When: 27 August – 1 September 2025
Where: Rouyn Noranda, Quebec, Canada
“Don’t tell me they’ve got a f***ing mamba problem here too,” I mutter to myself as a cloud of smoke hits my face getting out the taxi to L’Escogriffe Bar in downtown Montreal. But hang on, it doesn’t smell like a Fray Bentos can of nausea, it smells…not too bad and everyone is smoking it, because, wait a minute….cannabis is legal in Canada. Ohhhhhh yeah. It is with this recuperated knowledge that I enter tonight’s FME preview show feeling like a character from The Inbetweeners; if I’d brought an actual briefcase with me, at least it might have passed for a hipster quirk.
Presumably a portion of the festival’s attendees live in or have travelled to Montreal and, like me, will fly to the small ex-mining town of Rouyn Noranda tomorrow for the festival proper, as well as two out of three of the artists who will play at L’Esco tonight. After a day of travel I don’t have it in me to stay until closing (1 AM) but I do manage to catch the Marseille-based, garage-punk outfit La Flemme, who are fizzing with the kind of energy that only a band in their twenties with nothing to lose and everything to gain can bring. They swing between the kind of anarchic pop-punk of Joe and the Shitboys, and Australian lo-fi synth punk duo Gee Tee and later move into bittersweet melodic soft-rock similar to bands like Slow Pulp and Soccer Mommy. Live, they give it their all, expertly organising circle pits and walls of death like punk-rock trade union representatives. Thankfully, it leaves me with enough of a buzz to handle a 20 minute conversation with the Uber driver about French nationalism in language on the way back to the hotel.
It’s a bumpy landing at the tiny airport of Rouyn Noranda, and the small plane appears to be full of journalists from across the region. I swill the thought of catastrophe headlines around in my head; “Indie Journalists Achieve True Underground Status in Plane Wreck”, it would, at least, boost the festival’s name and the vultures at Noisey would probably get a documentary out of it. Not today though, we land safely and after brief refreshments make it in time for the main stage opening. The festival takes place across a number of venues but four of them are inside this area. For the first hour or so the festival organisers generously celebrate the opening with a complimentary hog roast for anyone who’s around at that time. A pop idol type called Billie Du Page takes to the stage. Moving with carefully rehearsed dance moves practised in the bedroom mirror (that’s not a criticism, we all have to start somewhere), she presents a confident and determined appearance. Most of the song lyrics are in French. I heard two which were a combination of French and English, one of them also happens to be her catchiest number: ‘Fake Friends‘. Pop aficionado or not, there’s no denying that this one sticks like glue to your auditory cortex which is, after all, the job of good pop music.
Photos from top left: Billie Du Page & festival hog roast – Louis Jalbert, La Flemme – Thomas Dufresne, Rouyn Noranda – Louis Jalbert.
Having been warned in advance that temperatures in Rouyn Noranda have dropped to below zero during previous summers, I still wasn’t prepared for the crisp bite of Canadian country air. It’s at least ten degrees cooler here than in Montreal, so I go in search of some warmth and stumble upon another venue, the Cabaret De La Dernière Chance. This is one of the more familiar-feeling venues to those who are used to seeing bands in dive bars. It’s essentially a big house, with a bar inside and a small stage towards the back. It is “intimate” and when it’s packed it’s difficult to worm past anyone without outright barging them. It is, however, very warm, and it feels like the place where the “cool kids” hang out. An electro-punk outfit from Montreal called Crasher are currently ordering the crowd’s attention. Singer, Airick Asher Woodhead, looks like a dishevelled astronaut in a brown jumpsuit with a waft of curly hair flipping back and forth over his face. His previous project was the sample-heavy Doldrums and whilst Crasher is still in the electronic vein, this project feels like there’s catharsis being released through every spacey synth chord and vocal stretch.
Emerging from the darkness appear a couple of neon glowing tracksuits; the lights are deliberately dropped so all we can see are glow in the dark Kappa emblems and glowing white fishnet tights on both arms and legs. This is UTO who for some reason have decided to give themselves a name dangerously close to UTI. They make immediate impact with heavy bass drops and synthetic ooohs a’la Grimes. During their first song they both loom forwards moving in unison, stood closely together it looks oddly menacing as though cybergoths were not the product of but were the bullies in school. As the set progresses amongst various outfit changes, one involving a long cloak and the other half of the duo crouched on the floor in devastation, it’s clear this is part musical project part performance art. The set ends with the pair glitching out like malfunctioning robots and collapsing into foetal positions on the floor. If I were to fill in the blanks, I’d wager it’s a couple of art school kids who bonded over a youth spent listening to Skrillex, discovered the work of Marina Abramovich, refined their tastes listening to Pictureplane and well…here we all are enjoying the moment.
Bibi Club, is a band with a sensible, searchable name. Another duo who are able to fill the stage at La Dernière Chance with just keyboard, guitar and a drum machine, and boy do they fill it. After having listened to a couple of songs beforehand, they are a prime example of a band you simply must see live before casting judgement. Firstly, if you’ve never been in love and you want to know what that looks like then go see how guitarist, Nicolas Basque, looks at his bandmate and partner (they really are a couple), Adèle Trottier-Rivard. If you think you’re in love or have been before, then go see Bibi Club to check you really know what that looks like. Every song is gorgeously textured, with Trottier-Rivard locked into her keys and effects, offering tender, pitch-perfect vocals in accompaniment. Basque is more free to move handling lead guitar, and makes his way in and out of the audience, hands frantically dotting around his fretboard as he solos his way through the sea of faces. Comparisons to Stereolab are apt but with more urgency and fire.
In this sense, FME (Festival D’ Émergente Musique) does what it says on the tin, it showcases emerging music and it doesn’t do this by halves. The rich array of artists on display here make this the perfect festival for both music lovers and A&R people searching for the next big thing.
Back within the official compound of the main stage, Virginie B is at Scène Fizz which is a small outdoor stage to the left of the main stage. A handful of super-fans line the front row, as Ms B sings into one of their phone cameras, the owner turns to her friend and they both start screaming manically. Dressed in what can only be described as alien-fetish aluminium knight’s armour, (at one point she brandishes a papier-mâché sword), we’re in for some conceptual hyperpop. Sounding a bit like an act who were considered for 1990’s space-age anime Cowboy Bebop‘s soundtrack before they settled on suave over kooky; Virginie B straddles nu-jazz, funk and pop like a slut drop over a black hole.
Photos from left: Bibi Club – Dominic Mc Graw, Virginie B – Louis Jalbert, UTO – Dominic Mc Graw.
Discovering venue number three in the central area takes a moment until the sound of thumping bass drifts towards Scène Fizz and I head in that general direction. It transpires there is actually an entire indoor theatre to the right of the outdoor main stage. It’s pretty massive but somehow looks completely innocuous from the outside. Montreal indie-post-punkers, We Are Wolves, are responsible for the ruckus. They look like a motley crew of overgrown teenagers about to go trick or treating – Pierre-Luc Bégin (drummer/vocalist) is dressed in Rocky Horror fetish wear, meanwhile Alexander Ortiz (vocalist/bassist) looks like a Cultural Studies Professor in a paisley patterned cape and tea-cosy hat. They were a band very much of the early noughties and that still resonates, with echoes of LCD Soundsystem and bands like The Young Knives bearing similarities.
The basement underneath the theatre is the last point of the night for stop-outs, and it’s worth stopping out because Brooklyn band Mary Shelley are playing here. Collectively dressed in hospital gowns, they bust out their signature dark, angular brand of post-punk. Running into technical problems early on (a wire becomes disconnected from a pedal board which as any guitarist knows, messes up the entire shebang), it takes a bit longer than is comfortable to fix but they work through it with a professionalism that belies their age. Sophistication oozes from singer Jackson Dockery, to the point where a Patrick Bateman check might be needed. He spits out the chorus to ‘Bourgeois de Ville’ with as much blue-collar gusto as an NYU graduate feasibly can. ‘The Nursing Home Jig’ displays guitarist, Taylor Yancey’s, excellent voice which is frankly wasted on post-punk. She lends this song a proper country twang and it’s clear that this is her real calling. I will await a solo project on Saddle Creek.
Even at night, the atmosphere at the festival is safe and friendly. A lone female attendee such as myself can move from venue to venue and be safe here. It is a small town which makes that easier, but the local people are also very aware of the festival and involved to a degree. Walking through the town you can see FME signs outside many of the independent businesses; you won’t need to explain you’re here for a festival, they’ll already know. The first few hours of the main stage area are open to non-ticketholders so there’s a lot of families who stop by. There are also events in the day such as a block party which they host outside with a local dance troupe and some DJs. The radio station Sirius XFM appear to be sponsors and are broadcasting from one of the venues all weekend. A large metal FME sign sits in the foreground of the town’s focal feature: a beautiful clear blue lake. The only people who probably dread the annual bonhomie are the staff working at Morasses, the 24 hour poutine place, who take the hardest hit in terms of catering to end of the night revellers, myself included.
Over the next couple of days the weather begins to warm. I watch a collab set between two Montreal-based rock bands Yoo Doo Right and Population II, who are performing in a carved out amphitheatre, next to the lake at sundown, the red sky offsetting seven minute explorations in free-jazz and psych rock. This is one of the festival’s secret gig locations; there are at least another three I can testify to and there may be more. As far as I can tell, word of mouth is the only way of hearing about these, otherwise it’s just a matter of stumbling across them by luck.
Photos from top left: Block Party – William B. Daigle, Mary Shelley – Darryll Magboo (@dare.maker), Population II & Yoo Doo Right (aka: Yoo II) – Thomas Dufresne.
This is how I come upon the new-wave, electronic trio, Baby Berserk who play three times over the course of the festival. It’s in the parking lot outside the poutine place where I finally manage to see them and it’s hard to imagine a more apt location as they rip and tear through their back catalogue of eighties inspired acid-techno like feral children wild in the streets. Vocalist, Lieselot Elzinga, looks like a demonic Cyndi Lauper in a birthday-cake pink, puffball dress. Throughout the set, she proceeds to climb up a lamppost and a shipping container, all the while commanding rapturous attention from stragglers (I’m stood next to a stoned 70+ year old couple who are bopping away) and festival goers in-the-know. Most people stood witness agree that this charismatic chaos is one of the highlights of the weekend.
Curling, the national sport of janitors, is a big deal in Canada, and the local curling club have leant their venue out to the festival which is where the all-female punk band Bad Waitress are playing. Kali-Ann Butala (vocalist and guitarist) looks like the prodigal child of L7, classic black leather jacket and a face that warns you well in advance that she’s already sick of your shit. It’s a medium-sized venue and they don’t have the audience size they deserve tonight, but that’s okay because those who do turn up for them are all in. Whilst the L7 comparisons don’t stop completely at just aesthetics (there’s enough grit and dirt in their riffs to warrant a musical cross reference), there is a more angular spikiness to their sound which is more akin to riot girl bands like Skating Polly and Sleater Kinney.
More punk follows in the form of Brooklyn-band, Puffer. They could easily be mistaken for raucous, boozy Brits. It’s straight up eat you up and spit you out punk rock. They do a cover of ‘Sonic Reducer‘ by Dead Boys which is the fighting talk everyone’s motivation needs at 1AM.
Photos: Baby Berserk, left image – Dominic Mc Graw, right image Thomas Dufresne.
According to The OBGMs they are the first Black Canadian band; after a quick fact check the only other band I can find is a 1970s soul, funk outfit called Crack of Dawn, so at the very least they are the first Canadian Black punk band to have made it beyond basement shows. Thank god they did. They’re a true performance band with every bit of technical prowess to back it up. Headlining Saturday’s main stage, the audience is composed of local teens and wide-eyed kids flanked by their parents who simply aren’t ready for the onslaught of high-energy, raucousness that’s about to detonate in front of them.
With just 9,005 monthly listeners on Spotify, the OBGMs are a stadium-ready professional punk-rock band. The festival programmers have really done their job here, because there is not another punk band like this who is so ready to break, not just in Canada but worldwide. Every beat is fast and furious but also melodic enough to satisfy every pop-punkers desire for a singalong. Vocalist, Densil McFarlane, doesn’t just own the stage, he vaults off it, weaving through the crowd like a live wire, collapsing the barrier between band and audience with every chaotic sprint.
A good chunk of the songs are about a break-up (it’s definitely personal) and at one point, he asks if anyone has an ex who they can’t stand. We get the name “Robbie” and he incites a chant of “F**k Robbie” before breaking into another blistering anthem that has the pit spinning. Towards the end of the set, he commands a wall of death whilst walking within the empty space like a rogue lieutenant. THREE, TWO, ONE…GO! I watch as he gets swallowed by mounds of matter on both sides. Insane, brilliant, and ferocious. They’re coming to the UK next year, don’t miss them.
Photos: The OBGMs, left image – Dominic Mc Graw, right image – Darryll Magboo.
Having missed the official slot for Montreal-based, alternative hip-hop outfit Boutique Feelings, I’m pleased as punch when I wander in the direction of the Cabaret De La Dernière Chance and they’re setting up to play again, this time across the street outside a graffiti-adorned apartment block. Accompanied by a full band including a flautist who is oddly integral, Karim Lakhdar (also of the psych-rock collective Atsuko Chiba) casually speedruns through philosophical reflections, like footnotes to a Žižek essay. There’s no anger here but that doesn’t mean everything is fine, there’s just a real atmosphere of space; space to breathe, space to think, space to groove – if you want to. In an age where dogma is often mistaken for dialogue, this is an important realm they’re creating. After hearing a few tracks in advance, it’s clear that the live performance operates on an entirely different plane: Boutique Feelings are a band whose music is best understood in the immediacy of performance, where their full essence comes into focus.
Another secret gig takes place outside the local launderette, a band called the Belladonna. I arrive in time to see what appears to be the peak of a satanic cult ritual. Two vocalists are dressed in folkish white, crocheted clothing, screaming into microphones against an intense electronic background. This brief rendezvous makes riot-girl band, Poolgirl, who are now playing over at Scène Fizz, look like girl scouts. Their set is fast and fun but also largely dictated by Miranda Powell-New’s off-the-shoulder gypsy top which keeps threatening to fall down everytime she hops across the stage. They play the song ‘Boy Destroyer’ last which is a fantastic addition to the canon of riot-girl anthems.
Photos from left: The Belladonna – Christian Leduc, Boutique Feelings – Christian Leduc
Baby Volcano is the name of everybody’s lips after Saturday’s performance in the Théâtre basement. It’s the moniker of Lorena Stadelmann who is a Swiss-Guatemalan artist (I can’t find any information about the men handling her beats but let’s assume they’re Swiss). She’s brought her own lighting team along who are busy transforming the space for some of the set’s more intense moments. Musically, it’s a blend of electronic, hip-hop/trap, Latin rhythms, and some ambient textures. Most of the song lyrics are in French and Spanish. Stadelmann was trained in contemporary dance in Buenos Aires and it shows, with each song being accompanied by carefully conditioned physical expression. Much of this is horror-informed at the beginning, as Stadelmann stares into the audience as if possessed, her body jerking in sharp, uncanny rhythms that blur the line between choreography and exorcism. With Birmingham’s dark-leaning experimental music and art festival, Supersonic, taking place this weekend I can’t help but feel I’m back in the Midlands right now. This is an act very much of their programming.
There are a few elements to the performance which are repeated the next day, in the afternoon, next to the lake: Stadelmann sits backwards on a box, removes her top (for the family-friendly edition she retains a sports bra) to expose her chest marked with black tape. She then puts on a long blonde wig and performs looking like a parodic Sabrina Carpenter. In one of the songs she draws a red line from her neck to her navel. Towards the end of this episode she returns to the box straddling it as she plays an acoustic guitar performing a traditional-sounding Spanish song. There’s a few points throughout where the trio exchange congratulatory, self-knowing glances – they’re good and they know it. There’s a bit of Die Antwoord in them, but it’s less schizo-manic-pixie and more occult invocation straight from the barrios. The result is a performance that’s simultaneously playful, unsettling, and ritualistic, a carefully orchestrated spectacle that echoes into the night, leading the audience into chants of “O’lay, o’lay o’lay o’lay”.
Photos from top left: Baby Volcano – Christian Leduc, festival goers – Christian Leduc, Despised Icon – Thomas Dufresne, Baby Volcano – Louis Jalbert.
Sunday is metal day, and since Rouyn Noranda likely goes without much of it for the other 99% of the year, the town’s alternative teens have all bought day tickets for this one and are now gathered in a single snaking line that spills out of the Théâtre. They’re in for a triple bill, with Digital Ghosts, Scorching Tomb, and Despised Icon taking the headline slot tonight. Digital Ghosts are probably the lightest thing on the menu so it makes sense to start with them, they’re mathy, with a combo of hardcore vocals and smooth melodic emo moments which seem to go down well with the younger audience. All the artwork for Scorching Tomb albums depict melting, acid-induced hellscapes but this is death metal not psych rock, so there’s no irony here. It’s skull-crushing, apocalyptic mayhem that sounds like the innards of a serial killer on death row who’s just eaten six buckets of KFC for their last meal. This is especially reinforced by the visuals playing on two large screens mounted to either side of the stage; a notably shocking clip of a demonic CGI bunny rabbit slitting its own throat plays on repeat. It’s the kind of nightmare fuel that any decent metal fan would be proud to horrify their parents with.
Despised Icon are legends in Quebec, at least that’s what someone tells me when I’m upset about having to make the trade off between seeing Teke: Teke and them tonight. Having formed in 2002, they’ve recently released a new single off their upcoming album – Shadow Work. Known for their dual vocals comprised of guttural growls and high-pitched screams both Alex Erian and Steve Marois pace around the stage like its a padded cell, with Alex Pelletier’s blast beat drumming adding to atmosphere of being stuck in Arkham Asylum. The screens display the artwork for their new album depicting a man with half his face missing putting on a crown of teeth. Brought to life again in GIF movement, this horrifying image moves in time to the relentless speed of their set. Calculatedly insane, dark and brutal, they sound like a band who’d order a pizza with only pineapple on it.
That collision of the extreme and the unexpected is exactly what FME thrives on, one minute you’re in the pit with deathcore legends, the next you’re stumbling onto something completely different around the corner. Moments at FME are punctuated with unexpected awesomeness, wander around and you may find yourself wrapped up in a jam with the local residents or watching a coven screaming over harsh noise. It does an excellent job of uncovering raw talent and deploying them in an environment that allows for unquestioning creative freedom. Being a multi-venue festival it’s reassuring that most of them are close to each other and as mentioned, it’s a festival which feels safe enough to be alone at – although most attendees are friendly enough so you may not be alone for long. FME carries the experimental spirit of Supersonic festival, the discovery-driven energy of The Great Escape, and the sprawling social buzz of SXSW. The programme presents artists who are very much ready to break into the next stage of their career, come here and you get to see them before they’re propelled into an unblinking spotlight. If you can stand the lengthy (but scenic) road-trip out to Rouyn Noranda, then FME will reward you with frivolity, passion, new discoveries and the best damn poutine in Quebec.
Feature image by Louis Jalbert.
