Chahut d'ruelle

We were all stranded in Montreal, one of us just had gotten back from Berlin, one from Lisbon, and another from Vancouver. At this point in time, the Montreal soil seemed to all of us a common haven. Phil Ouellet had composed, on the road, a couple of songs to fill his busking hat: a renegade lament, a bankrupt blues, a wine-thirsty ballad, a fed-up rock… overwhelmed with wanderlust, we gathered, and that’s when the ruckus started to resonate in the alleyway. The first audience was a neighbourh