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Flowers In the Dustbin

Maria Chávez, Victoria Shen, & Mariam Rezaei with Lori Freedman, No Hay Banda, La Sala Rossa, 25 March 2025

From left: Maria Chávez, Mariam Rezaei, and Victoria Shen perform at La Sala Rossa, 25 March 2025. Photographed for NicheMTL.

“Complexity is not difficulty, but mess, toxic waste, genre disorder.”
—Nick Land, No Future

Torus with Orchestroll, fdg., CMXE, & Musicfriend, Église Saint Denis, 22 March 2025

Jesse Osborne-Lanthier and Asaël Richard-Robitaille perform as Orchestroll at Église Saint Denis, 22 March 2025. Photographed for NicheMTL.

“The monastery was the first place in history where time was measured. Benedict added a seventh period to the devotion of the day, and in the seventh century by a bull of Pope Sabinianus, it was decreed that the bells of the monastery be rung seven times in the twenty-four hours. These punctuation marks in the day were known as the canonical hours, and some means of keeping count of them and ensuring their regular repetition became necessary.”
—Lewis Mumford, Technics and Civilization

“The social and technical relations that uphold our current economic order are the same relations which structure our experience of time in periodisation of life, that is, length of the working day, or the time spent producing value for capital. Time — in the view of capital, the sense that dominates our reality — really is money, and so keeping track of the time in which one’s investments in the purchase of labour power play out is paramount.”
—Introduction to Mark Fisher’s Flatline Constructs

A minor uproar occurred online this week when the U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem on Wednesday donned a Rolex worth $50,000 for a photo op at El Salvador’s Terrorism Confinement Centre.

Known as CECOT, the prison, which has the capacity to house 40,000 inmates, is being used as a waystation for deportees under the new American administration’s initiative to crack down on illegal immigration. Noem’s choice to wear such an ostentatious symbol of conspicuous consumption some saw as in poor taste.

However, whether intentional or not, the watch was the perfect prop. The handcuffs on the prisoners’ wrists are the underbelly of Noem’s legitimate incarceration by the constructs of hypercapitalism and neofascism that Trump’s regime exemplify.

Time, not space, is prison.

Stimulant Vol II Launch Party, St. Kevin’s Parish, 22 March 2025

An unignorable throughline exists between U.S. Presidents Donald Trump and John F. Kennedy.

The two alleged assassination attempts on Trump in 2024, as well as his appointment of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. as the Secretary of Health and Human Services, have fastened a link between the Trump and Kennedy brands. More recently, Trump’s release of thousands of declassified Kennedy assassination documents has renewed their association in the popular consciousness.

On the surface, Kennedy and Trump couldn’t be less alike: Kennedy was a Democrat, anti-war, anti-racist, resolutely left-of-centre on the American political spectrum.

Still, for fans of the author J.G. Ballard, for whom Kennedy’s death was an object of persistent fascination in works like Crash and The Atrocity Exhibition, Trump’s deliberate fixation with Kennedy is more easily decipherable. It is not so much ideological as it is libidinal.

Kennedy’s death was a moment charged with intense subconscious eroticism. Particularly, frame number 313 of the Zapruder film undeniably depicts a symbolic orgasm, the final bullet’s impact producing an eruption of biological matter exploding uncontrollably all over the First Lady’s double-breasted raspberry pink suit. It is pure snuff porn.

The fact that the Presidential limousine was already in a sense “decapitated,” and equipped with “suicide doors” — which swing both ways — deepens its auto- and homoerotic thematism. Not to mention that the car was a Lincoln, christened after another famously assassinated American figurehead. Surely, aside from automobiles, sex and death are the Western world’s most fundamental drives.

Nonetheless, Kennedy was the utopian President America would never get back. Whereas Trump is shaping up to be the dystopian leader they will never be rid of.

1985. Image-Worlds, Centre VOX, 28 March — 21 June 2025

Detail of the exhibition 1985. Image-Worlds at Centre VOX. Photographed for NicheMTL.

“You can’t be fond of living in the past
‘Cause if you are, then there’s no way that you’re gonna last.”
—Gordon Downie

Simon Chioini, “Rivière 4,” Montréal rivières, Myriam Boucher, Gabriel·le Caux, Simon Chioini & Antonin Gougeon-Moisan (Label formes – ondes)

I went this week to The Bay at Carrefour Angrignon to buy bedclothes and bath towels.

It has been widely reported that Hudson’s Bay Company is currently liquidating its stock and consolidating operations into six stores, including Montreal’s flagship location at Sainte-Catherine Street and Phillips Square. At least that iconic block will be spared.

In addition to the bluster from south of the border about tariffs and soft annexation, the demise of Canada’s oldest retailer, founded almost two centuries before the country’s Confederation, feels like yet another blow to what constitutes Canadian cultural identity. Regardless of our national disagreements, we all agree on what we are not.

But a sale is a sale.

As I perused the goods on offer, a profound sense of sadness overwhelmed me, along with the renewed realization that capitalism’s zombie endgame is ultimately to consume itself.

Under our absurd socioeconomic system, constellations of products are overproduced as cheaply as possible, maximizing at every stage the creed of shameless exploitation, in order to stock shelves that the consuming public greets largely with indifference.

Nobody really wanted these piles of haphazardly folded yet perfectly wearable beige pants that some sweatshop worker in Bangladesh stitched together for marginally more than slave wages. And still, nobody wants them at 40 percent off.

In the linens department, I pick out two towels, two washcloths, two bathmats, and a set of crisp white bedsheets, taking them to the checkout to pay. A middle-aged man with tired eyes processes the purchase, bagging my new items while reciting the store’s return policy. I ask him what he is planning to do now. He says blithely that he is looking for another job.

I wanted to buy a pair of those ugly beige pants, too, just to rescue them from the loneliness of arbitrary and unnecessary existence.

But as the saying goes, you have to put on your own mask first before assisting others.◼︎

Thank you for inviting NicheMTL to your thing. Please get in touch at the about page.

NicheMTL is Montreal’s independent not-for-profit source for this city’s most niche arts and culture. If you love what you’re reading, please consider buying a yearbook and subscribing.

Cover images: Detail of the exhibition 1985. Image-Worlds at Centre VOX. Photographed for NicheMTL.

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Catching the Big Fish

Traceable, Nubian Néné, MAI, 15 January 2025

Great art makes space for ideas.

It might be interesting to learn about an artist’s personal life, or to consider the cultural context within which their artwork was conceived. But what is actually important about any work, whatever medium or form it takes, is whether it cultivates deliberation.

After the affective impact is experienced, what is left are trace elements of contemplation.

Mahler’s Sixth Symphony with Payare, Maison Symphonique, 16 January 2025

Maestro Payare conducts the OSM’s performance of Mahler’s Sixth Symphony at Maison Symphonique. Gabriel Fournier for the OSM.

Comedy and tragedy are two sides of the same coin. There is always a drop, like the yin and the yang, of one inside the other. It is impossible not to recognize the sadness behind a frantic laugh, or to find calamity a bit hilarious.

An apocryphal story that circulated about Twin Peaks concerns the pilot episode’s premiere at the Telluride Film Festival in 1989. At the most devastating moment, when Sarah Palmer learns of her daughter Laura’s death, the audience apparently erupted in laughter.

The tendency toward cascading misfortune is a source of particular humour. Whenever a situation deteriorates from bad to worse, we cannot help but be amused. It’s a specific kind of schadenfreude, the discovery of a perverse sense of pleasure in regarding the pain of others.

Yolk, Two Readers and Music IV with Ashley Mayne, Gloriah Amondi, and James Player, 9 January 2025

Guitarist James Player performs at Yolk’s Two Readers and Music IV. Photographed for NicheMTL.

So-called “smart” technologies often aren’t.

Why would you want the door to your washing machine to automatically lock as a childproofing feature? What if your child was locked inside the machine?

As I write this article, Microsoft Word has restarted of its own volition and automatically enabled something called “Copilot.”

Copilot, ostensibly, is Microsoft’s Artificial Intelligence integration that can answer questions and summarize sentences and compose calls to action, as if every piece of writing should be some listicle about 13 restaurants you need to try whilst visiting Montreal. Or whatever.

The worst part about Copilot is that I can’t seem to figure out how to disable it. Every time I start writing a new paragraph, there it is, a little icon blinking at me, like Clippy on cocaine, prompting me to click on it, and by clicking on it, to train it to think like I do.

Get this through your artificially intelligent simulation of a head, Microsoft: the only copilot I need is God.

Janis Rafa, Landscape Depressions, Centre Vox, 17 January — 1 March 2025

Still image from The Space Between Your Tongue and Teeth, 2003, Janis Rafa, Centre Vox. Photographed for NicheMTL.

It may come to pass that animal intelligence will soon surpass human intelligence in the form of instinct.

We have begun to rely so heavily upon machines to do our thinking for us that inherent flaws are compounding and multiplying in our own faulty faculties. We are failing to recognize that within the systems of machinic control with which we have surrounded and propped up ourselves, there is an unseen disciplining apparatus at work that imprisons our physical and even our mental gestures.

The only escape may be to lean on intuition, relaxing our fingers on the Ouija board gadget and allowing the machine to exorcise its own ghost.

Alexandra Streliski, Salle Wilfrid Pelletier, 17 January 2025

Alexandra Streliski onstage at Salle Wilfrid Pelletier. Photographed for NicheMTL.

The standard piano has twelve notes across seven and one quarter octaves on only 88 keys.

That’s a surprisingly small number of sounds for an instrument that sits at the centre of Western musical composition. But limitation is paradoxically liberating, permitting virtually infinite combinations.

There are no wrong notes on the piano. It just depends on what song you’re trying to play.

David Lynch (20 January 1946—15 January 2025)

“Experience the joy of doing. And you’ll glow in this peaceful way.” —David Lynch, Catching the Big Fish

David Lynch, aside from being one of the most compelling filmmakers in the brief history of cinema, was also a painter, a photographer, a musician, a furniture maker, and a proto internet pioneer.

Before there was such a thing as social media, Lynch sold monthly subscriptions to his website, davidlynch.com, whereupon he would post what we now call “content” — absurd short videos of Japanese girls talking about bananas, and people in domestic environments wearing enormous rabbit masks, and Lynch himself delivering daily weather reports from his home in Los Angeles. He also sporadically responded to questions that his subscribers would email in.

To say that I was a David Lynch fan in the early 2000s is an understatement. I was determined to become an artistic Renaissance man just like him. I had sought out and seen all of his films. I had watched every documentary and read every book about him that I could find. I even paid for a subscription to his website. And thinking that he might hold some sort of secret to becoming a brilliant artist, or at least a key to how to get into film school, I decided to send him a question.

A few subscriptions cycles later, Lynch thoughtfully answered it. I was thrilled to hear my hero acknowledge my existence, much less offer me some sage advice.

David Lynch in 2003 offering advice.

Soon afterward, I went out and made a film, moved from Edmonton to Montreal, attended and graduated from film school, continued on to complete a master’s degree and Ph.D., pivoted from filmmaking to writing, and launched a niche publication that combines cultural criticism with narrative nonfiction in hopefully novel and creative ways.

None of these things made me rich or famous. But they fulfilled me nonetheless and continue to do so in large part because I never strayed from the core of Lynch’s guidance, which was simply to learn by doing — and to be the best me that I can be.

My opinion of David Lynch’s movies has shifted in 25 years, since good drama is always about change. But my gratitude to Lynch as an artist has only grown.

Because in addition to being the kind of artist who more than anything inspired ideas to flourish, Lynch’s greatest artform may have been to encourage other artists to keep making their art.

That, I believe, is Lynch’s eternal legacy.◼︎

Thank you for inviting NicheMTL to your thing. Please get in touch at the about page.

NicheMTL is Montreal’s independent not-for-profit source for this city’s most niche arts and culture. If you love what you’re reading, please consider buying a yearbook and subscribing.

Cover image: Nubian Néné performs at MAI, 15 January 2025. Photographed for NicheMTL.

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