I dropped out of McGill because of depression. It was the type that begins as a barely perceptible malaise but quickly penetrates your mind and renders you nearly unable to speak, think, or even walk. Perhaps the most common misunderstanding of depression is that it’s simply an overarching sadness permeating your positive thoughts. In its most serious form, the illness may actually leave you unable to feel anything – comfort or happiness, fear or rage. It wasn’t until I’d reached this level that I finally decided to take time off from my routine and accept help. If you find any aspect of this story relatable, I hope that you seek help immediately.

I vividly remember the first (and last) time I used McGill Mental Health Services. My parents had been asking me to get in touch with someone for months. I’d always responded to these requests by saying no, I wouldn’t see anyone because I was “fine” and “therapists are for people who need attention.” But after two years of growing increasingly despondent, I knew I had to do something. So I temporarily abandoned my mask of confidence and called.

To be guaranteed an appointment, even during summer vacation, I had to call a month in advance. I got a time slot and a month later, made my first visit to the Brown building.

After I filled out a survey, the receptionist at the Mental Health desk directed me to the office of a triage therapist, where I was greeted with a flat, “Hello, please take a seat.” She asked me why I was there, and I couldn’t articulate further than that I was “unhappy”. She asked if I’d had interpersonal problems – friendship issues, family issues, issues with a significant other, etc. To all these prompts, I responded truthfully that no, I had none. At the conclusion of our ten minute long meeting, she informed me that no, I was “not depressed”, that there was nothing she or a therapist could do for me, and that I should “go to [the Career Planning Service] and talk to someone there.” This interaction deterred me from seeking further help, as I left McGill Mental Health that day convinced that nobody would ever understand my general discontentment with life.

When school started again in the fall, I began a pathetic attempt to feign mental and emotional stability. My friends and professors had no idea that I was having personal issues, because I appeared fine. I still went to parties, and talked with friends for hours. I even comforted a few people who might have been facing depression themselves, but privately I was unraveling. I started to have outbursts of anger or sadness. The second I was alone, I’d cry almost uncontrollably. I had to leave classes to cry. I had to leave conferences to cry.

But I convinced myself that I could push through it, and within a few weeks of the school year I started to have vivid suicidal thoughts. I didn’t think I’d ever act on them, but thoughts of ideation consumed hours of my day – how I might do it, what I would be wearing.  My mom started to call multiple times a day, just to make sure I’d pick up. I thought that I had to maintain a semblance of composure, or face abandonment by friends. I began to make up excuses for leaving social gatherings. My grades plummeted. The depression grew progressively worse until one day I had to barricade myself in a closet until an overpowering wave of suicidal thoughts passed. Two days later, I walked out of my first final of the semester, and with my last ounce of sanity withdrew from all my classes and left McGill.

Ignoring the first signs of depression is like ignoring a suspicious lump growing on your body. Like a tumor, depression, if left untreated, will wreak havoc on your health in virtually every respect. It will become more dangerous to you and perhaps those around you. It may well kill you. Last spring, if I hadn’t exercised an uncharacteristic level of restraint, I probably would have been a victim of depression myself.

McGill is struggling financially, and McGill Mental Health Services are operating on a very limited budget. If students are guaranteed access to these services for only the cost of the $20 registration fee, I see no issue. The real problem with these services is that they’re incongruous with the needs of a deeply depressed person at almost every level. A triage therapist might misdiagnose you. They might see hundreds of students a week and unconsciously be eager to get you out of the office. Overcoming a bout of depression will take more than “15 or 16” appointments. It might take dozens of therapists until you even find one with whom you’re comfortable. If you’re feeling really low, you might not even have the energy or motivation to make an appointment. It’s incredibly difficult to address mental health issues at any large university, not just at McGill.

As someone who’s cycled through many phases of depression, I want to give some advice. If you start to notice a negative change in your mood, go to McGill Mental Health immediately. Don’t write uneasy feelings off as nothing, because you know yourself better than any triage therapist. If your negative moods begin to intensify, leave. Take a semester off. Take a year off. Transfer. Go back home, or to wherever you feel safest. Reconnect with your family. Find a therapist you can talk to. If you’re willing, try out antidepressants. But please, if you find yourself feeling progressively more numb or ‘empty,’ get as far away from school as you can. It might not be financially convenient, or fit with the career progression schedule you had planned, but your life is invaluable and you can always return.

I knew two people who decided to end their lives at McGill in the past year. Horrific doesn’t even begin to describe a suicide at 21 or 22. Although it may seem like a truism, life really is worth living, and things do get better. I had a tortuous couple years, but that’s not much time at all. I’m at a new university, I like what I’m studying, and I’m in a city that’s always been home to me. Although I’m certainly not ‘cured’ and my life’s far from perfect, I’m happy again. I couldn’t be any fucking luckier that I decided to take time off of school. Be your own advocate – get help now.

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For the Fall 2011 semester alone, five of about 13 classes open to Russian Studies undergrads have already been cancelled – four in Russian language, one in literature. Goodbye, advanced language intensive! Farewell, intro to Soviet literature! Who needs Russian syntax anyway? We do. These classes are integral components of an education in Russian Studies, and  now the chances of a McGill student becoming proficient in Russian will be quite slim. The Winter 2012 schedule looks equally empty. There are unbelievably few classes for Russian majors to take in the last semesters of their program. It seems there is only one 300 or 400 level literature class listed for 2011-12 – Russian Drama, which is at 8:30 a.m. with a cap of 25 students.

Students in the Russian program knew about the Hispanic-German-Italian-Russian dysfunctional family of a department planned for next year, although the explanations for the motivation behind this consolidation were unclear. What we didn’t know, however, was that our department would nearly cease to exist. By eliminating instruction in higher-level language and in deciphering challenging novels, the McGill bureaucracy will essentially render the Russian degree useless. How could a Russian Studies major graduate unable to speak Russian? How are we to map out degree plans if the courses we need to graduate keep disappearing? How many holes must there be in our education as a result of underfunding?

The fantastic Russian department professors, or at least those who have not mysteriously disappeared, are equally distressed. I remember going to see an advisor in the fall for what should have been a routine scheduling visit. Instead, she looked at my transcript and woefully told me that I would essentially have to complete my degree playing it by ear. She said that many of the courses listed online would be cancelled, and the situation was beyond her control. It is unsettling to think of how little input professors might have in maintaining the standards of a degree in their own department.

McGill is obviously having budget issues, but why these funds should be drawn from the language departments is unclear. I can only speak on behalf of McGill’s Russian Studies students, but I would imagine those in German, Italian, and Hispanic Studies are feeling similarly disappointed. If the school doesn’t have enough money to maintain a decent Russian studies program, perhaps it would be less embarrassing to cut the department altogether. It has been painful to see the program’s deterioration, and even more unsettling to discuss with current Russian students their game plans for graduating. There is more to Russia than vodka, Stalin, and Crime and Punishment, but how are Russian majors supposed to convey their degree’s importance and relevancy without an adequate academic background to support this argument?
—

Susannah Feinstein is a U2 Russian Studies student. She can be reached at susannah.feinstein@mail.mcgill.ca.

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“Spring has Sprung” will comprise, among other acts, four stand-up comics – all of whom graduated from or are currently attending McGill – four bands (also from McGill), and a performance from McGill Improv.  Perhaps the event’s Facebook page provides the most appealing description:
“Do you crave live comedy? In need of a hearty laugh? Do you enjoy receiving auditory or visual cues, translating those cues into neural impulses, organizing those impulses into discrete messages which the brain perceives to be somehow incongruous, attaching an abstract meaning to those messages and then contracting your larynx at irregular intervals?”

In reference to the show’s aims, Editor-in-Chief Matt Essert explained to The Daily, “We want to showcase talent from people in Montreal and McGill.”

Editor Elinor Keshet added that the Red Herring is a “one-of-a-kind publication. It’s a community.” This uniqueness is true in various respects, especially when considering the potentially awkward job of editing a humor magazine. For example, an author could easily perceive an attack on an article as one on their level of funniness. In reference to an editor’s job of evaluating the effectiveness of a satirical piece, Essert responded, “Nobody judges ‘funny’ from ‘unfunny.’ We sometimes get a story or two by an author who thinks the piece is funny, but we can’t publish just a story. Aside from that, we’ll basically publish anything, as long as it isn’t racist. Nobody should be afraid to submit work.” Both Essert and Keshet emphasized that interested students should not fear a bruised ego in writing for the Red Herring. “We don’t reject many people,” Essert added.

The publication is notable not only for its racy content, but also because of its unusual inner workings. There is a high degree of anonymity between editors and writers, and among contributors themselves. Because the editing process is usually completed over email and there are no regular meetings, “you could write for four years and never meet anybody,” explained Keshet. At the moment, the publication has about fifteen regular contributors.

Budget issues are a familiar struggle for the Red Herring. As Keshet pointed out, “We never really know how much money we will be getting from SSMU. Although this year hasn’t been that bad, one year, editors had to pay for funding themselves” in order to keep the publication in circulation. This inconsistency in funding is largely due to the Red Herring’s avoidance of using advertising. “We’d have to make a rate card…it’s just so much easier this way,” added Essert. For now, the Red Herring can only receive funds through SSMU and its bi-annual variety show.
If you have an interest in helping to preserve one of McGill’s more unusual creative outlets on the varied list of campus publications, Thursday’s show promises to amuse. To once again quote the event’s description, bring your friends and  “help this poorly funded publication, put out. More issues that is.”

Spring Has Sprung is March 10 at Trois Minots, 3812 St. Laurent, at 8:30 p.m.

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McGill undergrad Liam Olson-Mayes, one of the small group of Concordia and McGill students responsible for organizing the event, explained how Got Your Back! came into being: “A few months back we had the idea of creating a rad forum on support… There were a lot of issues we wanted to discuss. We contacted different organizations and chose which causes to focus on based on who responded.” Discussing the groundwork for Got Your Back!, Olson-Mayes emphasized the importance of the help of Dean Spade, an assistant professor at the Seattle University School of Law who spoke during “I Am What I Say I Am: A Panel On Self-Determination.” Olson-Mayes also explained that despite some on-campus publicity, the target audience for the workshop was not so much students as it was various non-profit organizations within the Montreal community, most of which were contacted directly. As Olson-Mayes revealed the efforts that went into planning the event, it became clear how Got Your Back! attracted representatives from so many diverse and interesting groups concerned with combating social inequality.

One of the highlights of the forum was a lecture entitled, “Dealing With It: Intense emotions and grief while organizing.” Gathered in a circle, the attendees first revealed their causes, diverse concerns ranging from feeding impoverished children to LGBT community activism. The main speaker, Pascale, then began to share her experience working at Stella, an organization that supports sex workers in Montreal. In her words, Pascale has seen “a lot of crazy shit.” She discussed the health and political issues surrounding sex work, bringing up an interesting point: “People think it’s chic to protest for gay rights and pro-choice rights. But they also think it’s chic to protest against sex work, and don’t realize the political consequences of their actions.” According to Pascale, the criminalization of sex work leads to legal troubles for Stella and can prevent sex workers from gaining access to the health resources the organisation provides.

In addition to sex workers, the lectures also focused on sexual assault victims, aid for migrants and refugees, the meaning of “safe space,” and provided a glimpse of the inner workings of the penal system. Most of the workshops were held in the same interactive and engaging manner: an informal yet informative lecture followed by an active question and answer session, and suggestions from the audience on how to resolve the set of problems facing a particular community.

Although one might have been turned off by the overwhelming lists of terms and causes used in Got Your Back!’s publicity materials, the lecturers, volunteers, and the atmosphere itself was nonetheless engaging. It was clear that those involved in the workshop stood that creating a comfortable environment for open discourse is the vital first step in getting people to engage in social action.

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Founded in the 1970s, Restaurant de la Main – which loyal patrons lovingly refer to as “La Main” – has undergone no drastic alterations in either its appearance or its menu since first opening. Its owners are still in charge of food preparation, and the same solitary Polish woman has been providing Eastern European specialties for about 29 years. Serving smoked meat sandwiches, homemade desserts, poutine, and other delicious heart attack inducing foods well into the wee hours, this place has seen a lot of crazy stuff.

The endlessly entertaining Suzanne Brisebois, the primary graveyard shift waitress, has been working at La Main for about eight years. “You want to know how I got this job?” asked Brisebois, “I saw a sign that said ‘Help Wanted’ in the window, walked in, handed someone at the counter my CV, and they called me ten minutes later, telling me I had gotten the job.”

Relatively calm during the week, Brisebois claims that the weekend is when the night shift really comes to life. “On weeknights we have our regulars. It can be pretty quiet. But on the weekend we get lots of students, McGill kids mostly, very drunk at about three a.m.,” she said. “I know they’re from McGill ‘cause they’re wearing their sweatshirts that say ‘McGill’.” (On a side note: guys, if you’re going to get belligerently drunk at Korova, please refrain from doing so in McGill attire.) Brisebois elaborated on her interactions with intoxicated students, explaining, “I usually have no trouble with them. I am used to [drunken behavior] because I worked for 12 years as a bartender. If someone is too rude, other customers will help me out and say something like ‘Hey, leave her alone!’ In my eight years here, I’ve only had to call the police twice. The first time was because there was a fight. The second time was because there was a man who was walking around picking food off people’s plates and refusing to leave.”

Wandering food snatchers aside, Brisebois genuinely enjoys her job. “You get to meet all kinds of people and form relationships with the regulars,” she explained. She pointed to a seat in the back. “That’s Leonard Cohen’s seat, I’ve seen him here a few times. Justin Trudeau used to come here all the time. He loves latkes.” When asked about the craziest thing she’d ever seen during the graveyard shift, Brisebois had no trouble answering. “I was working one night, and a man and a woman came in. They had a bill of about $70, and the man left me a $100 tip. He asked me if I’d ever gotten a tip that big, and I said ‘Yes, I used to be a bartender,’ and then he started handing me hundred-dollar bills till he got to about $330. I didn’t want to keep it, but the woman told me to.”

As we wrapped up the interview, Brisebois wished me luck in my future career as a journalist. “I wanted to be a journalist when I was younger,” she said. “I love to talk to people. Maybe that’s why I like this job so much. Maybe you might work here someday too!” Soon-to-be graduates of McGill, there is hope for you yet!

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Billurcu and Neuman decided to channel their frustration into a risky, yet ultimately successful project – their own concert promotion company (and a now-defunct record label). The process began at CJLO, Concordia’s radio station, where the two used connections to contact several labels and bands. Although few actually responded to their inquiries, they did receive permission from the independent record label Dischord to screen Instrument, a documentary about popular punk band Fugazi. The pair impressed Dischord, drawing an audience of over 250 people to the screening. With this, Billurcu and Neuman were on their way to forming their own company.

Since its establishment, BSTB has shifted its methods of promotion, largely due to the creation of popular networking web sites. Discussing his “old-school” approaches, Billurcu explains that “We started by postering, flyering, and sending emails. We had a web site that originally had a message board and show listings, but now it just has the listings.” Today, BSTB primarily promotes online, through Facebook and other web pages; however, not all promotion is done in cyberspace. “We still place ads in papers like the Mirror,” Billurcu notes.

Just as BSTB’s promotion strategies have changed, so too have the venues at which concerts are held. “Initially there weren’t many venues. We held shows at Barfly, because they had no rental fee, but eventually we began to hold shows at other venues. Today, we have shows at about 10 venues – The National, Tulipe, Metroplis, The Green Room, Metropolis, Eastern Bloc, Friendship Cove, Casa del Popolo, and a few others,” explained Billurcu.

Among other things, Montreal is known for its lively music scene, and BSTB has had to compete for performers with many concert promotion agencies. One would expect this competition to create an air of rivalry, but Billurcu describes BSTB’s relationship with other agencies as “good,” due to mutual respect they have for one another.  “Sometimes you will have a show that goes well, but when the band returns to Montreal, they will go with another agency, and you’re left thinking ‘Why would they do that?’” Billurcu said. “But I always remember something a friend told me, which is, basically, that there is always going to be a new band, and in six months, this band will be popular, just as popular as whoever chose someone else.”

At the end of our interview, Billurcu provided some advice for those who might be interested in concert promotion. “[Neuman and I] both had 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. jobs, worked a show after that, got home at 3 a.m., and then woke up for our [morning] jobs again,” he said. “You have to really want to do it, not for the money, but because you really want to. There are also many risks involved. The Arcade Fire concert, our co-production with Pop Montreal, brought in 12,000 people. Modest Mouse, TV on the Radio, and Wolf Parade were big too. About 2,000 attended each concert.  But when we promoted a concert for a widely hyped rapper, Moka Only, about 23 people showed up. A lot of hot shots come along, lose money, and say they will never promote again. There are a lot of risks involved.”

Simultaneously dealing with the possibility of money loss, constant competition from other agencies, and workdays that sometimes exceeded 18 hours, BSTB’s effort has been admirable, if not astounding. With an employee count of just eight, they have accomplished extraordinary things. Their achievements exemplify the message of the poster on your grade seven English teacher’s wall – the one with the picture of Spandex-clad Lance Armstrong, leaping from a bike, arms triumphantly raised in the air, exclaiming, “Hard work can achieve anything! GO FOR THE GOLD!!!”  

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Sean Yendrys, the show’s curator, cites the material and its relationship to function as two of the exhibition’s main concerns. Yendrys selected each of the pieces in the show himself, using both his previous knowledge of most of the artists’ work and the proposal each artist submitted. He emphasized the dual focus of his criteria for selection, based on “how unique the building materials were, as well as how the artist used these materials to make an object functioning outside of what they traditionally compose.”

Although his studies have focused primarily on graphic design and typography, Yendrys gained an interest in three-dimensional design after he worked as a curator during last year’s Art Matters Festival. “I was running a show in 2-D and I thought that this year a 3-D exhibition might be interesting,” he said. “This is the only show in the festival that focuses on design rather than art.” According to Yendrys, a notable distinction exists between the two. “With art, you make a piece. In design, you create for a client with a specific purpose in mind,” he explains.

This concept of creating art for consumption is a key element in the concept of a “creative economy” – a term which the U.K. government’s Department For Culture, Media, and Sport defines best as a conglomeration of “those industries which have their origin in individual creativity, skill, and talent, and which have a potential for wealth and job creation.” In this sense, the human creativity encompassed in design harnesses the capacity not only to please the eye, but also to foster economic prosperity, portraying the art form as one of the most accessible and traditionally useful mediums showcased in the festival.

Though he didn’t specifically mention the creative economy, much of Yendrys’s discussion of “Material Applied” echoed the concept. “The show is about functionality, exploration, and experimentation, with an undertone of sustainability,” he said. “It is about learning to explore using new material.” The pieces in “Material Applied” feature exotic working materials like discarded newspaper, gravel, and old school desks, proving an enthusiasm on the part of the artists to branch out from their traditional – perhaps more mundane – raw materials.  He noted that – although the concept of “green” building materials was not intended to be the focus of this particular exhibition – it is a major component of the design curriculum at Concordia.

Though interesting in theory, the exhibition contains quite a few flaws that detract from its effectiveness in conveying its target messages. As of March 9, there were no name cards accompanying the pieces – the viewer had to match up pieces and artist names using the information booklet. The exhibition was also lacking write-ups disclosing exactly what materials were used to make each work.

Additionally, there seemed to be little innovation in creating new uses for easily recognizable materials.  For example, as visually appealing as it was, I failed to see the innovation in using screen-printed newspaper as wallpaper or creating jewelry out of building materials. Gaia Orain’s Paper Bag created bags out of “discarded materials of a passé era,” a description, the meaning of which I had trouble deciphering, but I did notice the incorporation of satin into her work.

“Material Applied” is still worth seeing, as it shows promise regarding the future of furniture design – some of these latter pieces were particularly impressive, especially David Abraham’s Charred Light light fixture. However, the lack of variation and creativity in many of the featured pieces was disappointing. As comparatively static visual art becomes less relevant and the demand for accessible design rises, this art form will become increasingly important. Ideally, the content in this show and all of the Art Matters Festival would have reflected and subverted this inevitable trend in art.

“Material Applied” will be on display at Les Territoires (372 Ste. Catherine O., Suite 527) until March 20.

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I should probably start by saying that the term “bear” refers not only to a massive, four-legged animal associated with brute strength (and, to some, cuddly cuteness), but also to a gay subculture whose members have distinctive characteristics in both appearance and personality, and whose origins date back to ‘80s San Francisco.

In the late ‘80s, Bear Magazine, a publication out of the San Francisco area, popularized the image of the muscular, blue-collar bearded man and drew a fan base not only from the gay community of rural America but also gay communities abroad. Noting the success of Bear Magazine, Rick Redewell opened the “Lone Star Salon,” a now-famous bar where the bear identity developed among gay men who preferred rock music and motorcycles to the flamboyancy of late-’80s mainstream gay culture. In a matter of years, the image of the hyper-masculine gay man had spread internationally. This representation has been subjected to considerable modifications over the years.

At the most basic level of terminology, a “bear” is a heavyset man with abundant facial hair. But to limit the description to physical characteristics alone would be to unfairly shortchange this idiosyncratic group of people, whose members form many varieties and subsets of the community. These may include designations like the age-specific “cub” or “daddy bear,” which refer, respectively, to the youngest and oldest bears, Asian “Panda bears,” white-haired “polar bears,” “muscle bears,” who are especially lean, and “leather bears,” who have a particular fascination with leather apparel. There are also the less-obviously named “otters,” hairy bears with an athletic build, and “wolves,” who are more or less otters with a more intimidating nature. And let’s not forget “goldilocks,” a woman who prefers the company of bears.

Although mastering bear nomenclature is a difficult task in itself, the complexity of bear culture cannot be reduced to easy labels; identity relies on much more than outward appearance. To learn more about bear culture and values, as well as what a bear-oriented activity would entail, I arranged to meet with Martin Brisson and Yves Aubertin, two members of Bearevent Montreal’s board of directors, at a Second Cup about two blocks from the Papineau metro. Bearevent or, for francophones, Événours, is a nonprofit organization that caters to Montreal bears and friends of the bear community.

Arriving early, I ordered a coffee and proceeded to people watch, an activity I cleverly concealed by pretending to read the bibliography of my Russian literature course pack. While I had done a little online research on bears prior to the interview, I still had no idea what Brisson or Aubertin might look like. Could they be the two big guys behind me? To my left, there was a thinner guy with a beard…might Martin Brisson be an “otter”?
I eventually discovered that the two had been waiting for me upstairs. Brisson greeted me first, and brought me over to the table where Aubertin was sitting. We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and began to talk.

The two first presented the basics of the bear community. As Brisson explained it, a bear is a “hairy, fat guy,” pointing for example to Aubertin, who laughed lightheartedly in agreement. When asked to distinguish bear values from the rest of the gay community, Martin replied, “We’re friendlier, less judgmental, and more true to ourselves.” Aubertin added, “Also warm, cuddly, and less artificial.” A man at the next table voiced his own opinion: “They’re less self-conscious. And more fun.”

According to Brisson and Aubertin, bears have been present in Montreal for about 20 years, with significant growth within the last 10 to 15 years, a development that is largely due to the Internet, which has been an invaluable resource in the spreading of bear culture. Bears can find each other online in bear-oriented chat rooms and fan sites. On these web pages bears learn of local bear-friendly bars, clubs, and activities. I had found Brisson, for instance, by simply Googling “bears in Montreal” and clicking on the Bearevent page.

For offline bear-related fun, Bearevent seems to be a party catalyst for the Montreal area, organizing a number of fantastically peculiar events. On March 26, for example, the fifth annual “bear fashion show” will provide a showcase for both bizarre and practical attire.

One of the main attractions this year?
“There will be a man on the runway wearing a size 40,” replied Brisson.

Another standout activity is Bear Noel, during which bears (or virtually anyone) can come meet “Santa,” a bear dressed as Santa Claus, and take pictures sitting on his lap.

At the conclusion of the interview, I asked where I might find a bear bar that would be welcoming to a small girl on a spying mission. Brisson suggested Bar le Stud, offered to accompany me, and even arranged an interview with the manager, Mario. This must have been the legendary bear friendliness at work.

On Sunday at about 6:30, Brisson, Mario and I met at Bar le Stud.

As I walked in, men of all sizes and ages turned to stare at me – my presence appeared to make the customers uncomfortable, but nevertheless I headed to the back to meet with Mario.

At first glance, Mario doesn’t fit the typical image of a bear, being a tall but moderately sized and clean-shaven man. But he’s been working at Bar le Stud for over a decade, because the bear image and the community’s lack of inhibition appeals to him.

Mario provided a brief overview of bears around the globe. He claims to be able to identify the nationality of a bear at first glance. French bears are “fat, maybe the fattest,” and there is quite a bit of diversity in the American bear scene, with a prevailing “muscle bear image.” Germany is viewed as the “leather bear” capital of the world, and home to the trendsetters of the bear community at large.

I asked Mario a bit about the bar, which plays a variety of music, from alternative rock to house, has a karaoke night, and is now in its fifteenth year. Bar le Stud mostly sees a crowd of bears and bear-lovers between the ages of 35-55, but not much of the younger crowd. I looked out at the dance floor – an overweight man in leather shorts and no shirt was dancing with a man in sweatpants and a Nike t-shirt. Next to them, three men, sporting suits and ties, danced in a sort of conga line.

In Mario’s opinion, there are a number of reasons why the younger members of the gay community, ranging from 18 to 30 years old, have yet to embrace the bear lifestyle in Montreal. He proposed that being a bear requires self-knowledge and freedom from inhibitions that the younger set is too naïve and inexperienced to have developed, and that for the time being, they would prefer to go to clubs like Unity, which place more emphasis on dressing well and offer the traditional club experience.

Situated on Ste. Catherine east of Papineau, Bar le Stud is nestled at the geographical centre of Montreal’s gay culture. Montreal’s gay village is one of the largest in North America, and walking through the village, a tourist might feel that they have entered another world unto itself. Because of its massive size, there are bars and clubs to suit all needs.

While this may have a segregating effect among disparate gay subgroups, it is a particular asset to bear newcomers and visitors who may have difficulty identifying with what they perceive to be the superficiality of stereotyped gay identities. Though many bears are comfortable with the rest of the gay community, the bears I talked to spoke of the mainstream gay community with some distaste, and seemed to prefer to surround themselves exclusively with other bears.

It is understandable that the hyper-masculinity and defined preferences of bear culture may be intimidating to younger people going through processes of self-discovery. In a society in which body type has the capacity to define a person, however, the bear community provides an environment where being heavier or hairier becomes an embraced aspect of one’s image, and an empowering source of confidence and freedom. For the first time in many bears’ lives, people are able to see past outward appearances and treat them as individuals.

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Upon entering the church, I was stricken with a pang of hybrid confusion and nervousness – despite reading numerous descriptions elaborating on the concept of sound art, in addition to Wikipedia-ing and Google-searching the term, I still had no idea what the event would entail. But within five minutes, the anxiety my cluelessness had produced diminished, as I sat alongside a sizeable audience, encircled by a dimly lit, tent-like structure composed of swatches of warm-hued fabrics. Quite a few among the crowd seemed shared my “Um, what?” sentiment.

At 8:45, the lights went out, the smell of incense intensified, and a mystery artist announced the commencement of “the sensory massage.” Naturally, at this point about half of those present began to laugh. From there, a rather relaxing woman’s voice related to both the live audience and the listeners at home the purpose of this evening’s show- to discover “the magic and mystery” of radio transmission and to become acquainted with the “evolution of sound.”

For approximately an hour and a half we listened, eyes closed, to the sounds of the artists’ voices, the screeching of a violin and the thumping of bongo drums, juxtaposed with both real and simulated radio broadcasts publicizing the negative impact of human activity on rural Alberta, and depicting a fictional crisis in which Quebec residents are forced to be indoors by seven to prevent a strange carcinogen from infiltrating their systems.  A German folktale played alongside layered recordings of girls describing their boyfriend troubles and sobbing.

All of this – the arbitrary sounds, the disturbing newscasts, the laughable portrayal of teen angst, and the stories – may seem, when illustrated through written word, to add up to just yet another odd conceptual art piece conjured by the minds of recent art school grads. But the Magic Sound Box made use of sound art’s unique ability to evoke a range of emotions, a task that a more static form of art couldn’t have done as effectively. The audience laughed at segments intended to be comical. We were all disturbed by the same clamor. We were in turn relaxed by soothing white noise and somnolent sounds, and then, collectively, awoken from a stupor to urgent broadcasts, both fictitious and factual.

The aural stimuli the Magic Sound Box provided allowed for a unique examination of pathos, ethos and human nature. The pairing of the teenage girls’ discussions with announcements of problems of a greater magnitude trivialized minor daily problems, creating an opportunity for audience members to reflect on their values, prioritizing and putting into perspective their troubles. That an urgent radio transmission, no matter its contents, uniformly warranted the same reaction – that is, an abrupt return to reality – is particularly telling. This reaction showed that listeners have been taught to shift the focus of their attention for a message that is somehow universally perceived as urgent, and will consistently respond in this way.

The Magic Sound Box demonstrated, in an engrossing manner, why radio is such an effective method of communicating and transfusing thoughts and emotions. And so, I have finally learned the definition and purpose of sound art, a dynamic medium that is, perhaps, explained so vaguely because the experience of interacting with it is largely inexplicable.  
 
 
 

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The QWF is a registered charity comprised of Quebec’s English-language writers and literature enthusiasts. The federation’s goals, according to the event’s literature, include “providing tangible community support for the promotion and encouragement of English language literary arts” and “undertaking activities which will increase public awareness of the literary arts and of literary institutions within the province.” The federation is involved in a wide range of activities, publications, and programs in Quebec.

As I had never been either to a “literary salon” or an “auction of curiosities,” I had no way of anticipating the bizarre happenings which would ensue that night, events which ranged in oddness from “okay, this makes me sort of uncomfortable” to “I have my phone pre-dialed to 911.” Immediately upon entering the reception area of the Mainline Ballroom on St. Laurent, two cheerful bespectacled women greeted me warmly, gave me a tag with my name written on it, and handed me a sheet of “topics and ideas [I] may be inclined to discuss (at length) with the other people at this lovely event,” a list which included such common discussion starters as “If you went evil tomorrow, what would be your villainous plan?” or “If you were a serial killer, what kind of people would you target?” and the ever-popular “If you and your partner switched bodies, could you have sex with yourself?” I was then told to go enjoy myself and speak with the 20 forty-or fifty-somethings in the room. Um, okay.

And so, I set off to explore and mingle.

My eye immediately caught the auction table upon which many exotic items were displayed. Had you been there, you could have realized your dream of owning Yann Martel’s glow-in-the-dark inflatable globe of the night sky, a (slightly creepy) wax bust of author Joel Yanofsky’s face entitled “Yanofsky or Bust,” or a CD from Montreal-based poet and painter Sherwin Tija adorned with snapshots of cats which includes “over an hour of hi-def purring!!!” Most of these items sold for somewhere between $10 and $30.

As I couldn’t end the night without trying the event’s signature “Tequila Mockingbird”, I was directed to the bar, where I was simultaneously handed a drink and greeted by an Asian dude in stilettos and a black sequined dress. It was the charmingly quirky “Madame À Bientôt,” the “salonnière” whose function was to “introduce newcomers & gently pluck wallflowers out of their seats and into the flow of conversation.” I had quite an interesting conversation with them about various fascinating topics, like the other unusual fundraisers hosted by the QWF (think along the lines of “Strip Spelling Bee”), how they themself became involved in the QWF, and how much money a member of the Beatles’ bowel movements sold for after being discovered in a hotel by a chamber maid.

Although it may seem as if my time at “Tequila Mockingbird” was an awkward social experiment, I truly enjoyed myself. I had a chance to speak with local professors, poets, fiction writers, and profoundly and delightfully strange people. And if you’re wondering what’s in a “Tequila Mockingbird” – it’s just tequila, orange juice, and Southern Comfort.

To find out more about the QWF, visit their web site at qwf.org.

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