I arrived at Le Belmont on a chilly Thursday evening as the faded sunlight cast long shadows across Saint-Laurent Boulevard. The historic music venue’s weathered exterior belied the energy building within its walls. Inside, a diverse crowd of twenty-somethings mingled beneath dimmed lights while local DJ Marina Chen prepared her equipment, carefully adjusting levels before her set.
“Five years ago, this place would have been packed by now,” Chen told me, gesturing to the half-filled room. “But we’re rebuilding. Night by night, beat by beat.“
Chen is part of Transition, a grassroots collective of artists, venue owners, and cultural workers fighting to breathe new life into Montreal’s struggling nightlife scene. The group formed in early 2024 after the city lost three iconic music venues in just six months – casualties of rising rents, changing demographics, and the lingering economic impact of the pandemic years.
Montreal, long celebrated for its vibrant cultural landscape, has watched its nighttime economy shrink dramatically since 2020. According to data from the Quebec Association of Cultural Venues, the city has lost nearly 30 percent of its performance spaces over the past four years. The Montreal Chamber of Commerce estimates this decline represents approximately $78 million in lost economic activity annually.
“We’re facing a cultural emergency,” explained Michel Levasseur, founder of Transition and former manager of now-closed Club Casbah. “When these spaces disappear, we lose more than just places to dance or hear music. We lose the environments where ideas flourish, where communities form, where our city’s identity takes shape.“
Levasseur’s concerns reflect a growing body of research highlighting the essential role nightlife plays in urban ecosystems. A comprehensive 2023 study by researchers at UniversitĂ© de MontrĂ©al found that cities with robust nighttime cultural scenes demonstrate higher rates of innovation, stronger social cohesion, and greater economic resilience during downturns.
The study’s lead author, Dr. Émilie Fortin, noted: “Nightlife spaces serve as crucial incubators for cultural production and experimentation. They’re where emerging artists develop their craft, where cultural trends emerge, and where diverse groups interact in ways that strengthen social fabric.“
For communities who have historically faced marginalization, these spaces can be particularly vital. Amina Rahman, a queer Muslim DJ who performs as Minaret, described how underground clubs provided her first sense of belonging in Montreal after immigrating from Algeria in 2016.
“These venues were where I could be fully myself, where I could explore my identity through music and find others who understood me,” Rahman said as we spoke outside CafĂ© Cleopatra, one of the few remaining venues in the once-thriving red-light district. “When these places close, it’s like losing homes.“
I witnessed this sense of community firsthand at Transition’s monthly fundraiser at Le Belmont. By midnight, the dance floor had transformed into a living testament to Montreal’s cultural diversity. Students, service workers, tech professionals, and artists moved together beneath swirling lights while Chen seamlessly blended QuĂ©bĂ©cois electronic music with North African rhythms.
But maintaining such spaces has become increasingly difficult. Catherine Nguyen, owner of Le Belmont, described the mounting challenges faced by venue operators.
“Property taxes have doubled in five years. Insurance costs are up. Then there are the noise complaints from new residents moving into gentrifying neighborhoods,” Nguyen explained. “We’re caught between wanting to support independent artists and simply trying to keep our doors open.“
The city hasn’t been entirely inactive in addressing these concerns. In March 2024, Montreal’s Economic Development Office launched a modest $1.2 million fund to support cultural venues, though many operators report the application process is overly complex and the funds insufficient to address systemic challenges.
Transition has emerged as a more nimble response to these mounting pressures. The collective operates through three main initiatives: a mutual aid fund providing emergency grants to venues facing closure; skills-sharing workshops that help operators navigate regulatory challenges; and advocacy work aimed at convincing municipal leaders to adopt more nightlife-friendly policies.
“We’re looking at cities like Berlin and Amsterdam, where ‘night mayors’ and comprehensive urban nighttime strategies have helped cultural venues thrive,” explained Levasseur. “Montreal needs to recognize nightlife as essential infrastructure, not just entertainment.“
The group has already achieved some modest victories. Following their advocacy, the city revised noise ordinance enforcement policies in several boroughs, allowing venues more flexibility during weekend hours. They’ve also facilitated partnerships between five venues and local universities, creating internship programs that help with staffing costs while providing students valuable industry experience.
According to Daniel Baril, an urban planning researcher with Montreal’s Urban Development Institute, Transition’s approach represents a promising model for cultural preservation.
“What makes their work particularly effective is that it’s led by people with direct experience in the sector,” Baril told me. “They understand the complex ecosystem that supports cultural spaces – not just economics, but the social and artistic dimensions as well.“
Back at Le Belmont, as Chen’s set reached its crescendo, I noticed something remarkable. The dance floor had filled with people spanning generations, backgrounds, and social groups – all sharing a moment of collective joy that felt increasingly rare in our digitized world.
Observing the scene, Rahman reflected on what motivates her participation in Transition’s work despite the challenges. “This is worth fighting for,” she said, gesturing toward the crowd. “Montreal without its nightlife would be like Montreal without Mount Royal or without winter – something essential would be missing from its soul.“
As the city continues navigating post-pandemic recovery and rapid urban development, the future of its nighttime culture remains uncertain. But groups like Transition suggest that the pulse of Montreal’s nightlife – though perhaps fainter than in previous decades – continues to beat with remarkable resilience and renewed purpose.
For those invested in preserving the city’s cultural identity, that rhythm offers a reason for hope.
