From an influential recording studio to a musical nerve centre of Montreal

It's a day before a core crew will be crouching over a maze of circuit boards and vintage electronics on the third floor of Breakglass Studios, methodically installing the final components of a Spectra Sonics console. The rare 1970s mixing board—once the most popular in the world for exactly one year—has spent months being painstakingly refurbished in Tim Herzog's workshop. Tomorrow, it becomes a centrepiece of one of Montreal's most quietly influential recording studios.

Music producer, audio engineer, mixer, composer and co-owner of Breakglass James Benjamin talks about this incoming equipment with the mixture of excitement and exhaustion that comes from waiting years for a crucial piece of equipment. "We're an analogue studio with no desk right now. We have tons of tape machines, and we have analogue preamps and stuff, but this board? It's the centrepiece."

The console installation feels symbolic, not just for the room, but for the entire operation: emerging from decades of almost-deliberate obscurity into something more ambitious and visible. “People keep saying ‘Breakglass is back,’” Benjamin says. “But we never left.”

The difference now? Ads, events, a label, a blueprint—and visibility to match. After 20 years of being Montreal's musical secret—the place where Arcade Fire tested new material, where Patrick Watson recorded his breakthrough album, where Kaytranada worked on his Grammy-winning record—Breakglass is stepping up and out.

From Regina to a musical institution

The story begins with two guys from Regina who couldn't afford rent in Vancouver: Jace Lasek and Dave Smith moved to Montreal in 1999, drawn by ultra-cheap rent in the post-referendum lull. They started Breakglass in 2005, eventually settling into a raw 5,000-square-foot space in what was then an industrial wasteland of Little Italy, when the condos we know today hadn't yet sprung up.

The early days were pure DIY necessity. Lasek and Smith literally built the walls themselves, using materials their landlords provided in exchange for reduced rent. They filled the space with gear acquired through the CBC's policy of throwing away equipment they couldn't legally sell—consoles, mics, compressors, all salvaged from dumpsters and given new life.

The breakthrough came when Patrick Watson walked in around 2007, wanting to spend a month recording. They didn't know where they'd get rent money, but they said yes. Watson took the demo to Secret City Records, who signed him on the spot and paid for the session. That album, Close to Paradise, remains Watson's biggest record to this day.

"Sometimes it's just being in the right place at the right time," Benjamin reflects.

Indeed: Benjamin joined as a partner in 2011, bringing electronic music expertise and a different vision for what a recording studio could be. Where Lasek and Smith embodied what Benjamin calls the 'Steve Albini school of invisible production'—i.e. get paid, don't take credit—Benjamin saw potential for something more expansive.

"I came in and we got into more events, doing parties from within the studio," he explains. They pioneered live streaming concerts in 2014, broadcasting performances by artists like Bombino to global audiences years before it became standard practice. Benjamin's work with Kaytranada on the Grammy-winning album Bubba brought international recognition, too. Certainly didn't hurt.

But success created new challenges. "The industry that all started in doesn't exist anymore," Benjamin says. "You don't have big label budgets coming in and booking months in the studio to do an album for a big name. It's very, very rare."

The full-stack revolution

The solution was radical: stop waiting for the industry to work and build your own ecosystem, and they have: A maze of functions across three floors, and—for lack of a better description—an absolute hive of activity.

“We're not going to wait anymore,” Benjamin says. “We're going to do it ourselves.”

At the time of this article, Breakglass is launching its own record label, expanding into multiple revenue streams, and creating what Benjamin calls "a one-stop shop" for artists: The DJ booth on the second floor of the building now operates like a Montreal version of London's Pirate Studios—book online, get a code, rehearse at 2 a.m. if you want. A second automated suite is coming soon.

Parties now stretch across the full space Breakglass occupies, inviting Montrealers in: The basement hosts Below Breakglass, a series that fuses electronic music, live jazz, immersive installations and barbecues. Next to the aforementioned DJ booth on the second floor, they’re installing a screen-printing operation. There's a Sunday vintage market planned with DJs and coffee pop-ups. “I mean, we’re even making merch. It’s everything under one roof,” Benjamin says.

"We're signing artists, we're providing studio time, we're doing the album launches, we're helping them figure out their tours," he continues. "Instead of trying to find clients to pay us hourly or daily to record their album, Breakglass is now going to be more of a creative studio."

And while Breakglass may be located on Clark Street, its mission is portable. “The spirit of Breakglass isn’t tied to this building,” Benjamin says. “It’s something we could bring to a museum, a mountaintop, wherever.”

That includes upcoming plans for Breakglass Immersive—geolocated sound pieces hidden throughout the city, which listeners can collect like ambient breadcrumbs.

“Eventually we want to do large-scale museum installations,” he adds. “But we’re starting here. On our terms... It’s a culture factory, but a boutique one. Intentional. Artist-led.”

All these things can sound like overpromising cranked to 11, but Benjamin operates as a one-man creative conglomerate within Breakglass: Producer, engineer, DJ, event organizer, grant application writer, legal representative, business strategist—the breadth of his involvement becomes clear when he describes a typical week:

"I'm somebody people call to solve their problems," he explains, whether that's filling in as playback operator for a rapper at Palomosa an hour before showtime, helping other venues navigate liquor license applications, or representing himself in court against noise violation tickets.

His resume spans scoring video games and films, performing at MUTEK, organizing secret shows for Arcade Fire, and mixing Grammy-winning records, all while maintaining the day-to-day operations of a 10,000-square-foot facility.

"I've touched on every aspect of this industry right through to publishing," he reflects—not boasting, but acknowledging both the unique perspective this provides as well as the exhaustion that comes with it.

Preserving the magic

Through all the expansion, Breakglass still runs on the same logic it always has: record the moment while it’s happening. Then get out of the way. “Everything is always being recorded,” Benjamin says. “Because you don’t always know when the magic’s going to happen.”

It’s also built into the bones of the space—not a polished studio for rent, but an archive of Montreal’s creative history. The live room where Arcade Fire played their infamous secret Reflektor show still hosts intimate concerts. The kitchen with the best morning light still serves as a hangout space. The walls remain unfinished in places, creating natural acoustic breaks.

Through all the expansion, Breakglass maintains its artist-first ethos, and it's sometimes the smallest things that makes the space different from sterile professional studios. "You can smoke a joint in the kitchen, or cigarettes out the window," Benjamin says, "but it's always been a professional and safe space, alongside needing to feel like fun."

"There are other recording studios, right? But there aren't many recording studios that are of this scale that are really run by artists," Benjamin says. "It's always been that way."

The next phase

Breakglass’s next chapter includes the Spectra console, the label, the self-serve booths, the immersive division, and more—but it’s also about building something that lasts beyond one person. “It’s not just me anymore,” Benjamin says. “You need emissaries.”

The intern program—run by 23-year-old Zander Blanchard, Breakglass’s first full-time hire—trades studio hours for cleaning, training, and workshops. Interns get preferred rates and eventually graduate to running their own sessions. They’re the next wave.

“I want Breakglass to be accessible,” Benjamin says. “But it has to be the right kind of accessible. It’s not just about the gear—it’s about trust, respect, and feeling like you belong in the room.”

"We're fixers at this point, but then again, we've always operated that way," Benjamin adds. "The mission has been to do things for others, to help build communities for others, but now? We want it to be under the umbrella of what we're doing at Breakglass."

After 20 years as one of Montreal’s better-kept musical secrets, Breakglass is inviting more people in to contribute.

“In a lot of ways, the history of Montreal music runs through Breakglass,” Benjamin says. “Now the city just has to catch up.”