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Français (French)
by Dino Spaziani and Adrian Rodriguez
Montreal’s streets come alive in spring. From classical guitar to jazz violin, the sounds of buskers return to the city’s plazas, métro entrances, and church steps. This isn’t just casual entertainment, it’s part of the rhythm of public life.
The figure of the street musician is not unique to Montreal. The tradition spans continents and centuries. In Latin America, for example, the barrel organ player is known as an organillero, a person often seen with a wooden crank instrument slung over the shoulder, playing mechanical melodies from pinned cylinders or paper rolls. The lineage stretches back to Europe, where these performers were called Leierkastenmann in Germany or Werkelmann in Austria. These hand-cranked organs, sometimes accompanied by dancing monkeys or trained dogs, were the original portable jukeboxes of the 19th century.
Franz Schubert captured this solitary archetype in Der Leiermann, the final song of Winterreise. The “hurdy-gurdy man” stands barefoot in the snow, cranking his instrument while dogs snarl at him and no one listens. It’s a haunting image, a symbol of artistic isolation, endurance, and quiet defiance. That same spirit lingers in today’s buskers, who keep playing even when, at times, city folk walk by without noticing.
THE RHYTHM OF THE STREETS
Since 2009, I’ve been part of Montreal’s busking community. It all started back in 1991, playing at Pie-IX station as fans of the Expos (Montreal’s defunct baseball team) streamed out after games. Some days the crowd was with you. Other days, it’s just you, the sound, and the wind. My highest take so far has been $630 in 45 minutes, a rare combination of timing, energy, and generosity. My lowest was 10 cents after two hours at Place des Arts.
In my opinion, busking is not measured in coins. Instead, it’s all about the little moments: a toddler who sits cross-legged on the pavement to listen, a tourist who stops and cries, a smile that breaks across someone’s face before they keep walking. Children, especially, are honest in their reactions. If they like what they hear, they’ll dance, clap, or drag a parent toward the music. Sometimes they hand over a coin themselves, eyes shining. Sometimes they frown and walk away. There’s no middle ground.
BUSKER LAURENT Fugère
One of the city’s most familiar faces is that of Laurent Fugère, a classical guitarist who arranges every type of music from heavy metal to national anthems for nylon strings. “I try to guess where tourists are from,” he says. “If I get it right and play their anthem, you can see it: the recognition, the joy. Sometimes that turns into $20. Sometimes just a nod.”
He’s been playing since 1986 and prefers the outdoors, especially in front of Notre-Dame Basilica. “The métro is hard. People are on a mission, headphones in, eyes down. Outside, even at zero degrees, if the wind isn’t too bad, I’ll set up.”
In winter, he often plays under the arch at Place des Arts, especially after concerts. “It’s a good place to test new gear. I once returned a guitar because it sounded fine in the store, but not on the street. Out here, acoustics are honest.”
He travels, too, through Quebec and beyond, but always comes back. “It gets under your skin,” he says. “It’s work, yes, but also something else. Sometimes, in a single hour, you can feel joy, rejection, surprise. You don’t get that from a desk job.”
Looking Ahead
This summer, I’ll be on the streets with my phone and a tripod, documenting those stories, the newcomers, the lifers, the ones who found their sound underground and made their way to the stage.
Some of Montreal’s finest musicians started that way. Practising in subway corridors, paying tuition with coins thrown into a guitar case, and playing in strangers long before they played to concert halls. Take Airat Ichmouratov, now a conductor and composer whose early years in Montreal were spent playing for passersby to make ends meet. Even Gareth Dicker, a classically trained violinist, found freedom, and audience connection through busking as a McGill student, exploring improvisation far from the concert hall.
The music that fills Montreal’s streets isn’t just background noise. For some, it’s the first chapter of a long story.
This page is also available in / Cette page est également disponible en:
Français (French)
