There’s something to be said for a night when a room full of strangers sings along to pain, joy, and growth — and does so with something resembling reverence. On Thursday evening, Montreal’s Bar Le Ritz was filled to capacity, both physically and emotionally, for the hometown release show of Bells Larsen’s new album, Blurring Time. It was equal parts celebration and collective exhale — a moment where community and music braided together like well-worn strings on an acoustic guitar.
The love in the room wasn’t subtle. It shimmered in glances between friends, erupted in cheers after every song, and hovered silently in the space between chords. This show, already sold out well in advance, carried an extra emotional weight following the cancellation of Larsen’s U.S. tour due to his gender marker preventing visa approval. The absurdity of bureaucracy has rarely felt so personal. But instead of bitterness, Larsen brought warmth, vulnerability, and gratitude.
Opening the evening was Cedric Noel, playing solo and unadorned. Just a man, a guitar, and a brain full of beautifully off-kilter song structures. There’s something disarming about how Noel plays — tender but not fragile, complex but never showy. He expressed his gratitude for the invitation to open for Larsen. It was the perfect start to the evening, and the crowd loved every moment.
When Bells and his band took the stage, the energy shifted from hush to hum. The ensemble — Leighton Harrell on bass, Your Hunni and Lane Webber adding haunting harmonies, Aidan McConnell keeping time with soft precision on drums, and Ray Goudy weaving in pedal steel textures — created a musical cocoon around Bells’ voice. That voice, a blend of past and present selves (sometimes quite literally, as on the record), floats just above a whisper but cuts deep.
The set leaned heavily on Blurring Time, beginning with the title track’s gentle defiance: “Maleficent social construct / If it’s all made up / Why do I give a fuck?” Sung sweetly, it lands like a velvet brick. From there, Larsen moved through tracks like “514-415” and “Calme Incertain,” blending 90s lo-fi charm with stark, aching folk. “Questions” and “My Brother & Me” were standouts, with the crowd audibly moved by the dedication to his brother. Bells mentioned their relationship during the transition hadn’t always been easy, but his brother recently added pronouns to his email signature.
A late-set cover of Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” was a risk — the kind of song that too many have flattened into coffee shop wallpaper. But Bells found a way in, reinventing it with a delivery so tender and unguarded that it felt like hearing it for the first time. The lyrics — once about abstract adult wisdom — now felt rooted in lived experience and evolving identity. Joni would’ve approved, or at least quietly nodded.
There was also room for solo moments. For the encore, Bells performed Rostam’s “Bike Dream” alone before ending with “Being in Love During the Apocalypse,” the latter with a guitar tuned to an alternate tuning that gave it a slightly askew shimmer. Even the tunings told stories.
But this night wasn’t just about the songs. It was about presence. Bells was visibly touched throughout, holding space for both joy and pain without rushing either. He invited his community — many of whom were queer and trans — not just to witness, but to inhabit the music with him.
As for the band, they played with the kind of restraint that only comes from trust. Goudy’s pedal steel lines were like ghost limbs wrapping around Larsen’s voice, and the harmonies from Webber and Your Hunni added spectral weight. Harrell and McConnell, holding down the rhythm section, never once overstepped the intimacy of the moment.
Montreal is no stranger to album launches, but this one felt different. It wasn’t just a stop on a press cycle or a blip in a Spotify campaign. It was a return, a release in every sense of the word. For Bells Larsen, the show marked a moment of resilience, not in the “overcoming adversity” soundbite sense, but in the quieter, more radical act of showing up exactly as you are.
And for the rest of us lucky enough to be there? It felt like standing still in the blur of time. Even just for a night.
Review & photos – Steve Gerrard
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