CASE STUDIES
Strict regulations, the search for a prime spot, infighting, harsh weather, trying to catch the attention of passersby — the life of a busker isn’t easy. Some Montreal street and métro artists explain to Giordano Cescutti and Alexa Everett how they naviga
Tamara Weber-Fillion closes her eyes and grips her guitar as she performs a slow, soulful rendition of Ed Sheeran’s smash hit Shape of You. The words “POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS” are on the bright yellow strap of her instrument. When she opens her eyes, she can see the gathering audience on Ste-Catherine St. has ignored those words of caution and is slowly approaching.
This is how Weber-Fillion, a former contestant on La Voix and France’s The Voice: la plus belle voix, has been paying her rent for the last three years.
“Some people work at a supermarket; I make my living singing on the street,” she said.
Buskers are ubiquitous in Montreal, but many of them say there are obstacles that make the city an unfavourable place for the art form. Yet they continue performing, trying to make a living doing what they love.
Greg Halpin has been playing in métro stations for 10 years. Just like Weber-Fillion, busking is his full-time job.
“It’s a lucrative business,” said Halpin, 31, who sings and strums his guitar in Montreal’s underground city for approximately six hours a day. “You rarely make less than $20 an hour.”
OBTAINING A PERMIT
While Halpin and other musicians can perform in the underground city without a permit, above-ground street performers in the Ville-Marie borough are required to hold one. The first step is to perform before a panel of three voting members. The evaluation committee includes one city official and two external members with expertise in the field of performance.
To audition, buskers need to open a dossier with the borough, which costs $55.
“What people find frustrating is that you pay to open your file before you know if you’re even allowed to go out and perform,” said local hula hoop and living statue artist Marianne Trenka, who recently graduated from a clowning academy.
The Ville-Marie borough notifies buskers of the results of their application two weeks after their audition. Those who pass then pay an annual fee of $155 for their permit; some circle performers also have to pay for insurance.
“The good thing is, as long as you renew your licence each year, you don’t have to re-audition,” said Trenka, who obtained her permit in 2014.
This year, 192 permits have been authorized for 140 musicians, 47 street performers and five balloon sculptors in the Ville-Marie borough, according to city spokesperson Frédéric Amiand.
PLACES TO PERFORM
Of the 192 permit holders in the borough, 54 are accredited to busk at Place Jacques-Cartier and on StPaul St. E., two of the prime spots in Old Montreal.
Fire performer Richard Erno has busked regularly in Old Montreal over the last six years.
“When I first started busking, I auditioned for Place Jacques-Cartier and they loved me,” said Erno, 36, who grew up in the town of Merritt, B.C.
While musicians are free to play where they please, Erno said his 360-degree shows are confined to just one spot at Place Jacques-Cartier. To prevent disputes over performance space, the borough created an online portal in 2014 to allow accredited buskers to reserve their spot a day prior.
Erno discovered his passion for fire performing when he joined the cadets at age 11 and found himself mesmerized by a peer practising the art form. The development of his love of fire performing coincided with tragedy, as both his parents took their own lives before he turned 16. But the thrill of performance helped him overcome his traumas.
“There’s not much that can comfort a child in that situation other than doing what they love most,” explained Erno. “I didn’t find anything that made me feel like myself until I started spinning fire. I would probably be a drug user if it wasn’t for this. It’s just so therapeutic.”
Toward the end of his 20-minute performances, Erno passes his hat, inviting audience members to deposit $5 or $10.
“If you’re from the United States, the $5 bill is the red one, and the $10 bill is the brown one,” Erno jokes, soliciting a rousing response from the crowd.
Circle performers gather at Place Jacques-Cartier in the morning to draw straws or roll dice to determine the day’s lineup.
The procedure for métro musicians like Halpin works on a firstcome, first-served basis. The first musician to arrive writes their name and desired time slot on a piece of paper, then places the schedule between the wall and an STM sign with a lyre, which symbolizes a designated area for performers. Musicians can add their names to the schedule throughout the day.
In Montreal, it’s more about the turf war than the art of busking. The community is very small and everyone knows everyone.
Halpin said the greatest challenge is not knowing if you’re going to get a good spot.
“If you want to get a popular spot, you have to sign up early in the morning,” said Halpin, who released his debut album, Notes from a Bedroom, in 2016.
“Even if I get up at four, I’m not the first person there. Some people stay up all night.”
The most lucrative métro stations are those with the best acoustics and the highest levels of foot traffic. Berri-UQAM and Guy-Concordia are two of Halpin’s go-to spots.
The Étoiles du métro program, which was launched in 2012, alleviates the stress of finding a good location. Artists can audition to earn a reserved spot at seven popular stations.
Halpin was selected as a star musician during the program’s inaugural year, but said having a “presented by the STM” sign behind him may have given passersby the impression he was employed by the city, limiting their generosity.
“It was the same as regular busking, but with less money and without the freedom to play when and where I wanted to,” he said.
THE BATTLE FOR TERRITORY
Borough regulations state that street performers are required to shift location by 60 metres following one hour of performance. But some revealed that if there isn’t another artist waiting, they can get away with performing in the same place for several hours.
Erno recently moved to Toronto to avoid the territorial battles he says define the Montreal busking scene.
“In Montreal, it’s more about the turf war than the art of busking,” he said.
“The community is very small and everyone knows everyone. It’s very competitive.”
Erno hopes a federal buskers’ union will be organized, which would facilitate his return to Montreal.
“There needs to be more of a federal performance permit rather than a provincial one,” Erno said. “Such a permit would allow us to move from city to city without having to spend $500 for six permits.”
The battle for performance territory isn’t limited to the streets. In the métros, some buskers will destroy an existing lineup to secure their own spot.
“There are problems with that. There is a lot of busking drama,” Halpin explained. “You can’t do that often. The first person there will take a picture of the list and keep a copy for themselves. If you get caught doing that, everyone will know.”
SURVIVING THE WINTER
Halpin’s preference for strumming his guitar around métro stations makes busking possible during the winter, but indoor competition heats up as the weather chills. Some circle show artists go on the international busking circuit to perform at festivals in warmer climates, since only musicians are authorized to perform in the métro. Those who stay in Montreal often look to secure gigs at corporate events and festivals to supplement their busking income.
“What’s nice about the corporate and festival worlds is that you’re receiving a paycheque,” Trenka said.
Last year’s mild winter allowed Trenka to busk during the holidays at a spot she considers a hidden gem: in front of St. James United Church. Her former hula hoop partner, Kelli Hanrahan, 40, has also busked in the winter, performing in a festive elf costume.
“People didn’t expect to see us,” said Hanrahan, who is originally from Newfoundland. “But they’re generous around Christmastime.”
Trenka plans to busk again during the upcoming holiday season. Meanwhile, Hanrahan is enjoying life as a new mother.
ATTRACTING AND MAINTAINING AN AUDIENCE
For most buskers, the greatest challenge is ensuring their performances translate into financial gain.
“It’s so discouraging when people don’t stop and watch your show,” Hanrahan said. “You have to be committed to going out there no matter what. You have to break through the wall (between) busker and audience and step into their comfort zone. That’s when they feel committed to staying.”
Halpin said the key to getting people to stay is to enjoy what you’re doing. That way, the positivity resonates with passersby.
“If I’m in a good mood while playing, that’s the most lucrative thing that can happen,” he explained. “That’s when people typically respond. If it’s a day when I don’t feel like being there, but all of a sudden I start enjoying myself, within 30 seconds I get some money. A real connection seems to come through from me to the audience.”
Buskers are forced to navigate the city’s many regulations, find a spot to perform, engage their audience enough to be profitable and survive the off-season. Despite these challenges, the freedom of performing and the passion they have for the lifestyle is unmatched.
“The adrenalin rush is addictive,” Hanrahan said.
“I love doing that crazy difficult job of putting myself on the street. It’s a magical moment when you can take people out of their bubble momentarily. Those moments make it worth it.”