Customers having a drink at Turbo Haus on St. Denis street at the very heart of the Quartier Latin in Montreal, once one of the liveliest streets for nightlife, is now much quieter. Montreal's nightlife is in the grip of many difficulties. The covid lockdown and gentrification have taken their toll on the party scene. The City of Montreal is allocating $5.5 million over three years towards its project of strengthening the city’s nightlife. The city says $3 million will be used to implement a variety of projects – including the creation of nightlife vitality hubs – while the other $2.5 million will be used for a grant program to soundproof small concert and cultural venues with fewer than 3,000 seats.Alexis Aubin/The Globe and Mail
The unofficial slogan of Turbo Haüs, a bar and music venue in Montreal’s Latin Quarter, screams buyer beware to prospective neighbours: “Cheap booze, heavy music, hail Satan.”
Somehow, that fair warning hasn’t stopped the people next door from complaining about the noise. When the space was closed during COVID-19 a landlord turned the adjoining building into student housing, and now the satanic volume of hardcore bands gets in the way of studying for finals.
It’s a microcosm of the forces draining vitality from Montreal’s fabled nightlife, says bar co-owner Sergio Da Silva. The pandemic and creeping gentrification have dealt a one-two punch to bars and clubs in a city synonymous with partying and the artistic ferment that comes with it.
Montreal's nightlife is in the grip of many difficulties. The covid lockdown and gentrification have taken their toll on the party scene. The City of Montreal is allocating $5.5 million over three years towards its project of strengthening the city’s nightlife. The city says $3 million will be used to implement a variety of projects – including the creation of nightlife vitality hubs – while the other $2.5 million will be used for a grant program to soundproof small concert and cultural venues with fewer than 3,000 seats.Alexis Aubin/The Globe and Mail
The closing of century-old concert hall La Tulipe in September, after a court victory for a noise-sensitive neighbour and real estate investor, served as a wake-up call for many Montrealers – “a perfect example,” said Mr. Da Silva, “of developers running roughshod over cultural institutions.”
Last week, the city administration announced a new nightlife policy to try and breathe life into an after-dark scene that has rarely needed extra help. This is Montreal after all: ville ouverte, birthplace of Vice magazine and Arcade Fire, Canada’s undisputed capital of creative debauchery and debauched creativity. Bars are open later, the drinking age is lower and people know how to have fun.
Except that Montreal may have gotten sleepier while no one was looking. Figures released in September by the point-of-sale company Square show that a lower share of bar and restaurant spending in Montreal happens at night than in any other big Canadian city, including Vancouver, Calgary and – gasp – Toronto.
Club kids, taxi drivers and bar owners agree: Montreal nights just aren’t as wild as they used to be. Fifteen years ago, you could work part-time at a bar and still have time and money to party, said Mr. Da Silva. “It was a magic time here.”
Now, he adds with audible disgust, “There’s a much more bustling scene in Toronto.”
Sergio Da Silva poses in the Turbo Haus on St. Denis street at the very heart of the Quartier Latin in Montreal, once one of the liveliest streets for nightlife, is now much quieter. Da Silva has faced multiple noise complaints from neighbours who moved in during COVID when the bar was closed.Alexis Aubin/The Globe and Mail
Montreal’s reputation as a haven for nocturnal licence goes back 100 years to the days of U.S. Prohibition, said Will Straw, recently retired professor of urban media studies at McGill University. Irving Berlin even wrote a hit 1928 song about letting loose in the city. (“Anytime my wifey wants me/ You can tell her where to call/ Goodbye Broadway, hello Montreal!”)
The legendary burlesque dancer Lili St. Cyr said that “every night in Montreal was like New Year’s Eve in New York.“ Jazz greats such as Billie Holiday and Louis Armstrong came to Rufus Rockhead’s nightclub in Little Burgundy. Brothels occupied large swaths of De Bullion Street until authorities cracked down because Canadian servicemen in Quebec were contracting venereal diseases at five times the rate of those in British Columbia, writes the late journalist William Weintraub in his book City Unique.
The fun rolled on, decade after decade. In the 1970s, Montreal was one of the disco capitals of North America. The 1980s and 90s saw the rise of a vibrant house music scene centred on warehouses emptied by deindustrialization and the economic shock of the Quebec independence debate.
Montreal was economically depressed, said Mireille Silcoff, an author and former music editor and nightclub columnist for the Montreal Mirror. “If you’re a weird 18-year-old looking to make something interesting happen in the middle of the night, it’s kind of great. … It was just a huge zone of people hanging out, trying to build a strange glamorous utopian future.”
The indie boom of the early 2000s was fuelled in part by the same down-and-out atmosphere. When established bands neglected to play Montreal, an intense fervour built up around local musicians like Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Arcade Fire, said Sean Michaels, a novelist and founder of the influential music blog Said the Gramophone.
“There was an energy of, ‘You’ve got to make your own fun, instead of waiting for people to ride in on horses.’ ”
Noise complaints and rising rents killed many of the core venues of that scene such as Le Cagibi and Le Divan Orange. Montreal has seen the same boom in housing costs as the rest of Canada in the last 15 years, increasing costs for small businesses and perhaps creating more sensitive neighbours. (If you’re paying $2,000 a month for a one-bedroom apartment, you’ll want it to be quiet at night.)
Pandemic restrictions were particularly stringent in Quebec, including two separate nighttime curfews that turned the city into a ghost town after dark.
Municipal authorities have historically tried to curb the perceived excesses of Montreal’s nightlife – Lili St. Cyr was arrested and charged with indecent behaviour – but Mayor Valérie Plante is now trying to give it a leg up.
Advocacy groups like MTL 24/24 have been calling for policy changes to protect bars and venues from pesky neighbours. On Wednesday, the mayor gave them some of what they want, including the right to apply for later closing times in some circumstances (past the usual 3 a.m.) and a $2.5-million fund for soundproofing.
At a news conference, she acknowledged the nightlife sector has “gone through some difficult moments,” but insisted it’s still part of Montreal’s DNA.
Mr. Da Silva of Turbo Haüs isn’t satisfied by the announcement. The runaway cost of living is the biggest wet blanket smothering Montreal’s joie de vivre, he argued, and Ms. Plante’s administration is partly responsible because it has presided over luxury condo developments and a spike in housing expenses.
“You can’t kowtow to developers who are ruining nightlife in this city and also want to get the tax revenue from alcohol sales,” he said.
Not all is lost, though. Montrealers are still doing lots of interesting things at night. Bands are playing shows under bridges and at other DIY venues, Mr. Da Silva said. Amazing music is pouring out of the city. Toronto bars may be busier, but they’re full of “finance bros,” he said. “And they’re boring.”
His hometown – offbeat and whimsical and a little rough around the edges – will never be boring.
“Montreal still has that je ne sais quoi,” he said, taking a sip of his drink and smiling into the night.
Editor’s note: An earlier version of this story misidentified the neighbourhood in which the warehouse rave scene in Montreal was concentrated. This version has been updated.