When a teenage Peggy Hogan was growing up in Victoria, she admired Montreal bands like The Unicorns, The Dears and Stars. By moving to the city as a fresh-faced 17-year-old to study jazz at Concordia University in 2007, the young musician hoped to join the artistic community of her idols.

She has fond memories of that era of creative flourishing. “I kind of very quickly realized [that] this community is tight and thriving,” she remembers. “It was much easier to meet these [musicians] and start playing with them.”

Photograph: Karla Ximena / @karlaximenae

During her early twenties, Hogan could make rent with a few $200 gigs and spend the rest of her time working on her craft as recording artist Hua Li 化力.

But those glory days are gone. With increasingly unaffordable rent and noise complaints shutting down beloved cultural institutions, it’s getting harder for Montreal’s iconic DIY music scene—defined by avant-garde, experimental sounds and indie venues where artists like Grimes got their start—to thrive.

“I think we need to start normalizing the idea that a lot of artists, and musicians especially, that we see as very successful in the indie world actually do work outside of music, and that's okay... It does not mean that you are a failure as an artist.”

How can Montreal’s music scene retain its edge?

Hogan worries that this state of affairs will precipitate a decline in the number of racialized artists like herself—who are from a non-affluent immigrant background—and contribute to even less representation.

“The only way that I was able to leave my lower middle class, immigrant family and come to Montreal and have a viable career in the arts was because things just were not that expensive,” she says.

The musician, now a label manager for Outside Music, also worries the DIY scene will lose its edge in an era where she feels musicians’ financial success heavily depends on making an impact with TikTok algorithms and streaming platform statistics. Hogan fears that those online metrics will push musicians to dilute their art to appeal to the mainstream instead of creating more transgressive offerings.

“Art becomes necessarily average in order to succeed. That means that the perspectives that are expressed in that art also become more average,” she explains. “And if we're talking about immigrants and racialized people, I think [that] means [the art becomes] more white.”

All, however, is not lost. The veteran artist believes that for racialized immigrant artists to succeed in Montreal today, they need to change strategies.

“I think we need to start normalizing the idea that a lot of artists, and musicians especially, that we see as very successful in the indie world actually do work outside of music, and that's okay,” she advises. “It does not mean that you are a failure as an artist.”

“[External metrics of success are] much less real than you being able to say to yourself, ‘As an artist, I have made something that communicates my truth in a very authentic way’.”

Hogan thinks having another source of income outside of art can also free artists to experiment in ways that are not necessarily financially profitable.

“Hopefully that means that we can maintain a certain kind of experimental and avant-garde feeling in the Montreal music community,” she declares.

Redefining success and the power of community building

Instead of focusing on a number of streams, the musician encourages marginalized artists to develop their own metrics of success centred on their values and priorities. For her, this looks like making enough to send money to her Chinese mother so she can enjoy a comfortable retirement and being able to uncompromisingly share her truth as a racialized woman in her work.

“[External metrics of success are] much less real than you being able to say to yourself, ‘As an artist, I have made something that communicates my truth in a very authentic way’,” she believes.

As it becomes increasingly unaffordable to make art alone, Hogan sees racialized artists organize around their diasporic connections by harnessing community-building skills their ancestors used to survive marginalization in the West. She cites Sticky Rice, Laylit, Bahay Collective, and Moonshine as exciting developments in Montreal culture.

“These spaces really did not exist before. And I think that precedent hopefully means that the torch will be passed and these conversations can continue,” she concludes.

Explore the work of Montreal artist Hua Li 化力.

How can Montreal’s music scene retain its edge?

Redefining success and the power of community building

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Montreal’s DIY music scene is in crisis