Maniacal Montreal

by JACK OATMON

As I pass the quarter-century mark and approach the second anniversary of this column’s existence, I’m inclined to reflect a little on the nature of my ongoing love affair with Montreal’s nightlife. At certain times over the past two years, the exercise of going out for a rock show or party or DJ night has struck me as a slightly vapid experience fuelled simply by the love of music and the excitement of navigating such a complex, interwoven community of artists and promoters. And you can imagine why—we’ve all stood at the back and marvelled at the reckless and self-serving abandon of the club at some point. The flashy gear and chipper conversation can annoy the piss out of anyone in a brooding mood.

But inevitably, I always have that one night out that brings me back into the fold and reminds me of the non-stop ambition of Montreal’s music and nightlife scene. This is what was running through my head on Saturday night/Sunday morning as I celebrated my birthday by bouncing through a dozen galleries and shows, flask in hand and posse at my side, during the Nuit Blanche on March 1. To think that we can go out and attend a fully-licensed dance party at the Contemporary Art Museum after midnight, stumble around rock shows in clothing stores and performance art in lofts, get freaky haircuts at 2 a.m., eat (shitty) roasted chestnuts at a Technicolor steel castle in the old port, ride ice slides and end up wasted in an art gallery at 5 a.m. surrounded by hundreds of beautiful, creative, blitzed people. All for free. All in one night. And that’s not even the half of it. Then the city serves us free breakfast and we all go home or chill out. Or go to some after-after party I heard about where Ricardo Villalobos DJed till the next afternoon.

What’s even nuttier about all this choice and privilege we have over some other cities is the fact that we still bitch about it all. There’s never enough, it’s never quite perfect and we all want more. And that is the secret to Montreal’s awesomeness. Nothing’s fucking good enough, so everybody keeps pushing it until the schemes get as wacky and wonderful as what we witnessed during la Nuit Blanche. Anyway, I’m not sure I could stomach two years-plus of the sort of documentation I do in any other city I’ve ever visited, but in Montreal it’s a virtually nonstop pleasure. So here’s to a rad city, crazy-ass nights on the town and a ludicrous spring yet to come.

For your consideration this weekend, on Friday night DJ Rekha and the Baile MTL boys will be heating up Club Lambi with both beats and eats from the East, with plenty of bhangra stompers and samosas (seriously) on the menu. Next door the next night, on Saturday, Chicago’s Billy Dalessandro brings the homebrewed house to Academy Dancehall. Up at Zoobizarre that night, Jokers of the Scene bring Baltimore’s Dave Nada to the tables for some brain-crippling B-more shuffling. Funnily enough, Moby will be spinning in town that night at, of all places, the SAT. I predict a bizarre mixture of mid-30s new-age townhouse dwellers and teenage West Island Paxil gobblers. Go figure.

OLDER. WISER? jack.oatmon@gmail.com