For this piece, The McGill Daily sought to interview every single OAP act as well as the members of OAP management. All parties in the above demographic who are not represented in this article either did not respond to our request for an interview or did not have any contact that we could find.
Lower field: bell-like peals of laughter, the faint aroma of grilled burger patties, and a snaking queue of students stretching around the perimeter of what looks like an outdoor party with an endless waitlist. Friends separated over the summer reunite with shrieks and hugs to the exhilarating soundtrack of musicians playing just steps away. It’s no surprise some McGill students, and the event itself, call Open Air Pub (OAP) the “Best Place on Earth”.
Since 1987, OAP’s legacy has resonated across generations of McGill students as the stage for golden memories. Ivan Zhang, one half of the Head Management duo for the most recent edition of OAP, tells us he found the first documented mention of OAP in the 1980 McGill Yearbook, which at the time was a gathering of engineers at Three Bares Park for Welcome Week 1980. Now organised by the Engineering Undergraduate Society (EUS), OAP has grown exponentially in scale, taking up half of McGill’s Lower Field and attracting thousands of McGill students, alumni, and their external plus- ones alike.
The COVID-19 pandemic halted OAP for a few years, which was enough to weaken the event’s influence and place in the collective McGill consciousness. “We saw a few years of not-great profitability and lower capacities post-COVID,” says Zhang. “Right after COVID, there was a bit of a lull where McGill students didn’t even know what OAP was, especially the new ones coming in.” Now, after some time and vested publicity efforts, it’s back and bigger than ever, renowned for its cheap (though warm) alcohol, good food, and overall vibrant ambience.
As one of the few large inter-cohort McGill social events, organizing OAP is, naturally, a massive endeavour. From supplying various food and beverage options to recruiting managers, bands, and artists to spray the iconic OAP stage graffiti, the 13-member team works tirelessly both on and off the ground to ensure the event runs smoothly. Most recently, the OAP team has implemented new environmental initiatives which have, according to Nicole Shen, OAP’s food manager, earned them a Gold certification from the McGill Sustainability Office. These developments include the introduction of new mats to protect the grass on Lower Field, the recycling of cans (rather than giving out plastic cups), and the use of propane rather than charcoal grills for food, among others.
Providing the soundtrack to this one-of-a-kind student festival are a variety of bands, singers and DJs. This year, OAP hosted 26 amazing acts. From soulful harmonies and acoustic covers to head-banging rock tunes and DJ sets, there was truly something for everyone. A few of the acts actually found their
start at McGill, despite the predominantly academic environment. DJ Clément Gabriel, who describes his music as “dark and euphoric,” learned how to mix in an hour before a party at his former fraternity. In addition, rock band Dollhouse recruited their bassist Sacha when drummer Emilio spotted him walking around with his bass at Activities Night last year.
In fact, the significance of OAP within the McGill community means that many performers had already attended the event from below the stage. Of course, this means that they are or were McGill students themselves, lovingly carving out time between tutorials and lectures to hone their craft. Still, the process of becoming an OAP act is complex and multilayered, with the OAP team having to sift through a substantial number of applications and music samples.
OAP has provided a platform for students to test the boundaries of expression and find their own unique voices. Experimental DJ trio Dance Engine describes OAP as “a really nice musician[‘s] playground” where they can showcase “what they really want to do” because of the “easy to win” receptiveness of McGill students to novel ideas and new music. Similarly, DJ Nina Baby closed this year’s OAP Boiler with “music that [she’s] rarely had the chance to play”, sharing her infectious electronic sound with the McGill masses.
OAP has even pushed new voices to the forefront. The common pursuit of a good time across all involved parties fuels OAP’s lively and accepting atmosphere. Compared to other festivals, the beauty of OAP is that the person on stage could also be your friend, which makes it all the more exciting. Acoustic folk duo Dave and Sarah (whose names are neither Dave nor Sarah) describe the sensation of performing at OAP as “not even comparable” to their previous gigs, not just because of OAP’s sheer scale but also because “everyone knew [them], which made it scarier but also so much fun.”
The added layer of thrill as a result of being surrounded by familiar company rings true not just for OAP’s performing artists, but for their patrons, who get to commemorate the end of summer (or winter, depending on when you go) by letting loose amidst a crowd of friendly faces. “As a student, I love that I get to hang out [at OAP] with my friends, and also play there as an artist,” house-inspired DJ Dante says. By playing for the community he is part of, he feels like he can stay true to the sound he loves. “You can kind of tell when you’re in the that the positive feeling people experience kind of rubs off on each other.”
Moreover, OAP’s relatively relaxed format extends music and performance not only to those who practice it professionally, but to anyone with love and respect for the craft. “We are engineers, but we have hobbies,” jokes Nella Craft, one of OAP’s music managers. As mentioned, many of the acts are McGill students or alumni from various faculties and disciplines.
GarageMDs, for instance, is a band made up of McGill medical students – not your usual candidates for a school band, given the rigour of their program. Moreover, Gianni, founding member of dream rock band Flying Dream, is a post-doctoral fellow in the McGill Faculty of Engineering. “Academia and research are fascinating, but they’re very rigid […] Music is more free, and you [have room to] explore.”
That being said, OAP’s free-flow is also calculated. As one of the main goals is to keep the audience entertained, the event’s management must curate cohesive sets throughout the event. Niney, a Montreal-based DJ, says he enjoys this aspect of the festival. “The goal is to bring it from zero to on the way to the tech house,” he shares, “so I had to get [the crowd] dancing, to sing songs they may or may not know.” Niney describes himself as an avid dancer, and changing up his style to get a crowd warmed up and grooving is one of his favourite things to do. OAP allows for this part of him to shine. “As a DJ, you can never have too many styles.”
However, music serves many more functions than just inducing hype in a crowd. It provides the soundtrack for our morning commutes and gym sessions, sets the mood at our local cafes and bars — it surrounds us, giving it immense and intrinsic power. Mica, a disco music DJ says, “Music exists in many forms in every aspect of my life. Study nights, kickin’ it with friends, football games, preparing food — no matter what I’m doing, there’s always a perfect soundtrack.” With the growth of streaming services and subsequent increased accessibility of music, it has become so integrated into our daily lives that we might not fully appreciate its special quality. Music has the capacity to influence our thoughts and emotions, not only stimulating our senses but acting as a mode of idiosyncratic expression.
This is no different amongst the performers of OAP, to whom music is a multi-functional tool that holds a special place in their hearts. When asked how music has enriched his life, Owen, founding member and lead guitarist of Montreal indie rock band Willy Nilly, joked, “My depression now has a musical twist to it,” referencing songwriting’s critical role in conveying his personal realities. Dollhouse’s genre-bending songs, composed and arranged by the entire group, also tackle a plethora of issues like mental health and activism, among others. “It’s just like, we hear you,” says Nikita, the band’s singer, “‘cause we all have our own kind of struggle. It translates into our music.”
And isn’t that what all this music and all this partying is about? It’s all to be heard, to be seen. While it might sound a little corny, the tunes and the booze and the (very good) corn on the cobs at OAP are all designed and calibrated for a specific purpose: connection. This is the crux of OAP, the secret sauce that makes it as celebrated and anticipated as it is by the McGill student body.
This sentiment was echoed by almost everyone we talked to about OAP’s impact and legacy. “In the back of my mind, OAP was a sort of dream,” contemplates Gabriel Jon, a folk and R&B singer and McGill Engineering student. “It was a big step towards my goal of not overthinking things too much and just going for things that I want to do.” Similarly, GarageMDs comments, “There’s something special about seeing your friends and classmates cheering you on, creating moments that remind you we’re all in this journey together […] that make this experience so meaningful.”
“Seeing the impact that [our performance] can have on people who come to the shows means the world to us,” relates The Howlin’ Gales, a country rock band from Toronto. In an increasingly divided world plagued by individualistic ideals, to be seen by your community and to have your voice not just heard but uplifted is perhaps what we all yearn for. The bond between a performer and their audience, therefore, is made all the more sacred, as the effort and love invested by a performer into their craft is rewarded by the energy they receive from their audience. “What I hope to gain is a deeper connection with that crowd, because they’re the true supporters, the ones who come alive no matter the circumstances,” puts Clément Gabriel.
Beyond this, there are also the little points of connection between patrons, which all OAP attendees can attest to. “It’s the one place where I’ll actually see all of my friends, who you can never really combine in one room all together at McGill,” explains Claire Levasseur, VP Services for the EUS. From chatting with strangers in the (more often than not) hours-long line to bumping into dear friends scattered across the field, the spatial configuration of OAP is one built for interaction. “I hope OAP is remembered like that, where you can meet new people from so many different types of programs, so many different places.”
And not just students! Karl, a security guard from OAP, recalls feeling heartened by the warmth students showed him in their brief interactions entering and exiting the venue. When checking McGill IDs, he recounts seeing a string of 6 people with the same birthday as him — Valentines’ Day, which he says is rare. “At events, people usually try to avoid talking to security,” he says, “but here, I get to interact with cool people, young people.”
Love it or hate it, OAP is a McGill cultural staple that is here to stay. While seemingly just a superficial student festival on the surface, OAP’s purpose is much deeper than that. As a critical facet of McGill culture, it weaves a golden tie between decades of McGill alumni all the way to the present, strengthening an already formidable bond that exists between us students. It promotes local and student artists, ensuring a steady stream of art in a world where creative is unfortunately deemed less productive and therefore less valuable. OAP also fosters inter-faculty and inter- cohort interaction and
connection, ensuring that people get the opportunity to form new bonds and strengthen old ones. “We take a lot of pride in being able to put OAP on and create a space that so many people can enjoy, that connects everybody,” expresses Josh Negenman, the other half of OAP’s head management duo.
So, OAP. You may or may not have attended, but you sure as hell have heard of it. In any case, it’s energetic and lively, with an atmosphere best described as electric – a buzz on your skin, a welcome high.
Is it really “The Best Place On Earth”? Nothing’s perfect, of course, but we’d say it comes pretty damn close.