In the back room of N sur Mackay every Tuesday, something special is stirring up. And no, it’s not just the bar’s famous cocktails or the excellent whiskey tastings (though those are worth checking out). It’s Comedy on Mackay, a vibrant new weekly comedy show that’s quickly becoming a staple in Montreal’s comedy scene.

The atmosphere was reminiscent of a high school play, or at least that’s what my date leaned over to whisper into my ear as the lights dimmed. With its knots of young people huddled in their respective corners and coats hung up on wooden pegs near the stage, in a way I did feel transported back to high school, the fun part where I joked around with my friends in the stage wings before a production.

Docking my Bixi at the corner of St. Laurent and St. Catherine, I weave through the shiny new CIBL radio station and dodge the long line outside Club Soda. The air smells faintly of grilled meat and poutine from Pool Hall, and I jaywalk across the street toward the door of Café Cléopâtre.

I don't want to evoke memories of those bleak times a few years ago when we couldn't gather and have fun, but that's where this story begins.

Held Wednesdays at the charming Notre-Dame-des-Quilles in the Mile End, the Polycule set out to provide a safe space where queer, trans and BIPOC performers would be welcomed to try out new material of any artform in a weekly open mic.

Raquel Maestre is soft-spoken and poised, on stage and off. Her presence on stage captivates your attention from the start, then you’re hit by her jokes that are filled with wit and misdirection, making you explode with laughter.

Taking my first plunge into the widely renowned Montreal comedy scene, I wasn’t quite sure what I would be walking into. Being a newcomer to the city, and a newcomer to comedy, my stomach was buzzing like a hive of ever-persistent Quebec wasps.

Berkeley has the Greek Amphitheatre, Denver has the Red Rock Amphitheatre, Detroit has the Aretha Franklin Ampitheatre. Here in Montreal, we have a beautiful natural ampitheatre, the little hill near Duluth in Parc Jeanne-Mance where we gather on Mondays for the weekly open-mic.

I grew up in a small Catholic town in rural Quebec. Being non-binary and neurodivergent, I tried to make myself invisible against the background of farmers and amongst my peers. But, no matter how hard I tried, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

The first warm day of spring. Birds, bees, and fresh air. I’ve been enjoying the shift in weather and energy, rediscovering the joy of sitting on my balcony in a tank top, of having my toes out in the sun, and of looking for reasons to leave the apartment. With the warmer weather, I feel the desire to explore Montreal’s cabaret nightlife. First one on the list, Candyass Cabaret at Cléo’s!

YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES. The audience watches from the tiled bar and tightly packed seating area of La Marche à Côté. Read whatever you like—whether your poetry is slam, literary, free verse, iambic pentameter, or experimental. Read in any language; beyond French and English, it’s not uncommon to hear performances in Spanish, German, Italian—you name it—as part of a multilingual venture. You can read poetry written by yourself or a favourite poet. You can even recite song lyrics or make it all up as you go. The only rule at Accent is that you must not exceed your allotted time.