Article – I leaned on the railing of a community centre in the heart of Montréal’s Plateau-Mont-Royal neighborhood, watching Ariane Moffatt adjust her microphone. The crowd—a mix of college students, young families, and older Québécois—had gathered despite the spring rain for this impromptu concert supporting local musicians. A handmade banner behind her read: “Notre culture n’est pas négociable” – Our culture is not negotiable.
“It’s not just about streams or royalties,” Moffatt told me later, sipping tea as fans milled around us. “When I released my first album twenty years ago, Québécois artists were everywhere on local radio. Now my nieces discover music almost exclusively through algorithms that rarely suggest French-language songs.”
This intimate gathering represents just one moment in an escalating standoff between the province of Québec and streaming giant Spotify—a conflict that could reshape how digital platforms operate in culturally distinct regions worldwide.
Last month, Québec’s National Assembly introduced Bill 797, which would require music streaming services operating in the province to ensure at least 30% of music recommended to Québec users comes from Québécois artists or includes French-language content. The legislation also demands greater transparency in how algorithms promote content to users.
Premier François Legault framed the bill as essential to cultural survival: “The dominance of English-language content threatens to drown out our voices, our stories, our musical heritage. We cannot stand by while our artists disappear from the cultural landscape.”
When I visited the Ministère de la Culture et des Communications in Québec City, policy advisor Jeanette Roberge explained the government’s position while shuffling through data reports on her desk. “We’ve seen a 47% decline in French-language music consumption among Québécois under 25 since 2015,” she said, citing a Statistics Canada cultural consumption survey. “That coincides precisely with the rise of streaming platforms.”
The province’s approach follows the tradition of Canadian content regulations established in the 1970s, which required radio stations to play a minimum percentage of Canadian music. Those rules helped launch careers of artists from Céline Dion to Arcade Fire, but were created long before algorithms determined what people hear.
Spotify has pushed back forcefully, calling the bill “technically unfeasible” and “contrary to user choice.” In a statement, the company insisted that “recommendations are based on listening habits, not corporate decisions,” though they declined my requests for an interview about how exactly their recommendation algorithms function.
Industry experts like University of Montréal digital media professor Claire Deschênes view this defense skeptically. “Algorithms don’t appear from nowhere,” she told me during a video call from her campus office. “They’re designed by humans with specific goals—typically engagement and time spent on platform, not cultural preservation.”
Research from McGill University’s Centre for Media, Technology and Democracy found that Spotify’s algorithms favor English-language content even among bilingual users who regularly listen to French music. The platform’s “discovery” features rarely suggest French-language content to users who primarily listen in English, creating what researchers call “linguistic filter bubbles.”
For musicians like Louis-Jean Cormier, former frontman of the band Karkwa, the issue hits both artistically and economically. “When I released solo work ten years ago, I could reach an audience through radio, television, music press,” he explained after a rehearsal in a converted Rosemont warehouse. “Today, if you’re not on popular playlists, you might as well not exist—and those playlists overwhelmingly feature American and English-Canadian artists.”
According to ADISQ, Québec’s music industry association, streaming royalties for Québécois artists have fallen 34% since 2018, even as overall streaming revenue in the province has increased. The group’s executive director Marie-Julie Desrochers believes this represents “a market failure that government has a responsibility to correct.”
The conflict extends beyond Québec’s borders. Similar debates are unfolding across Europe, where the European Union’s Digital Services Act now requires greater transparency from recommendation algorithms. South Korea has considered content quotas for K-pop on international platforms, while France recently implemented its own regulations requiring streaming services to invest in local content production.
On rue Saint-Denis, I met with Félix Dyotte, who operates Pantoum, an independent record store that has improbably survived the digital revolution. Surrounded by vinyl records and local band posters, he offered perspective on why this fight matters beyond the music industry.
“This isn’t just nostalgia or protectionism,” Dyotte said, carefully placing a Catherine Leduc record on the turntable. “Language and cultural expression are intertwined. When young Québécois stop hearing their language in music, something fundamental changes in their relationship to their identity.”
Law professor Pierre Trudel from the Université de Montréal believes Québec’s bill rests on solid legal ground despite Spotify’s objections. “The Canadian Constitution gives provinces authority over culture within their boundaries,” he explained. “And there’s precedent for requiring foreign companies to respect local cultural policies when they choose to operate in certain markets.”
For now, Spotify continues lobbying against the bill, warning it could “reduce service quality” for Québec users. The company has suggested alternative approaches, including voluntary promotion of Québécois playlists and investment in local artist development programs—solutions critics say would lack accountability.
As I left Montréal after a week of reporting, taxi driver Marcel Tremblay offered perhaps the most straightforward perspective. “My granddaughter doesn’t know who Robert Charlebois or Gilles Vigneault are—the poets who soundtracked our cultural awakening,” he said, navigating through construction on Boulevard René-Lévesque. “But she can name fifty American rap artists. Something important is being lost.”
Whether Québec’s approach succeeds will likely influence how other culturally distinct regions worldwide approach the growing tension between global digital platforms and local cultural ecosystems. The outcome may determine if the algorithms that increasingly shape our cultural consumption can be governed by values beyond engagement metrics and commercial appeal.
As Ariane Moffatt told her rain-soaked audience before I left the concert: “Our stories and songs don’t just entertain—they help us understand who we are. That’s worth fighting for.”
