The Stoned Poet

     Carter Kane, aka MOC has done much in the local scene of Montreal. From writing bars at the age of 10, playing shows all year long to hosting a weekly radio show called Fluid Mosaic where he interviews local artists of all genres to help promote their music and push the boundaries of a community in the music industry, allowing people to share their ideas, their creative plots and hopefully help build connections between people who delve in muisc through their earphones or during shows. Summer 2025 he hosted  FM Fest  supported by  Les Insoumises  ,  Infamy   CJLO  and  Non-Binary Twins . Artist such as  Parallel ,  Honey   Ryan Brio ,  Dievanse ,  Resonance , and more have had the opportunity to perform and showcase their talents through three neighboring venues, Casa del Popolo, Sala Rossa and La Sotterenea. This fest was really great because all kind of artist from various genres were playing, allowin...

  Shows and more shows. More bands, more music, but does this necessarely mean more entertainement? Depends which band and fan you ask. Matteo the singer of Mildew. Saturday night 9th August, I went to Escogriffe to see Serial Milk , Mildew and Baboune . The first band to play was Serial Milk, an esthetic band I'd say, then came Mildew, the holy knights of grunge and finally Baboune, wizards crafting a music never heard before, blending influences from heavy metal, hardcore, grunge and even a bit of pop rythms slipped to my ears. But before the show started, before I ever got there, before I even left, lots and lots happened.  I woke from a bender, another night partying, another night spent in the gaze of so many kids aged about twenty who could either idealize you or despise you. But now it was saturday, I could forget about all those weird and funny faces I'd seen the night before. But the headache wasn't forgotten.I gulped cheese, I read somehwere it helps break down ...

''Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you've enjoyed your night up till now, I now ask you to scream as I welcome Bad Objection on stage!'' It was a night of restlessness. I'd been partying for so long, I couldn't even remember what it felt like to be sober. The sun had dried my neurons, the weed had enhanced my hearing and sight. Basically I felt I was living in a moonage daydream. I hung with Chad during the day and by six o'clock, we arrived at Trashcan . Monoliths of emptiness guarded the place, you can feel needles crawl under your arms, hear the skateboarders skate upon the diy ramps. Many used to be waiting for their man here, some still do, but overall, the place has calmed down. Rookies who start going to Trashcan now a days, missed the good old days where the old bartender would inject LSD in the water to get everyone high, gone are the days of weird allegations of sexual harassement, or people being invited to sleep upstairs waking up the next day r...

Work was over, it was exactly 18h. I went back home, tired as fuck. I wanted to slouch my self down a hole, dive deep in darkness and lay my bones to rest. But the road awaits, from the corner of my eyes, mushrooms rest in the corner of my room, posters are solidely pressed to the wall. The light beems, shine, twirls. I get up, dress up, and swoop right back in my car. Cigarette ashes flicker all over the car, as I drive in a hurry to hauler up around the north shore. But as I get around, I miss the autoroute's exit towards Laval, more driving and then surprised I am to realize I've once again missed the autoroute's exit again. Geez, I'm not even high yet, no flock flesh eating molecules are in my veins yet to be and yet I've missed two exits. Fast forward an hour later, I'm finally at Jake's house. We get all funky, funny and forward we go on a little trip to Oka, before daylight breaks calling the hoops and cooks on the road.  Oka was full of effing bugs, ...

I saw Van Horne was shut down. From the 60's psychedelic dripped peace and love dream, to Dylan going electric, to those junkies starting off clean and ending hooked for life to brown sugar, Van Horne was nothing more than a dream, a call for redemption, a glimpse into carefree nights where anything could happen, as long as the cops let it happen.  It was never you and I who made it possible. Yes you or somebody else organized the shows, rented the material necessary and more, but sadly, it was the cops who made it possible for a while to have shows there. But to actually make Van Horne a place to host weekly shows was a mistake. It never was a place, it was simply an open area under a bridge, the same kind as where Anthony Keatis drew blood, the same where I last saw a junky sitting, lying down dehydrated and about to pass out, the same where lovers went to make love behind their parents back. Van Horne holds memories for all of us, but the truth is, if we want the mus...