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Music

La Festivale de la Grosse Lanterne Showed Us Hip-Hop is Alive in Quebec

We went camping in the middle of rural Quebec and discovered all there is to know about French-Canadian hip-hop culture.

I woke up from a short nap to the sounds of one of the other media guests talking about how much they hated hip-hop that only talks about “guns and being from the hood, etc.” I’d only done my homework on exactly half of the acts playing the inaugural edition of la Festivale de la Grosse Lanterne, so I was hoping this wouldn’t be a giant French-language homage to “real hip-hop”. Soon, I’d have my fears put to rest, but for now I was cooking to death in a hot van in rural Quebec.

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Upon arrival, we emerged in a forest and were escorted to the VIP camping. I was told my first interview would be in fifteen minutes, so I rushed to meet Le Trouble in “The Village” (a series of comfy little cabins in a makeshift market-place). When I asked front-man Michael Mooney for his first impressions of the festival, he informed me that the site is home to a LARP-ing community – a group of grown-ass men that pretend to be knights and fight dragons. I spent the rest of the afternoon bumping into catapults, shields and huts to the sounds of rock bands Les Muscadettes, Suuns and Le Trouble playing for small crowds. Despite the unease of being plunked in the middle of a middle-age fantasy battleground, it was a gorgeous afternoon soundtracked by some really tight sets. Les Muscadettes was like a Quebecois Shonen Knife designed in a lab for the purposes of playing sunny day festivals. Two tall front-women led a few middle-aged dudes through some pleasant L7-like tunes before Le Trouble came out to perform for a crowd way too small for their big sound. Michael Mooney flung himself around the stage the way Iggy Pop would have if he were conventionally handsome and employed. By the time Suuns came on, my phone had literally overheated and I was in no mood for a five-minute noise intro, nor a 7-minute looped outro. The set was tight but predictably pretentious and I couldn’t help but wonder why the lead singer kept his jaw clenched the whole time. “E-nun-ci-ate,” I repeated in my head as I geared up for my interview with Dead Obies – Montreal’s flagship franglais hip-hop collective.

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Before I could even start my recorder, a mess of French and English hybrid slang was coming at me from all angles. OG Bear, Jo RCA and the group’s DJ VNCE began by addressing the question I thought I’d been cool enough to avoid asking – what’s the significance of the use of both French and English in your lyrics? I imagine they attack the question first out of force of habit, as most of their local publicity has come as a result of the language battle they seem to want no part in. We boiled the point down to the fact that the old “English vs. French” binary of Quebec politics is outdated yet still pushed by mainstream media, and I compared the dinosaurs of French-language media to the “Real Hip-Hop” and “Conscious Rap” crusaders that say the Dead Obies’ music is not intellectual enough. They lit up again and the onslaught of half-understood slang returns. “Exactement,” Jo RCA confirms “in both cases, these people don’t listen to rap. They’re searching for a message in the music without really listening to it as music.” After talking Chief Keef, Nas, Montreal Metal and tech specifics, the room filled up with a thick weed smoke before two reporters cut us off to take their turn asking questions. I thanked the Obies for going way over the 15 minutes I asked for and got ready to hear what I’d spent the last hour talking about.

Sure enough, The Obies delivered on their promise of “good music”. Their performance was electric, each one perfectly in sync with the other. VNCE responded to every twitch and shout from the five lyricists, while the crowd woo-ed each time the beat dropped. I stood backstage and marveled at the fact that despite my being bilingual, I understood almost none of the words thrown violently at the crowd in each verse. And to be honest, it didn’t matter.

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Photo courtesy of Le Petite Rousse

The rest of the evening progressed in a similar manner. The veteran Alaclair Ensemble followed the Obies with a characteristic absurdity that had clearly matured since their Teflon Don days. Bars on bars of straight up Joual left my head throbbing, but overall the Queb-rap ensemble proved their worth as a seasoned performance group. I was on a high despite being one of the only sober people in my immediate vicinity and I rode it right into Radio Radio’s time-slot that evening. This set being perhaps the most anticipated, I was mildly disappointed. Again, I understood little to none of the lyrics, spoken in an Acadian dialect known as Chiac. On top of that, Radio Radio’s rock band + rappers + silly humor format got a little tired after more than an hour. Nonetheless, no audience was more amped and mobile than theirs, and I left the show for the DJ stage convinced that it was me who was missing something, not the ecstatic crowd.

Finally, topping off my tour de Quebec hip-hop was a well-deserved return to my native tongue. Anglo hip-hop group the Posterz took the stage way after the crowd’s energy resources (sun, beer and spliffs) had been dispensed. Nonetheless, some sort of fire came over everyone, pushing through all the bug spray, cold air and technical difficulties. For me, the flame was stoked by pure talent – the group was on point and obviously the most commercially viable of the acts to play that day. A solid balance between tasteful and party-friendly – like the Portishead feat. Clipse track that exists only in my dreams – the Posterz brought a mainstream appeal that felt like the last remaining piece of Grosse Lanterne’s puzzle.

As I retired to my tent in the festival’s camping section, I remarked to another attendee how huge the entire event felt despite it being only the first year. I rambled in French about how Osheaga didn’t bring this kind of intensity in its first year. I compared seeing Pusha T a week before the Posterz to watching the NBA season before March Madness begins – appreciating veteran maturity while admitting there’s nothing like young bloods hungry for success. After I finished my rants he stopped me and said “Toi, t’est Anglophone, ein?” I admitted French wasn’t my first language. He confessed he didn’t really understand what I was saying but had been agreeing the whole time because he knew what I meant. And with that, my Grosse Lanterne experience was summed up succinctly. Whether I understood the words or not, the message was clear – Quebec hip-hop is relevant because it’s good music. And that’s all that matters.

Eric Seguin will never go camping again.