4PM at Montreal airport on Wednesday, September 2nd. Myself and one of the other five members of the British press delegation at Quebec’s notorious Festival de Musique Émergente (FME) – situated in the mining town of Rouyn-Noranda – set foot on North American soil for the first time in our lives. It’s the same story for the other three Brits who got here earlier today. It’s all beginning to feel both very real and utterly surreal, the latter being due to the novelty of the situation paired with the fact that we’re only two hours ahead of the time back at Heathrow, despite having taken off seven hours ago (yes, I’m aware that the concept of time zones is far from revolutionary, but please allow some sympathy for the fact that I myself have never crossed one this significant before).

We’re dropped off at our downtown hotel, where we’re pit-stopping for the night before taking off bright and early the following morning for a town that some locals describe as “the end of the world”, or “la fin du monde”, due to its geographic isolation. The industrial town, with a population of fewer than 50,000, looks like a speck of dust in comparison to its backdrop, which is composed of a seemingly endless array of lakes and forests.

We’re here for one night and one night only, and having spent the evening prior to my flight (perhaps somewhat performatively) watching express his glowing appreciation for the people of this city in his Quebec episode of Parts Unknown. I want to waste none of the little time I have exploring this mishmash of a metropolis of Anglo-Francophone culture.

We arrive at what we’re told is the hottest venue in town for a warm-up show that the festival is putting on. Ataverne-turned-music-venue with a warm, infrared-lit interior and an impeccable sound system, L’Escogriffe, or simply “L’esco”, hosts a line-up of bands that will also be making the pilgrimage to Rouyn-Noranda in the following days. Coincidentally, it was at this very venue that the founders of indie label — the team behind FME — first crossed paths.

On the 20-minute walk from our hotel to the venue, there’s a thrilling sense of momentum that comes with every step. I find myself grinning from ear to ear and thinking, “Hell yeah, I’m walking down the sidewalk of a boulevard. ” Which is not something I’ve ever been able to say before. I’m intrigued to hear what the local scene has to offer as I queue at the bar, unsure about how much I’m supposed to tip the staff.

There’s a young lad behind me who is properly buzzing to see the first band on the bill: Montreal’s very own . They launch into a wild set of snappy, riotous feminist punk bangers. Jazz-trained drummer and bassist hold the rhythm section down like pillars, delivering the racing pulse of the music in an effortlessly cool and tight manner. The front of the stage is hypnotically commanded by the unflinching presence of frontwoman and the chaotically radiant energy of Scottish-born guitarist .

I’ve got a special place in my heart for this type of shout-along, angry, political punk – especially when the songs are also catchy, moshable and well-constructed – and within the first track, I’m instantly hooked. At numerous points throughout the set, Maria delivers the sucker-punchy lyrics to tracks with titles like ‘I’m Not Your Fucking Sex Doll’ directly into the faces of men in the audience, towering over them as she does so with a pointed glare and an almighty roar that makes them shrink into their skin like salted snails, which the other band members clearly find very amusing to observe.

It’s an unforgettable introduction to the music being brewed in Montreal, and it makes me confident about what I’ll be discovering in the days that follow. We call it a night shortly afterwards, thirst quenched and time-zone tiredness catching up with us. As we trudge home in a downpour, we make a note to ourselves to catch New York’s – who were also billed that night at L’esco – at the festival. 

7AM on Thursday and the British delegation boards the wrong bus to Rouyn-Noranda, which causes a mild panic among the festival’s organisational ranks. This is down to the fact that none of us knows the French for “shuttle”. Not to worry, we’re all headed the same way. From my window seat, I’m in awe of the sheer scale of the wilderness that confronts us as we leave Montreal and traverse the nearly four hundred miles of woodland and water that separate our origin from our destination. Occasionally, we pass through a small town or village, but for most of the eight-hour journey, we find ourselves removed from civilisation.

We reach Rouyn-Noranda just after 4PM and are dropped off at the festival’s press office, which is situated inside a local music school. Usually, in these situations, you’re immediately greeted by a pop-up office containing printers, wristbands and guest lists being crossed off. Here, they do things somewhat differently. We make our way into the building and past a Steinway piano to enter a room where a fridge laden with beer sits adjacent to a busy bar that’s being commandeered by local volunteers and friends of the festival, who are more than eager to ensure our glasses remain full throughout the time we spend there. After two days of lengthy travel, I don’t think we could have asked for a warmer reception.

An hour or so later, we pick up our wristbands and head to our hotel – an establishment that sits across the road from a hunting store and a strip club, and has an interior reminiscent of amid-00s timeshare holiday apartment in the Algarve – before finally heading down to the Main Stage on 7th Street to sample our first bit of live music on the FME grounds. 

are the first band we catch. They’ve got a dreamlike quality that keeps you guessing as they float between differing sounds and styles with coolness and ease. Parisian riser (yes, his real name) is up next, upstairs at Le Petit Théâtre. He owns the stage with a magnetic glow, darting across the venue ecstatically as he, too, encounters a North American audience for the first time in his career.

Back at the Main Stage, Québécois indie-pop star (a.k.a. ), winner of the 2023 Juno Award for Francophone Album of the Year, serenades an enthusiastic crowd with a collection of songs from the three acclaimed albums he’s released via independent imprint . As Thursday’s programming draws to a close, we find ourselves at the intimate Fizz Stage, which sits just across the road from Le Petit Théâtre. By this point, we’ve heard a satisfying dose of synth-heavy, ethereal music and are now in the mood for a boogie. 

Enter , the Montreal-based multi-hyphenate who grabs all the fun elements of indie sleaze, hyperpop and noughties club music and amalgamates them into something that feels fresh, electric and irresistibly groovy. This sound is visually paired with a style and on-stage persona that are powerful, humorous and unapologetically her own. It’s a triumphant conclusion to the first day of FME – one that perfectly validates every step of the long journey that brought me here.

Friday morning leaves us little time for faffing about, as we’ve been cordially invited to attend a lunch hosted by indie label , where our food is prepared and served by none other than reigning MasterChef Québec champion . I don’t want to spend too long mulling over the many ways in which we were pampered on this trip, but my God – the sheer number of Ratatouille pen-drop moments I experienced with each bite made it the best dish I’ve ever eaten in my life.

Among the attendees is Rouyn-Noranda’s new mayor, , a Quebec separatist who tells me that the independence movement here has grown somewhat quieter over the past two years, as Donald Trump’s increasingly hostile rhetoric towards Canada has shifted concerns towards the country’s national sovereignty. Stomach lined, it’s music I’ve now got an appetite for. Also hailing from Montreal, draws in one of the biggest crowds of the festival with her confident but cool performance, which combines lo-fi rap, jazz and trap music. I’m told she’s very much on the up in the Francophone music world, and from the number of young people going mad for her up at the barrier, I can believe it.

Back at Le Petit Théâtre, the set that follows fills me with sheer delight. Belgian minimalist post-punk duo deliver one of the most creatively outlandish performances I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Bassist and vocalist stands barefoot before an assortment of pedals as she and percussionist conjure up a flurry of complex rhythms and the kind of harmonies you expect to hear coming from an Eastern European Orthodox choir. De Wit’s percussion kit is almost entirely made up of household objects. Spades, upturned bowls and colanders, cheese graters – you name it. She even turns her hand to the wind section, blowing into the same empty bottle of Stella Artois that’s been with them for the best part of a decade. It’s clever, refreshing and really, really fun.

The following afternoon, they perform a secret set in – of all places – the car park of a Tim Hortons. Having been drawn in by Friday’s performance, I was glad to also have the chance to witness this in daylight, where I could properly see what these objects were and how they were being used. On the topic of secret sets, I catch my first on Friday night as midnight approaches. Austin two-piece deliver a roaring performance from inside a local mechanic’s garage. Genre-wise, I’m really not sure if it’s even worth trying to categorise what they do. All I can say is that it’s loud, shouty and in-your-face. The chemistry between and is immediately apparent as they take turns hopping on the mic, with Oviedo occasionally picking up the saxophone. 

The whole thing bellows “Fuck the system” at the highest possible frequency and serves as a middle finger to the tech bros and so-called “anti-woke” comedy podcasters like Tony Hinchcliffe who have swarmed Austin in recent years. Colombian artist, producer and DJ then takes to the Fizz Stage, where the anti-capitalist sentiment is further reinforced through performance art, as they grab a brush and bucket of red paint mid-set and adorn a bedsheet with the words “A SYSTEM THAT HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY MEN CAN BE UNWRITTEN”.

I catch the first half-hour of rowdy Rotterdam post-punk outfit in a dimly lit, typically North American sports bar before heading over to the basement of Le Petit Théâtre to watch dominate an absolute frenzy of a late-night slot, leaving me in no doubt as to why they’re one of the most discussed acts of le weekend.

Saturday afternoon is all about the legendary Bonsound BBQ, which takes place at a house by Osisko Lake. Hot dogs and punch go down swimmingly as French avant-pop artist and her band play a laid-back set that gears us up for the last full day of music. Back at Le Petit Théâtre, , a.k.a. , a producer and composer, gets us into a groove with a synth-heavy DJ set that fluctuates between ambient house, and even a sprinkling of UK garage. I then make my way to the car park of a 24-hour poutine restaurant that I’ve frequented many a time over the past few days, where I’m drawn into the lively mosh pit of Montreal hardcore band .

I then take this energy and relocate it to the basement of a local church, where my old friends somehow manage to surpass the already sky-high expectations I had for their set following Wednesday night’s warm-up show. The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, with my only recollection being Cossack dancing to a donk remix of the theme tune from Wallace & Gromit at some DJ set or other.

I spend much of Sunday on a speedboat exploring the breathtaking lakes that surround the town. A local man called Martin has been kind enough to show us around, and as we tear across the water, he regales me with stories from a life that feels quintessentially Québécois – from his youth as a womanising ice hockey player to the time he shot a bear with a bow and arrow while out hunting. If I haven’t emphasised this enough already, the people of Quebec are hard as nails.

With that in mind, it’s perhaps no surprise that metal is one of the region’s dominant sounds. One local band, , added a whole new meaning to the term “heavy metal”. Their music is fuelled by rage towards the Horne Smelter, the enormous copper-processing plant that looms over Rouyn-Noranda and is owned by multinational mining giant . In recent years, the smelter has found itself at the centre of a fierce controversy over its arsenic emissions and the potential health risks posed to the surrounding population.

For frontman , that anger is deeply personal. He worked at the smelter in his twenties and, years later, developed five tumours in his right thigh – one of which, he tells me, grew to “the size of a grapefruit” – before having his leg amputated in October 2020. There is no documented evidence establishing that his illness was caused by his time at the smelter, but Turcotte nevertheless direct his fury towards Glencore through the band’s incendiary music. Their 2023 debut, ‘Glencorruption’, takes its name directly from the corporation; its follow-up, ‘Capitale de l’arsenic’ – “Arsenic Capital” – is even less subtle. Their latest record goes one step further: ‘Une ville, une mine, un cancer’ – “A City, a Mine, a Cancer”. For Guhn Twei, heavy metal isn’t simply a description of the music they make; it’s a means of screaming back at the industry that has shaped the town they call home.

Back on 7th Street, , a.k.a. – who backed up Public Appeal on the decks earlier in the week and is a co-founder of the Montreal culture magazine – gets the last-minute call-up to bring the festival to a close. With a carefree swagger, she caters to all tastes, fusing indie-disco classics with an assortment of pulsating techno beats.

For around three hours, those who still have anything left in their legs dance with reckless abandon into the early hours of Monday morning, bringing a triumphant end to the whirlwind that has been FME’s 24th edition.