quechua. One of the Kusiy dancers moved across the stage carrying the Wiphala flag, a symbol representing the Indigenous nations of the Andean region. It was a powerful closing, bringing together musicians, dancers, and singers in a celebration of Indigenous peoples, whose cultures are essential not only to Latin American history but also to the very DNA of its present-day identity.

I experienced this performance as an invitation to embrace these connections. Whether through a shared love of music or a shared connection to Latin America, we can lean into one another through solidarity, community, and art.

Photo Credit: Ivan Arturo

Publicité panam
Brazilian / Indigenous peoples

Nuits d’Afrique 2026 | Suraras dos Tapajós: Connecting Us to the Amazon Forest Through Music

by Juliana Cortes

For the 40th anniversary of the Festival Nuits d’Afrique, the organisers decided to dedicate the 7 p.m. show to female artists. This year, the series opened with Suraras dos Tapajós, an Indigenous women’s musical group from the Pará region of Brazil. Having this group perform was quite a privilege for Montrealers. It is not every day that we get to connect with traditional music from the Amazon, a region that many of us have never visited. Yet we recognize it as one of the most important tropical forests on the planet, now under imminent threat from deforestation, with serious consequences for Indigenous communities, biodiversity, and the global climate.

The group entered the stage wearing their traditional garments and headpieces. One of the members was playing a small ceramic wind instrument called an “ocarina,” which mimics the sounds of birds. As each woman took her place and picked up her instrument, I could only think about what this concert would be like in their territory, surrounded by the forest. Each member performed with her whole being. Their music carried their ancestry and their commitment to defending Indigenous women’s rights and territory. The group quickly created an atmosphere of celebration. They invited the audience to form a roda, or dancing circle, where people could enter the middle and dance with one another. The Brazilian community was full of joy, recognizing one another in the dance, hugging each other, and connecting.

In the middle of their performance, the sky became cloudy and the atmosphere grew quite windy. Earlier that day, we could barely see the sun because of the smoke generated by the wildfires  Quebec, and Ontario. Suraras dos Tapajós’ concert was canceled because of the risk of lightning. Rain began to fall, bringing relief from the heat while leaving us disappointed that we could not watch the entire concert. As this sudden sequence of events unfolded, I returned to the Amazon I had been imagining. Every summer, wildfires seem to become more present here in Canada, sadly affecting Indigenous communities in Canada. Like the communities in the Amazon confronting environmental devastation, many Indigenous nations in Canada are also disproportionately affected by increasingly severe wildfires, facing evacuations, threats to their territories, and disruptions to cultural and everyday life. At that moment, the distance between the Amazon and Canada felt much smaller.

Fortunately, the next day Suraras dos Tapajós led a workshop where they shared that the group emerged from a community organization. The musical group is its major project; however, they also have bio-economic projects and textile production. The group specializes in carimbó, the principal cultural manifestation of the region—an ancestral dance centred around the drum of the same name that blends Indigenous and African traditions. Practiced in a circle that brings together musicians and community members, carimbó helps keep culture alive through songs about everyday life, nature, and spirituality.

The group was able to perform again, this time on the ground, where the distance between stage and audience disappeared, leaving only a shared circle of music and movement. We all formed a circle and were invited to join the roda, wear their skirts, and dance together as one of the members guided us. I appreciated having this more intimate moment with the group because it allowed us to connect more directly and experience this tradition more closely. I only wished there had been more time to talk about what is happening in their territory, how we could amplify their commitment to protecting the Amazon forest, and how their struggles resonate with what is happening here in Canada. As the wildfires continue to remind us that forests in Canada are also under threat, I hope there will be more opportunities to build these connections, because they are where understanding—and action—begins.

Photo Credit: André Rival

Publicité panam
danse / Poetry

Entering Myth’s Speakeasy

by Juliana Cortes

Triumphant, elegant, and poised, Myth sits on a divan, looking at the audience one by one as we enter the room with her piercing eyes. She appears comfortable, yet ready. The set-up feels mysterious, creating a sense of exclusivity that only a select few can access. The setting and her clothing clearly allude to the speakeasy era. In this underground basement party scene, people could drink, make music, and forget, or perhaps transmute, what was happening outside in the world. My first reaction was to enter the space carefully, to witness with full attention what was about to happen on stage. Myth slowly stands up, looks at the audience, and with her breath takes over the space. In silence, we see her move between total engagement and ease. The articulation of her movements immediately moved me; I could feel the strength required to remain fully connected to breath and body.

Myth honors Montreal’s dance and music scene, particularly the way jazz and house exist as both past and present, feeding each other. This is illustrated by the presence of Samantha “Sam I Am” Hinds with her singing and DJing, and Jason “Blackbird” Selman through poetry and trumpet. The three artists enter a conversation that moves between poetry, singing, movement, beats, and trumpet. Their exchange is seamless, with each artist having moments to shine. As a spectator, I felt drawn into the performance from my seat, instinctively bouncing my head to the rhythm. Myth’s body becomes a catalyst within the scene; her performance takes us into her inner world. We learn about her journey as a dancer who does not simply want to perform for entertainment, but to convey a message. It was difficult for me to hold back my tears as I understood that Myth was reminding us that when life is hard, dance can be the medicine that carries her—and many of us—through life’s ups and downs. I recognized the sacredness of dance and how, for me, it has become a way to know myself better, to make sense of my own roots, and to begin building a reality that encompasses all the pieces of who I am.

Speakeasy is also an homage to the Montreal dance scene: “a city she loves, but that does not always love her back,” a city that is far from easy to navigate or fully inclusive. The speakeasy theme made me think about how street and underground dance styles still do not have the place they deserve. Yet they continue to grow, evolve, and welcome people who are searching for a home. Sometimes these dances receive a spotlight that is difficult to share with everyone. However, dance is always happening—in church basements, community centres, schools, homes, family gatherings, and on the streets—as one of the poems suggests. As someone who is still searching for her place in this community, I found myself reflecting on the spaces where I have danced and the people who have made those spaces feel like home.

As a dancer, all I can say is thank you, Myth. Thank you for taking us into your inner world, for sharing your strength, and for being honest about the challenges that come with making art. The message felt clear: we no longer have to “speak easy.” We must be loud, take space, and create a reality where our histories and identities are fully welcomed.

Photo Credit: Renata Carmo

Africa / Electronic

FLUX | Singeli: Tanzania’s Future-Sound is Here

by Loic Minty

Sisso & Maiko put on a show at the S.A.T. like nothing we’ve ever seen before in electronic music. Originators of the new Singeli sound, the Tanzanian producers have not only invented an entirely new genre, but a new way of experiencing electronic music- at least here in North America. Its novelty is comparable to Baile Funk’s, but Singeli is even more culturally remote, forming its own insular world of sound. Supported by the Ugandan experimental music label Nyege Nyege, Sisso & Maiko epitomize this new wave of music that breaks ties with previous stereotypes of music coming out of Africa. Their sound is a technological embodiment of dance itself, where the body is the final instrument in a chain of digital creation.

At first listen, the rhythms may sound overwhelming, repetitive, but that’s the point, and over time, this impression wears off leaving in its place an ecstatic joy. Through dance, the body melts into the odd geometry of Mchiriku inspired rhythms, the ears tame the percussive sirens of vintage casio keyboards as a kind of cartoonish embellishment. Singeli sound is rich, but also unserious. After 2 songs we were hooked, not just by the uniqueness of the sound, but by the showmanship which gradually converted the initially dazzled crowd into fans.

Whether being blindfolded, playing the keyboard with their feet, or taking their shirts off and dancing a Chura through the crowd, Sisso & Maiko did not hold back one bit when it came to having fun. It was contagious. They could have played all night and we wouldn’t have noticed time go by. And as we danced, jumped, and ran from side to side, our fatigue was transcended. I recalled in my research the origin of Singeli sound which was in the Kigodoro parties, Kigodoro meaning “small foam mattress”, as dancers would collapse after sleepless nights of dancing. If the show hadn’t been stopped at 1am, it is easy to imagine how even a piece of cardboard would have seemed comfortable at 7am.

Dance-Pop / Electro

Palomosa I Fcukers Is Cool for Cool’s Sake

by Lyle Hendriks

There’s something to be said for music that makes you feel hot. When the right combination of saucy bass, club floor drums, and breathy vocals comes together, you can almost shut your eyes and pretend you’ve been admitted to Berghain or have found your way into New York’s most exclusive speakeasy. 

Such is the case for NYC electronic band Fcukers, who, despite having meteoric success that can only be the result of intense musical nepotism, also deserve every packed dancefloor they play. The band, fronted by vocalist Shannon Wise and now playing as a four-piece with live drums, bass, and scratch-record backing, opened their Palomosa set with the modern classic “Homie Don’t Shake,” which elicited a raucous cheer from the steadily growing sunset crowd. 

While I was initially set on being near the front for this show, my friends and I were soon sent to the back thanks to a truly horrible stage mix. But once we were a little closer to the board and could hear something other than eardrum-crushing kick drum, it was a joy, as always, to watch this sleazy, slinky group strut across the stage. Though their catalogue hasn’t changed much since I discovered them at Osheaga last year, it was hard not to dance anyway to tracks like “Bon Bon,” “Tommy,” and the newly released “Play Me.” Frankly, each of these songs is a vapid, drug-addled ode to nothing, but the raw energy and undeniable cool factor of Fcukers means they’ll continue to be one of my first choices when I secure the aux at a party.

Electro-Pop / Electro-Punk / Electronic / indie

Palomosa I The Hellp is Indie Sleeze Incarnate

by Stephan Boissonneault

The Hellp, a Los Angeles electro hyperpunk duo made up of Noah Dillon and Chandler Lucy, dressed in tight leather jackets, short-long, greasy hair and Oakley shades, looked like they were about to front a sleazy Oasis or a Julian Casablancas tribute as they pranced onto the main Fizz Stage. Although one of them manned the synth and sampler while sporting a Blink 182 T-shirt while the other leaned on the microphone stand and twisted a few nobs on his vocal effects pedal, letting out a chaotic “WOOOO.”

The Hellp’s stage presence was one of indie sleeze indifference, like they were too cool to be there, and it works for them. As they lay into some hazy hyper pop punk (kind of in the same vein as Suicide, but from Gen Z), the crowd loses their collective shit. I loved how Lucy consistently popped cigarettes into his mouth while messing with the sampler and forgetting to light it. They only played for an hour, but he must have smoked three, as the clouds of smoke dissipated under the fog machines. The one song I recognized was “Colorado,” an absolute catchy banger live with its slacker rock guitar sample, and they played it half way.

Later on in the set, they dove into a newer one, which I believe was called “Riviera” (noted by the orange backdrop and the word in Helvetica) twice. The first time apparently was off time, and Dillon wasn’t going to have that. I have a friend who loves The Hellp and plays the latest album, LL, quite frequently, and it’s good, but until seeing them live, I never really understood the main appeal. Now I can say I, too, am “feeling Colorado.”

Electro / Electro-Pop / Electronic

Palomosa I MGNA Crrrta Pops Open the Main Stage

by Stephan Boissonneault

We were transported to the wacky years of the 2010s as MGNA Crrrta, a trashy electro girl dance pop duo from New York, took the stage to open the main Fizz Stage at Palomosa. The sound person was having a bit of trouble with the mix as the vocals were extremely quiet, competing with a wall of inexplicable bass. This went on for half of the set. But both singers/ DJs, Farheen Khan and Ginger Scott, didn’t seem phased as they blasted on through as song like “I.C.F.U.H,” an acronym that appeared multiple times on the visual backdrop. Listening to the lyrics, you deciper that it stands for “I Can Fuck You Hard,” which also happens to be the name of the duos website.

This trashy and sleazy energy permeated through MGNA Crrrta’s set and the visuals, sporadic epilepsy-inducing flashes of gaudy mansions or the duo smoking weed on bridges, matched the tone. For my personal taste, many of the songs were pretty one-note, but they had a lot of energy and, for the last few songs, bubble guns. They were a fine opener to Palomoa’s main stage shenanigans.

Electronic / Techno

Late-Night Warehouse Ambiance for Juan Atkins All-Nighter at the SAT

by Julius Cesaratto

Techno’s godfather, Juan Atkins—one half of the pioneering duo Cybotron—took to the Société des Arts Technologiques to deliver an unmissable performance for techno purists. Celebrated as a founding force behind the sound born out of 1980s Detroit, Atkins gracefully delivered a classic techno set full of his signature melodies, distorted robotic vocals, and unmistakable use of the Roland TR-909—the drum machine that laid the foundation for techno itself.

He began the night slowly, layering mechanical sounds that gradually built in intensity—playing with frequencies as the dance floor warmed up. The SAT’s raw concrete pillars rose above the crowd like the skeletal remnants of a disused factory, a fitting backdrop for the industrial pulse of Atkins’ sound—at times harsh, yet always melodic.

Just blink, and you might find yourself suddenly transported to a pulsating Motor City warehouse in the early morning hours.

As the saturation of sound gave way and the lights flickered in deep shades of green, minimalist drum kicks gave way to the groovy, synth-laced melodies that have defined Atkins’ illustrious career as a producer and DJ. The multi-generational crowd of ravers in attendance was taken on a true sonic voyage—Atkins weaving his techno-futurist sound together with synths and bouncing funk basslines, a nod to his early influences.

Leaning on more than 40 years as a selector, he turned up the BPM, blending a rich array of styles—from early synth music to Italo-disco—without ever losing the core of his sound. The apex of the night came when he dropped Giorgio Moroder’s “Chase”, drawing cheers from the crowd. A brief flash of nostalgia, it lent itself perfectly to the groove of the night, echoing the roots of techno without ever feeling retro.

As a parting gift to the dancefloor, Atkins closed his two-hour set with a tasteful sprinkle of jungle—a fast-paced closer that left the crowd wanting more.

The sounds were industrial yet melodic; the layering of drums, bass, and synths was funky, seamless, and impeccably timed. A true artist behind the decks.

Publicité panam

Ambient / Experimental Techno / House / Techno

Friday night at the Dômesicle – All night long with Jump Source

by Rédaction PAN M 360

Vibrant and tireless—Jump Source, Montréal-based duo composed by Priori and Patrick Holland, don’t fail to keep the night on the beat and the dome with jumping feet—a five-hour uplifting set from techno, house to experimental and ambient, with a scent of ethereal and nostalgia at times.

Seemingly mechanical, the blend with organic states and grooves oozes this satisfaction and fluidity on the dance floor, morphing ambiance into atmosphere, sensorial into emotion. As captivating as it is, the duo certainly knows the art of keeping it going—grow, suspend, tension, release—like waves forming and breaking, one after another. A Jump Source set feels like going on a ride into multiple directions, through multiple landscapes, without ever losing the north nor the reason why we went for it in the first place—they can effortlessly carry us through the night in a consistent beat, not too fast, not too slow; the turns are smooth and tasty, we resurface to catch some breath and go back down to the pacing bass lines. It’s all about sculpting momentum on the dance floor, all night long.

Apart from their prolific solo projects, Francis Latreille and Patrick Holland have been collaborating as a duo for almost a decade, both in the studio as producers and in the club behind the decks, having recently released their sixth EP in April this year.

The collective Mostly Noise and Jonahvision guided our journey in the sweaty-sauna-like dome in immersive trippy visuals and virtual spaces, resonating the groovy aesthetics proposed by Priori and Holland on the decks.


Jazz

FIJM 2025 | King Makaya triumphs again

by Frédéric Cardin

A total, irrepressible intensity, a strength of character that imposes its vision, leaving the acolytes to support (brilliantly, of course), never to deflect, the king in his musical velléités. This is a concert by drummer Makaya McCraven, a modern icon of jazz drumming. The propulsive power of this American is quite simply remarkable, and his genius for form, rhythmic metamorphosis and overall discourse is awe-inspiring. But that’s nothing new. Our colleague Alain Brunet, who was also present at the event, remarked that it resembled last year’s show. It’s been three years since McCraven released an album. To quote Alain: “Makaya, it’s really great, but we’re due for a new album.” Which will apparently be the case in September. By the way, in the last ten minutes or so, wasn’t that new material we were hearing? Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because I’d missed last year’s perfomance, which kept my listening a little “fresher.” And anyway, such an expressive personality can sustain repetition, so visceral and superior is it.

A rhythmic sax, sometimes atmospheric, never lyrical, a colorful vibraphone, a voluble but respectful bass. It’s what surrounds the master without taking up space. That’s the way it is, and we like it.

The opening act, Theon Cross (Sons of Kemet), brought the Club Soda to its feet with a plump, remarkably swift tuba groove. This guy is an amazing virtuoso. The depth of sound of this instrument doesn’t usually make it easy to understand what’s going on, but Cross apparently achieves the impossible, and does so by twirling more notes than would be humanly possible. A new album is due in July, very soon indeed. You won’t want to miss it.

Africa / dance

C la vie: The never-ending drum dance to close out FTA

by Stephan Boissonneault

For 30 unbroken minutes, the Théâtre de Verdure in Parc La Fontaine is a living organism. Its heartbeat is driven by skin on skin—hands pounding hide, feet striking earth. C la vie, performed by a riveting dance troupe from the legendary Faso Danse Théâtre in Belgium, is less a performance than a force of nature: a nonstop barrage of rhythm, movement, and human will. The dancers emerge in a vortex of motion, seemingly born from the very thrum of the live drummer that propel them. There are no formal entrances, no moments of reset or stillness. Instead, the performance unfolds as a single, surging breath—expanding, contracting, trembling with exertion. The stamina on display is staggering. Each performer commits with a ferocity that borders on trance, their bodies locked in a choreography that demands unrelenting dexterity.

Movements loop, fracture, then evolve—shoulders rotating in sharp bursts, hips swinging in precise arcs, knees pumping like pistons. And somehow, none of it falters. Moments of song emerge like flares in the darkness—raw, resonant cries that slice through the polyrhythmic onslaught. These brief vocal eruptions, sometimes solo, sometimes choral, hint at a deeper narrative, one that’s intentionally fragmented. There are whispers of ritual, defiance, longing, joy. A woman in a golden dress, Niako Sacko, cracked with emotion, rises above the rhythm with a soaring and sometimes malignant vocie, as another dancer collapses to her knees. She seems to be in control of the dancers, who slowly strip their clothing dripped in sweat.

Devloped by Serge Aimé Coulibaly, a Burkinabe choreographer and towering figure of African performing arts, C la vie “draws on Wara and Senufo traditions along with Western carnivals,” and an insatiable lust for life. The performance, which has only seconds of reprieve between dances was a bit too much for some in the audience. Perhaps they needed an easy to digest story, but C la vie demands that the audience feel the ache in the dancers’ calves, the burn in their lungs, the iron grip of discipline beneath every fluid spiral. It’s exhausting to witness—and that’s precisely the point. An interesting way to close out the FTA.

Contemporary Jazz / Electroacoustic / Électronique / Experimental / Contemporary / Instrumental Hip Hop

African American Sound Recordings at SAT : Noise Floor

by Loic Minty

In a world of untraceable movements, this liquid form of music is barely contained by the term “experimental.” A post hip hop posts it exists only here and now, where hip hop has become more what is felt than what is heard. 

And yet it is still everything that has made it, only noisier and further away, like a signal passing through old wires. African American Sound Recordings seems to look from above at this infinite network and finds the subtle voices, like Morpheus looking through the matrix for the human heart. “Where is that noise coming from?” After 20 minutes you start forgetting, after 30 minutes it has sucked you in, and after 45 minutes you are now a part of it.

Dismantling all expectations, A.A.S.R. sculpted a form beyond music, an anthropology to black culture: from punk, to 70’s soul, to a saxophone screeching like it was cursed by the Pharoah himself. There is an authenticity and an originality in his approach that seems to have been the common thread of this evening.

Slow Pitch Sound’s turntablist approach sent the crowd into a twilight zone. Mixing like he was on a cosmic trip with Lee Scratch Perry in Studio One, his chop and screw approach reminisced of classic scratching acts such as DJ Screw, while at the same time completely renewing it in his choice of samples. Finding loops in accidental sounds, Slow Pitch Sound crafted his rhythms on the spot and had the crowd hanging on his every move. The forgotten art of turntabling showed its untapped potential as an instrument and, combined with digital tools, built a warm and distinct sound made into art by the graceful mastery of his tools.

But the most unexpected surprise of the night was Dumb Chamber’s debut performance, as he showed Montreal the shape of electronic music to come. Always bringing you somewhere new, the dense patchwork of sequences teased rhythm and built up in swells of emotive orchestrations. Somewhere between Luc Ferrari, Dean Blunt, and Oneohtrix Point Never’s “Replica”, his sound was distinguished by a soothing mix of field recordings and sensitive melodies borrowing from classical orchestration. 

Dumb Chamber had a big smile on his face as he effortlessly moved between genres; even his twist at classic house held a distinctive style, as noises uttered counter-rhythms in the background. The crowd, which could have been a Ssense staff party, may not have been as warmed up for dancing, but there was the feeling of deep listening and appreciation for the passionately researched sound experiments we were witnessing.

It was one of those experiences where you walk out not quite feeling the same as you walked in. Maybe it was the wall of low frequencies that got into your bones, maybe it was from sitting on the cold concrete, but it felt like a new space opened in imagining music as a performance that I look forward to exploring.

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