On a cold night in late November, the warmth of a large crowd simmered behind two sets of doors, gathered for an M for Montreal festival concert, featuring a showing from the made-in-Montreal label Mothland Records. The energy and excited chatter cut through the slushy darkness of early winter, a time when the city tends to sleep.

The musicians would take stage in an hour. For now, the crowd swells quickly, hugs and kisses all around, no separating performer and audience. I can't help but feel this wintertime gathering tells its own enduring story in the era of noise complaints and closing venues, a light turned on while litany of establishments have gone dark over rising costs of living and rent like House of Jazz, 2Pierrots, Katacombes, Divan Orange, and Blue Dog.

“Real estate prices are destroying cities,” Mothland co-founder Jean-Philippe Bourgeois would later tell me after the show. “Speculation in real estate is killing our communities.”

“Even if you just looked at the DIY venues, like when I moved to Montreal in 2007, they were everywhere,” adds Mothland co-founder Marilyne Lacombe. “I don’t even know if there’s one or two left. I felt like Montreal was the place where this could happen 15 years ago. You need those spaces for the raw energy and to come together.”

The wider story of community and third spaces have been a central context to the emergence of Mothland Records. Starting as a booking agency, Mothland has become a fixture in the Montreal independent music scene, operating two festivals (and one in northern Quebec) and representing 30 acts on their label including Alix Fernz, Atsuko Chiba, and La Sécurité. Many of them have played across Canada, the US, and Europe.

The musicians behind Mothland had started out by putting on their own shows, seeking to platform musicians who hadn’t yet performed at major festivals. Distorsion Festival was their first creation, with a focus on psychedelic music and art. When they noticed a wintertime lull, they started Taverne Tour in February.

“Everybody is hungry in February. The artists aren’t working, nor the techs, nor the venues,” says Marilyne. “It was a way to give everyone something to do and live off. But initially, we just wanted to have a good party.”

"I felt like Montreal was the place where this could happen 15 years ago. You need those spaces for the raw energy and to come together.”

The merch table with Mulch, Annie-Claude Deschênes, and Yoo Doo Right performing during the M for Montreal festival concert for Mothland Records artists.

Apocalypse now

Then the pandemic started.

“A lot of our artists were set to perform some festivals in Quebec and Canada during the summer of 2020. But everything got cancelled, and we were just out of work. We realized quickly that it was going to last at least a year, maybe two. So we decided to do a switcheroo,” says JP. “We built the label by hand, learning all we could and applying the lessons.”

Building off a decade of relationships with artists, they started Mothland Records as a musician-led label. They were determined to maintain their ethos of collaboration rather than competition, towards mixing the francophone and anglophone music scenes, and connecting the Quebec scene with the rest of Canada and beyond.

“We’re way better off collaborating than competing. An ethos we have is just to grow together here,” says JP. “We help each other grow because that’s community. That’s the way life should be, I guess.”

“And I think we all came from a perspective where there were a lot of things that were happening in the music industry that we didn’t like,” adds Marilyne. “Like how artists are being treated. A lot of money is not trickling down.”

“We always wanted that physical space, and it feels like home here."

As the pandemic faded, Mothland prioritized a sense of place and the importance of community. Their apartments became momentary homes for visiting bands.

“JP would invite bands to his place and cook fucking delicious soup,” says Philippe Lacroque, Mothland co-founder. “One time, I made some pizza for my friends from Detroit, out of my pocket. I barely had any money, but just for the artists to feel like they were taken care of.”

“After spending so much time alone during COVID, I don’t wanna ever work from home again,” Marilyne says. “And there’s space here, bands sleep here, we party here, it’s our cocoon.”

Marilyne continues: “We always wanted that physical space, and it feels like home here. On the product aspect I think the physicality does bring more longevity to the project, having it on CD tapes or vinyl, versus just doing digital albums.”

“Every band they sign is on a certain style of music but on the fringe of that style. It’s always on the edge, like the most experimental or inventive version of that thing."

Annie-Claude Deschênes feeds whipped cream to the audience.

A family affair

On the night, a total of five bands played, going from dance punk and psychedelic hip-hop to frenetic punk and melodic shoegaze. The bands took the stage erected in the middle of the hall, thronged by a dancing crowd. Mainstay of Montreal's independent music scene Annie-Claude Deschênes took the stage last, working up the crowd at each side as she fed whipped cream to all comers and invited people on stage to dance.

For Marilyne, the experience of a show was a central concern. “I think if you go see a show, just a regular show during the week, it’s like nobody really cares about what music is being played and what’s the ambience, what’s the vibe,” she says. “It’s pretty transactional. And we always wanted to go beyond that.”

“It’s been a great experience for me,” said Karim Lakhdar of Boutique Feelings, who played that night. “I think Mothland’s strength is that they sign people they like, so they don’t try to change you,” he said.

“Every band they sign is on a certain style of music but on the fringe of that style. It’s always on the edge, like the most experimental or inventive version of that thing. They’re friends, they’re family for me. And I’m a person who takes that stuff very seriously.”

Montreal groups Boutique Feelings, Brainwasher, Mulch, and Yoo Doo Right performing.

So why 'Mothland'?

“It’s a night critter... we’re night critters,” JP says.

“They also come in all shapes and forms and colours,” adds Marilyne.

“Also, motté is like a slacker in French,” Philippe says. “A lot of the crowd around L’Esco were saying they were ‘les mottés’ or Motley Crüe. And when I make a post, I’ll say ‘hey moths’... it’s really everybody who comes to the show. If you feel like you’re a moth, then you’re part of it.”

A fitting symbol and ethos for a team of rebel musicians who once threw underground shows, outfoxing the police, and sometimes getting shut down. They were black-clad outsiders in the beginning of running a record label, discussing distribution with Quebec's music industry establishment.

“Counterculture is always gonna happen, no matter what,” JP says. “Kids will find a way to make music, present their music, and it’ll continue that way.”

“During the pandemic, the thing I dedicated my life to was taken away from me, and I was not doing well,” reflects Philippe.

“But I thought... What we’re working with will never die.”

The next big thing.

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Apocalypse now

A family affair

So why 'Mothland'?

The next big thing.

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Joshua Lai

As Venues Close, This Musician-Run Label Keeps the Lights On