I was a fish out of water, this new Montrealer from western Canada sampling the celebration of music and language that is Les Francofolies. This is the latest offering in Montreal's summer-long season of festivals, held at the Quartier des Spectacles on Rue Ste.-Catherine.
I felt a more laid-back vibe here; not so keyed-up or pressing as my memory of the Jazz Festival as happy listeners ambled from show to show like they were enjoying a small-town Saturday night.
Far from being under-attended - the pictures show the numbers - but one felt a little more fluidity and elbow room when navigating the crowd. I first watched Oumou Soumaré (left), la gazelle du désert, a Malian now residing in Moncton, New Brunswick.
Across the street, almost hidden away amid construction and crumbling buildings on a tiny riser in a non-descript parking lot, was a nice musical surprise. French Kiss, they were called, from Montreal, a trio combining amplified harp, fuzztone bass, and a soundmaster with laptop and other devices. Their playful sound and visual appeal deserved better than a paltry crowd with a backdrop of urban decay. Not that they seemed to mind.
Unfortunately, the only info I can dig out of Google is this online article from Canadian Business (scroll down to French Kiss: the sound of the future) about Videotron's festival sponsorships. This led me to these videos; but no names, no recording history. I also learned that they're not the only musical group in the world named French Kiss.
Les Fatals Picards
I made my way to the big stage, first stopping for a listen to Les Fatal Picards, a four-piece rock band playing hard.
l'Orchestre Métropolitain
The evenings signature event featured a full orchestra and conductor backing Jorane, a Montreal cellist and singer. The lighting was quite dim and the fact that the stage was situated uphill from the audience made finding a decent camera angle impossible without upsetting security and other listeners. Just the one of the conductor, I'm afraid.
Finally, I found another small stage up against Avenue de President-Kennedy, where they were preparing for Guillaume Arsenault and his band, local boys with down home instruments and an alt-country sensibility. Technical issues delayed their entrance by almost an hour and I kept busy photographing the moon (always a challenge) and taking test shots of stagehands.
Guillaume Arsenault
Once again, I was facing dodgy illumination, the angle of the spots putting deep shadows on the singer's face. I bailed early. The picture above was heavily tweaked with software to look somewhat presentable.
