Chronicles of a Scene — Montreal 1990–2020

Rockweiler — Local trigger

In the mid-1990s, Musique Rockweiler became one of the driving forces of the emerging punk scene in Montreal’s North Shore suburbs. While working there, Jean-François Hayeur didn’t just advise customers and sell records: he became directly involved in local programming.

This is how he personally booked the band GOB in Saint-Eustache, bringing one of Canada’s key skate-punk groups to the area. The concert took place in a room next door to the shop: a small library. Tables and chairs were pushed aside to make room for the music, turning the space — for one night only — into a true improvised concert hall.

The event left its mark: for many young people, it was the first time a national band of that stature played in their town.

This initiative illustrates Jean-François’ direct commitment to the development of the regional scene and his role as a cultural go-between, long before the big venues and established networks.

Punk videos — Camera in hand

In the mid-1990s, as the North American punk and hardcore scene was rapidly expanding, Montreal stood out as a particularly fertile and enthusiastic stop for emerging bands. At the heart of this dynamic was the discreet but essential work of Jean-François Hayeur, a young self-taught videographer armed with a handycam — still a rare object in 1993.

Filming his high school friends — skaters, snowboarders and musicians — quickly led him to document their shows, notably those of Enough, a local hardcore band from Saint-Eustache, and Foreground, a hardcore band from Terrebonne. This is how he captured, almost by accident, a foundational moment: on 14 June 1994, Enough and Foreground opened for No Use For A Name at the Woodstock venue in Montreal. This show marked the first performance in Montreal by a band on the Fat Wreck Chords label, a cornerstone of what would become a special relationship between the city and the Californian punk scene. JF filmed the concert.

Promoter Paget Williams (Greenland Productions) quickly noticed the quality and passion in his footage. He invited him to film other shows he produced, notably Lagwagon at the Woodstock venue on 4 October 1994. Then, just a month later, on 15 November 1994, came a decisive moment: JF managed to film NOFX at the Spectrum, in full — onstage and backstage — after being personally escorted to the door by Fat Mike, NOFX’s frontman, who insisted that the young videographer be allowed to work freely despite security’s reluctance.

This trust granted by the artists laid the foundations for a unique system: Jean-François became the unofficial videographer for the Californian punk/hardcore scene during their stops in Montreal. Years later, his footage would resurface in several documentaries.

What makes his role even more singular is the way he handled these archives. After each tour, when bands came back to play the city, JF handed them a VHS copy of their previous performance. Often, he would even prepare a VHS compilation gathering several concerts he had filmed since their last visit — a free, passion-driven gesture that then circulated among musicians, techs and friends.

In many cases, bands asked for more than one copy, to bring back to their families or friends in California. Many reported that their Montreal crowd was the wildest of the entire tour — more enthusiastic than in Toronto, New York, or even their hometown. These videos thus became a living testament to the strength of the Montreal audience, proudly shown to loved ones.

• Bands asked to be filmed.
• Promoters like Paget Williams encouraged JF to keep going.
• The videos circulated on tour buses from city to city and tour to tour.

It was a completely organic ecosystem, with no commerce and no formal network. Jean-François never sold or traded these tapes. Their value lay only in cultural transmission: they document, they connect, they circulate. They build bridges.

Through this practice, JF helped — without even realizing it at the time — to shape the image of Montreal as a welcoming, passionate, responsive, vibrant punk city. His video archives, a raw inside view, became an invisible yet fundamental part of that myth.

Later on, bands would testify that Montreal was a special stop on the road — a place where the crowd responded intensely, where venues vibrated, where you felt at home. The hundreds of JF’s VHS tapes, passed from hand to hand on tour buses, unpretentious, played a major role in that perception.

Filming his friends became filming the bands they admired. And filming the bands became a structuring gesture for a scene that existed only through the actions of those who lived it. This articulation — skateboarding, friendship, punk, video, trust — lies at the core of Jean-François’ trajectory, long before he became a music programmer, archivist or cultural historian.

Punk Empire — The video zine

As the months went by and video recordings piled up — concerts, spontaneous interviews, tour footage —, Jean-François began to see a creative potential that went far beyond simply handing VHS tapes to the bands. The idea gradually took shape: what if he turned this documentary material into a video magazine, a “video zine,” a DIY object true to the punk spirit, bringing together on a single tape live performances, conversations, backstage moments and testimonies? This is how PUNK EMPIRE was born.

Alongside his recordings, Jean-François maintained a special relationship with several of his favorite artists: he wrote them letters and postcards regularly, continuing an intimate tradition of correspondence. Among these exchanges, one of the most striking is the one he maintained with his role model, Ian MacKaye (Fugazi, Minor Threat), whom he met in person and has been corresponding with from 1995 to this day. This epistolary relationship — rare, humble, faithful — nourished his understanding of the scene, the DIY ethic, and the deeply human dimension behind the worlds he documented.

The project, ahead of its time, required one essential condition: finding interviewers able to talk with bands in both English and French — naturally, directly, without filters. JF recruited two accomplices: Matt Pearlman and Andy Mak, both perfectly bilingual, passionate about music and comfortable on camera. Their contribution proved crucial: they became the faces of the project, giving structure and coherence to the interviews. With them, PUNK EMPIRE moved from an idea to a real production.

A first studio editing session was organized. The goal: assemble an hour-long tape mixing live performances, excerpts shot in Montreal venues, interviews conducted by Matt and Andy, and a selection of music videos. For this last element, JF relied on the emergence of the independent label 2112 Records, founded by Paget Williams (Greenland Productions), with whom he already had a relationship of trust (they were neighbors). The video zine therefore included music videos by artists associated with 2112 — notably Men O Steel, Reset, Ten Days Late, Shades of Culture, along with other local bands on the rise.

At that time, MusiquePlus did broadcast Claude Rajotte’s alternative show, but television offerings remained limited for emerging punk, hardcore, indie, skatepunk or alternative rap scenes. Réjean Laplanche’s show 1-2-3 Punk would only come later; for the moment, no Montreal media platform truly reflected the city’s punk energy. PUNK EMPIRE thus filled a void, using the means at hand — in true punk fashion.

In total, 500 VHS copies were produced. The spirit of the project was never commercial:

• 450 tapes were distributed for free, mainly at concerts;
• about fifty were sold for $5 — a symbolic price — to recover part of the costs.

Feedback was positive: bands appreciated the exposure, fans recognized themselves in this raw, unfiltered, authentic artifact. But production costs — especially studio editing at a time when home digital editing was still inaccessible — were prohibitive.

JF and his team nonetheless had enough content for a Volume 2: recordings existed, material was there, bands were on board. But the money wasn’t.

Without grants, institutional support, or a commercial engine to reinvest, production stopped. PUNK EMPIRE, Vol. 2 would never see the light of day on VHS. The project remains, however, a milestone: visionary, fully independent, it documented a thriving scene at a time when the media were only marginally interested. It speaks to the desire to transmit, to connect, to archive — a deeply DIY gesture, driven by passion, friendship and the conviction that these stories deserve to be preserved.

C’Dément — The crossroads

Meanwhile, at the heart of Montreal’s 1990s music scene, C’Dément emerged as one of the most dynamic and influential record stores in the city. The business was run by Roger Beï, a formidable businessman originally from Lyon, who also owned Librairie La Bourse. Thanks to this direct link between Montreal and France, C’Dément became a transatlantic hub where international new releases and cutting-edge local productions circulated.

It was in this context that Jean-François joined the team. He introduced a consignment system for CDs, allowing local bands to offer their music in store with no upfront costs — direct support for independent artists. Thanks to the store’s very high ceilings, he displayed these consigned CDs on all the walls, creating a spectacular effect that immediately drew customers’ eyes and highlighted the local scene. He also set up concert ticket sales in the store, placing C’Dément at the heart of the live ecosystem. That’s how the name “C’Dément” ended up on so many posters.

Passionate about the punk and alternative scene, he sold impressive quantities of punk records. Sent to France three times, he took part in the opening of CD Corner (Paris) in 1999.

In Paris, he literally lived above the CD Corner shop, in a tiny apartment as small as the store itself, accessible only by a narrow spiral staircase hidden in the back room. To watch television in the evening, he had to go back down into the darkened shop — and it was during one of these descents that he came face-to-face, or rather glass-to-glass, with singer Jacques Higelin, who was pressing his partner’s breasts against the window, unaware that beyond the reflection in which they admired themselves, someone was watching just a few centimeters away.

During his stay in Paris, Jean-François also befriended a young Parisian punk, as passionate as he was. This young man came to eat lunch at the shop almost every day to talk about music, fanzines and concerts. Proud of his own fanzine, he even took him to visit the Sorbonne, where he studied. Later, Jean-François would learn that this young friend had died suddenly of meningitis — a tragic, cruel loss, as he was far too young to die.

At the turn of the year 2000, Jean-François celebrated New Year’s Eve at the foot of the Eiffel Tower with his colleague and roommate Yan, his brother Lionel and their friends. The Iron Lady, lit up with an exceptional display of twinkling lights to mark the arrival of the new millennium, pulsed with golden and bluish light, as if breathing in time with the exultant crowd. All around, the ground was entirely carpeted with empty champagne bottles: it was impossible to take a step without crushing one underfoot. A surreal and quintessentially Parisian scene — joyful hubbub, cries of celebration, the scent of festivity, and above them, the hypnotic flicker of the Eiffel Tower dominating the winter night like a lighthouse of the new millennium.

During his stay in Paris, Jean-François moved “tons” of releases from the labels Stomp and Indica, directly contributing to the visibility of the Montreal scene in Europe. Thus, the story of C’Dément — and CD Corner — is inseparable from his commitment: consignment for local artists, in-store ticketing, booming punk sales, exporting Stomp/Indica, and the Montreal–Paris bridge. Several staff members from that era would go on to become key figures in the cultural landscape: Philippe B (singer-songwriter), Chuck Comeau (Simple Plan), Vincent Lemieux (co-founder of MUTEK), Gary Tremblay (future owner of jazz club Diese Onze) and Jean-Sébastien Raymond (future owner of bookstore Volume), among others.

Sam the Record Man — Between two worlds

After C’Dément, Jean-François literally crossed the street to join Sam the Record Man. Versatile, he worked in every department (rock, jazz, classical, world, francophone), but the chain was in decline, caught between the digital shift and competition from big-box stores.

It was particularly in the jazz department, during quiet moments, that he deepened his knowledge of the genre: he read almost the entire Penguin Guide to Jazz, a monumental reference work. Those hours spent among the shelves allowed him to gain a solid understanding of jazz history, essential discographies and the great masters of the genre.

In this tense climate, Jean-François remained a motivated record clerk, passionate about music and committed to his work. By contrast, many employees at Sam the Record Man were demoralized: their working conditions were stagnant and their wages had not changed for years — a reflection of an already struggling record market — fueling widespread fatigue. It was common for colleagues to “call in sick” on sunny days, and Jean-François often had to step in at the last minute to cover other departments and keep things running.

Despite it all, he suggested improvements — including a famous memo: “How to renovate an entire department with a single screwdriver”. His enthusiasm contrasted sharply with the prevailing weariness, but Jean-François clearly felt that the end was near for Sam the Record Man: the market was changing, sales were falling, and the old energy was gone. Seeing the decline coming, he chose to continue his musical journey at Musigo.

Musigo — Consignment as an answer

After Musique Rockweiler, C’Dément and Sam the Record Man, Jean-François joined Musigo, a new banner born from rebranding the former Polyson chain — historically rooted in smaller cities, with an offer mainly aimed at the general public. But in downtown Montreal, this DNA clashed with a more demanding musical environment, shaped by alternative weeklies Voir, Ici, Mirror and Hour.

One major problem was the back catalog: Musigo bought massive quantities of popular titles (Céline Dion, Diana Krall) and even pyramids of Elton John’s Candle in the Wind singles — a profitable logic in smaller markets, but completely out of step with a downtown clientele hungry for new releases, emerging artists and independent productions.

Despite Jean-François’ repeated recommendations, the albums featured in the alternative press never made it onto Musigo’s shelves. Frustrated, he decided to build a parallel solution.

At the Faubourg Sainte-Catherine branch, he set up, with no prior model, a vinyl consignment system. He reached out to friends in the local scene — Stomp Records, Soundcentral, Beatnick, Tabou, L’Oblique, etc. — and proposed a new kind of partnership: placing their records in the store in exchange for visibility and distribution. In return, Musigo gained a rich, constantly renewed alternative inventory.

The records were placed in full view, in a dedicated display, accompanied by the business cards of the participating shops. Sales were immediately strong — undeniable proof that the downtown clientele responded to independent offerings. Every week, JF went back to the record shops with an envelope full of cash, picked up new stock and restocked the store.

This system inaugurated a new form of coalition between independent record shops and a commercial chain: sharing information about new releases, circulating stock, mutual support and cross-promotion. The success was such that he suggested Stomp roll out the model across the entire Musigo chain in Quebec — which they did.

Also working in the backstore was the owner’s son, Gregory Paquet, who regularly played his guitar. JF encouraged him, kindly, to get more involved in the shop rather than playing in the back — but the future decided otherwise: Paquet went on to form The Stills, whose debut album, Logic Will Break Your Heart, became a Montreal indie classic of the early 2000s.

Another young employee who passed through Musigo before finding success was artist Waahli, future member of Nomadic Massive. At the time, he was already honing his sense of rhythm and musical identity, long before emerging on Montreal’s hip-hop scene.

But in the early 2000s the industry shifted: Napster, Audiogalaxy, KaZaA, the arrival of the mp3. The record shop model collapsed, and Musigo went bankrupt.

As closure loomed, Jean-François rushed to return all consigned inventory to its owners — before the bankruptcy trustee could seize it — a last protective gesture toward the record shops involved.

“The beginning of a dark cloud over the record industry — the digital age.”: the digital transition marked the end of a world in which the record store was a cultural crossroads, a social space, a place of discovery.

Beatnick — The rebirth of vinyl

Spotted by Nick Catalano, a true “godfather of vinyl” — a kind of Indiana Jones of records — Jean-François quickly became his right-hand man. He accompanied the rebirth of vinyl by bringing in contemporary artists (Radiohead, The Strokes, Arcade Fire, The White Stripes…). In 2003, The Gazette illustrated the return of vinyl with his photo.

In the back room, with Nick and Al, he contributed to the growth of online sales: nearly 40,000 records listed (Gemm, eBay, then Discogs). He became a jazz specialist, personally choosing the titles displayed on the shop walls and advising customers, helping shape the taste of many collectors.

His role, however, extended beyond the shop walls. Alongside Nick, he helped manage the Salon du Disque, an event bringing together collectors, sellers and enthusiasts. Together they traveled from Montreal to Ottawa — car loaded with boxes of records — to sell their inventory at regional fairs: a form of itinerant prospecting, at the crossroads of commerce, adventure and musical archaeology.

Driven by the idea of opening his own shop, he went back to study management at HEC Montréal. But the context — the collapse of the record industry, the rise of digital — steered him toward technology, paving the way for his move to TouchTunes.

TouchTunes — Programming at scale

After several years in the record-store world — C’Dément, Sam the Record Man, Musigo, Beatnick — Jean-François made the leap into music technology by joining TouchTunes, a company specializing in digital jukeboxes installed in bars and restaurants.

He joined an exceptional team of programmers in the music department, which he quickly came to see as the most stimulating environment in the company. When he arrived, the jukebox selection was still relatively limited, dominated by commercial compilations like Best Of and Greatest Hits.

Eager to enrich the catalog, he wanted the programming to speak both to mainstream listeners and to the most discerning music lovers. He dreamed of a jukebox where you could just as easily play popular classics as discover punk, metal, jazz, blues, soul, progressive rock or psychedelia.

The reality of the music-integration process was demanding: each work had to go through a lengthy cycle of selection, rights clearance, technical processing and validation before becoming available on the roughly 40,000 jukeboxes spread across Canada, the United States and Mexico. In his role, he mainly monitored the charts — especially Billboard — in order to prioritize key tracks and ensure that no major trend slipped by.

Fueled by passion, he used his break time to broaden the catalog, discreetly adding dozens of essential tracks drawn from punk, metal, jazz, blues, soul and progressive rock. He spent hours in front of his computer refining the selection, convinced that the jukebox could and should reflect a musical diversity richer than what radio-driven sales alone suggested.

This editorial work consisted in deciding which works deserved to be added, kept or removed from the network: a delicate balance between commercial effectiveness, cultural diversity and local relevance. If a customer heard Chicago punk in a McDonald’s in Texas, Italian prog in a bar in Detroit or Montreal jazz in a TGI Fridays in Boston, there was a good chance it was thanks to him.

However, TouchTunes went through a period of internal change: the constantly evolving company began to prioritize financial imperatives and R&D over the depth of the music catalog. Leadership shifted, priorities moved, positions were cut. In that context, the music-curation work he did with such passion remained largely under the radar, without being fully recognized.

This period of disillusion prompted him to think about his professional future. Rather than settling into discomfort, he chose a bold reorientation. In 2011, he went back to school, starting a program in television and film production at Institut Grasset. For him, this return to school was a way to link his musical experience, his knowledge of images and his desire to tell the world differently.

Thus, his time at TouchTunes marked a pivotal phase: a transition between the world of records and that of digital technology, while setting the stage for his future work in production, visual documentation and cultural archiving.

Institut Grasset — Returning to video

First love: video. Returning to Institut Grasset, he nurtured a precise dream — to become a concert-video director — and gathered the best people in his cohort to form a team that would become All Access Productions. Classroom learning didn’t stimulate him much, so he created side projects and brought his classmates into the field.

Their first big move: filming Sam Roberts Band at Métropolis. The result, a professional multi-cam, impressed the teacher the very next day and was posted on the band’s official channel. A series of notable recordings followed: Vulgaires Machins (during the Maple Spring protests), Marie-Pierre Arthur, The Joy Formidable, Milo Greene, Teenage Bottlerocket, and an official series for Simple Plan that would surpass 3 million views on YouTube.

In his team, a key ally: Louka Boutin, a technical genius with whom anything seemed possible. The following year, Louka was already in Cannes with his own projects. For their final project, they shot a short film in New York set to Rhapsody in Blue, including a cameo by Peter Hale, Allen Ginsberg’s former assistant.

The film, expected to win first prize at the end-of-year gala, was never judged — the gala was canceled after tensions between teachers and students. Despite these achievements and this meteoric path, making a living from video proved difficult.

Craig Morrison — Roots of rock & invisible R&B

In parallel, Jean-François took private courses on the roots of rock & roll with ethnomusicologist Craig Morrison, in a small circle of enthusiasts meeting at Steven Morris’s home, a former NFB director.

Many of the participants in these gatherings would later become important figures in Montreal’s cultural world. Over time, Morrison and Morris became close friends of his family.

Thanks to Craig Morrison’s erudition and exceptional network, Jean-François met key artists in rock history, including Robbie Krieger (The Doors), Micky Dolenz (The Monkees), as well as members of Herman’s Hermits, among other influential musicians.

He then continued his artistic collaboration with Morrison by filming several editions of Roots of Rock & Roll at the Oscar Peterson Concert Hall, helping to document this annual event, which had become a must-see.

It was in this context that the figure of Vann “Piano Man” Walls resurfaced, a legendary pianist associated with Atlantic Records and considered one of the architects of the modern R&B sound. Having settled in Montreal in the 1960s, Walls had fallen into obscurity — to the point where many believed he was dead.

Morrison found him again after an appearance at the Montreal International Jazz Festival alongside Dr. John, then invited him to one of his classes, bringing his story back to life.

Fascinated by this rediscovery, Steven Morris embarked on a documentary about him, a project whose production would stretch over nearly 20 years. Jean-François joined him in this venture, notably by documenting the film’s world premiere at the Festival du Nouveau Cinéma in Montreal, as well as its American premiere at a festival in Memphis.

This formative experience immersed him in a project where archiving, the social history of music and documentary film intersect — a key template for his current approach to Montreal’s cultural memory.

SODRAC & Upstairs — Jazz as a springboard

After his studies at Institut Grasset, Jean-François obtained a position as a licensing officer at SODRAC, where he handled rights clearance for television — notably for shows like Star Académie, when artists wanted to perform songs by Céline Dion written by Luc Plamondon, for example. This one-year contract coincided with the death of his father: shaken, he chose not to continue down that path and to take a break. Jazz then imposed itself as a refuge and new center of gravity: at the Upstairs Jazz Bar & Grill, his encounters with jazz legends such as Barry Harris, Jimmy Cobb and Harold Mabern proved decisive.

Noticed by the Upstairs owner, Joël Giberovitch, he became responsible for social media, then videographer, photographer and marketing for about 364 concerts/year, while helping emerging artists structure their careers (online presence, websites, agents, promotion).

The Monday jam sessions — led by drummer Jim Doxas — played a key role in his discovery of the emerging jazz scene. A true musical laboratory, these evenings offered a rare chance to hear up-and-coming players alongside established musicians. He attended them every Monday for five years, without missing a single one, amassing over 5,000 photos of these spontaneous encounters.

During those vibrant nights, he acted as the eyes and ears of Joël Giberovitch, always on the lookout for new talent. It was in this context that he discovered young pianist Gentiane MG, onstage with seasoned musicians. Her hypnotic touch and her ability to keep up with — and even lead — veteran artists convinced him immediately of her potential.

When Joël asked him for suggestions to launch the new Tuesday Piano Trio series, he suggested Gentiane MG without hesitation. He then helped her by structuring her professional path: website creation, photos, advice, search for management — the kind of support he systematically offered to musicians he spotted at these jam sessions.

A year or two later, Gentiane MG was named a Radio-Canada Jazz Revelation, a public confirmation of the rise he had sensed during those Monday nights at Upstairs.

The club also gave him the opportunity to meet and converse with true jazz legends, notably Benny Golson, who played two nights. Jean-François verbally translated for him, into French, the review of his show that had appeared in La Presse. Golson then signed the famous framed photo of A Great Day in Harlem — a frame that Jean-François later gifted to Upstairs, where it remains on permanent display.

He also met New York saxophonist Azar Lawrence, who had played with John Coltrane’s bandmates after Coltrane’s death. Hearing his stories was a rare privilege; during the concert, Lawrence dedicated a blazing version of Afro-Blue to him, an unforgettable moment that etched the evening into his memory.

Over the course of many nights, he also spoke with brothers Jimmy Heath and Albert “Tootie” Heath, key figures of modern jazz, as well as bassist Bob Cranshaw, a longtime collaborator of Sonny Rollins. He also had the honor of introducing Dr. Lonnie Smith on the mic before his set — a moment as solemn as it was joyful.

The vinyl records displayed on the club walls came from his personal collection: he rotated them for a while, renewing the atmosphere of the room according to discoveries and musical seasons. The vinyl record menus, too, were drawn from his selections.

Sunwing — Changing horizons

In debt after years of trying to make a living from art, and deeply shaken by his separation from his partner Sarah, Jean-François decided to change course. He became a flight attendant with Sunwing — a job that was both pragmatic and open to the world, reflecting this pivotal period in his life.

He had met Sarah while working at Beatnick. They shared a genuine love of music, but their relationship carried a delicate complexity: she was Québécoise, from an Arab Muslim immigrant family, while he had grown up in the Christian tradition. In adulthood, however, Jean-François had turned toward a more personal spiritual quest, nourished by philosophical readings and the thought of Jiddu Krishnamurti, whose words resonated deeply with him: « Be a light unto yourself. » This stance, free yet disconcerting for more traditional family circles, helped create a quiet distance.

In spite of this, Jean-François showed genuine openness. Keen to better understand and respect Sarah’s family culture, he took Arabic classes at Collège Platon, read the Qur’an in its entirety out of intellectual curiosity, and even undertook a trip to Saudi Arabia, where he visited mosques in old Riyadh with her uncles. Beyond that, he crossed the desert on camelback, walking under an immense, mineral sky, carried by the silence and slow movement of the sand — an almost initiatory experience, halfway between physical trial and contemplative meditation.

There, at the heart of this extended family, he found himself surrounded by a swarm of children who took to him instantly. His own family also lived in Dubai for a few years, and the couple even tried, unsuccessfully, to settle there for good.

But Sarah harbored an irrepressible desire to leave. She eventually left Canada for New York, sealing their separation. It was painful, but necessary. « That’s life, » he repeated to himself, as a fragile attempt at acceptance.

His job at Sunwing then became a bridge to another existence. He criss-crossed the warm countries of the South — Jamaica, Cuba, Mexico, the Dominican Republic, the Bahamas — discovering a bright world that contrasted with the inner storm he had just gone through. Yet the work remained seasonal, marked by spring layoffs. Jean-François now longed for something more solid, a more stable structure.

And little by little, one path became obvious: the railways.

VIA Rail Canada — Finding balance

At VIA Rail, he started as a service attendant and later became a Senior Service Attendant / Service Manager: comfort, safety, crew management. His unusual schedule — made possible by weekdays off and quiet evenings in hotel rooms during stopovers — allowed him to build the Montreal Concert Poster Archive (MCPA): posters, tickets, photos, stories, from all eras.

His work echoes that of the Canadian National Railway porters of the 1930s, many of whom were also Montreal jazzmen, crossing the country to serve travelers while keeping the music alive. In the same lineage, he moved through the train like a musician who must constantly improvise in the face of the unexpected.

Like a jazz musician mid-performance, he had to handle a wide range of situations: medical emergencies, police interventions, collisions with vehicles on the tracks, major delays and journeys extended beyond 12 hours. Every trip became a balancing act where listening, adaptability and creativity mattered just as much as procedures. This reality led him to forge unique bonds with the crew and passengers, in an atmosphere where each journey wrote its own score.

These rest periods and quiet evenings in hotel rooms became, for him, a kind of nomadic studio, ideal for research, writing and highlighting Montreal’s cultural history.

Marie-Claude — Home and legacy

While working at VIA, he met Marie-Claude Felton, Ph.D., a historian specializing in the history of the book, in a café in Old Montreal. She holds a doctorate in history, as well as two post-doctoral degrees, with studies carried out notably in Paris, at Harvard, McGill and Oxford. She has also sung in several symphonic choirs, including the Harvard Choir and the Choir of the Orchestre Métropolitain, under the baton of Yannick Nézet-Séguin — an exceptionally rich experience.

Their meeting came just after he returned from a trip to Detroit, where he visited the Motown studios. Finding himself in this mythical place — steeped in stories, music and humanity — filled him with positive energy. He had the subtle feeling that a happy change was on its way in his life. A few days later, fate stepped in: he met Marie-Claude.

She, at that point, had just returned from Seattle and was about to leave for Prague. In their early conversations, he introduced her to the music of Chet Baker: she was immediately charmed — an intimate language they began to share.

Between them, it was love at first sight — intellectually, emotionally, humanly. They immediately felt they had much to offer each other: passions, knowledge, curiosity, sensitivity, listening. Very quickly, they married and became parents of two children, thus affirming a simple truth: what matters is not what happens to you, but what you make of what happens to you.

Marie-Claude played a decisive role in the maturation of the Montreal Concert Poster Archive (MCPA): she reread, commented on and enriched several texts, bringing historical rigor, precision, structure and a rare literary sensitivity. Her intellectual and emotional support became one of the foundations of the project. An extraordinary woman.

The MCPA thus took on an intimate dimension: a legacy for their children — knowing where you come from, what shapes a life, and how collective memory nourishes personal memory.